Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 106: The Odd Chain Out

GRAYSON HADN’T loosened his hold. His hand remained firm at her waist, his presence as solid and unyielding as the marble under their feet.

Mailah’s lips pressed tight. The image of the young woman chained to that ancient demon flared in her mind again, a brand she couldn’t scrape away. Fury still churned hot and thick in her chest. "I should save her."

His smile was a dangerous flicker of teeth, wicked and infuriating. "Then I’ll find a way to drag you out of here before you bring the ceiling down."

She was about to retort—something scathing, something reckless—when a figure swooped into their orbit.

"Oh, heavens, there you are!"

Mailah blinked as a swirl of lavender silk and perfume descended upon her like a hurricane. The woman—though her aura tingled strange enough to betray she wasn’t mortal—latched onto Mailah’s hands with alarming enthusiasm.

"Such a delicate thing," the stranger crooned, eyes glittering like cut glass. "I’ve heard of you. So rare. So unspeakably fascinating. Tell me—do you prefer roses or lilies? It will say everything about your temperament."

Mailah stared. "Uh—"

Before she could decide if she’d just been complimented or insulted, the woman leaned even closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And is it true you’ve caught the Ashford’s eye? My stars, how scandalous! How thrilling!"

Mailah’s mouth opened, closed. She looked helplessly at Grayson.

His expression was unreadable, but his hand at her hip tightened just enough for her to feel the warning. He leaned down, his lips brushing her hair as he murmured, "Best indulge her. Trust me—she thrives on being ignored."

Mailah hissed, "She’ll try to auction me off."

"She’s trying to present you," he replied simply, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. "And she’s far pettier than you are stubborn."

Mailah rolled her eyes, but forced a smile as the matchmaker—because that’s clearly what she was—dragged her a few steps toward a knot of onlookers.

"Oh, this way! Everyone must meet you properly."

Grayson trailed behind them, his hand ghosting at her back, silent and watchful.

Mailah soon found herself paraded like a prize around the glittering crowd. The matchmaker introduced her with such flair you’d think she was announcing royalty.

"This is Mailah," she trilled, sweeping her arm as if unveiling a masterpiece painting. "Grayson’s companion. Isn’t she divine?"

The surrounding cluster of supernatural guests murmured appreciatively—some politely, some with clear disdain, and some with that hungry curiosity that made Mailah want to sink into the floor.

While the introductions blurred together, Mailah caught snippets of gossip floating around them like gnats.

"Did you see her gown? Not enchanted. Simply stitched. How quaint."

"Word is she hasn’t even bonded. How dangerous."

"Humans at these events rarely last. Remember Lady Cerys’s darling? Barely survived a fortnight."

Mailah’s spine stiffened. She pasted a sweet smile onto her face, but inside her stomach knotted like rope.

One whisper sliced sharper than the others:

"She won’t last the season. Ashford’s amusements never do."

Mailah’s fingers curled so tight around her glass she nearly cracked the stem.

Grayson must have sensed it. When her glance slipped toward him, his eyes were waiting—dark, flint-bright, locking onto hers over the rim of his glass. He gave the smallest shake of his head.

The silent command burned through her, but so did something else—an unspoken vow.

She’d prove them wrong.

The matchmaker eventually foisted Mailah into more introductions, fluttering at her elbow like an overeager aunt. By then, Mailah was drowning in names she’d never remember and compliments that sliced like knives.

When the matchmaker finally released her, sweeping away in search of her next victim, Mailah let out a shaky laugh. Relief slid through her like air after drowning.

Grayson’s hand slipped back into place at her waist. "See?" he drawled, lips far too close to her ear. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?"

Mailah shot him a glare sharp enough to kill a lesser man. "Next time she swoops in, I’m hiding behind you."

His smirk was pure mischief. "Oh, I’m counting on it."

The evening’s "entertainment" was announced with fanfare, and Mailah found herself shepherded closer to the center of the ballroom.

A stage was rolled in. Gilded curtains were drawn back. Applause rang out.

And then—

"Oh no," Mailah whispered.

A juggler stepped forward. Human. Pale with exhaustion. His eyes darted nervously across the crowd as he hefted flaming torches into the air.

Mailah’s stomach lurched.

She wanted to scream. The man’s hands shook with each toss, his skin already marked with thin burns.

"This is barbaric," she hissed.

Grayson’s mouth flattened into a grim line. "This," he murmured, "is exactly why I loathe these gatherings."

"Then why come at all?"

His gaze flicked sideways at her, dark and intent. "Because you wanted to."

Heat rushed up Mailah’s throat at the weight in his words. She looked away, cheeks burning, furious with him, furious with herself.

The crowd clapped as the juggler caught every flaming baton, his fear hidden behind a brittle smile.

Mailah pressed her nails into her palms until they hurt.

She hated them. All of them.

Later, while trays of desserts drifted through the crowd, a commotion drew every eye.

A towering confection—white icing layered in impossible swirls—tilted precariously as two servants attempted to wheel it across the marble.

Mailah winced. "That’s not going to—"

The cake toppled. Spectacularly.

Splatters of cream and sugared petals exploded across the floor.

Gasps erupted, followed by scandalized laughter. The servants scrambled, mortified, to clean the mess.

Mailah dropped to her knees to help, ignoring the shocked glances from nearby nobles. "Here, let me—"

Her hand brushed through the wreckage—then froze.

Something hard. Cold. Metal.

She curled her fingers around it and, without hesitation, slipped it into the folds of her skirt.

A charm. Small. Deliberate. Hidden inside the cake.

Her heart hammered, but she smiled sweetly as she helped lift ruined frosting into a tray, then stood as though nothing had happened.

Grayson’s eyes were already on her, sharp and knowing.

She only widened her smile and offered him a clean napkin.

She barely noticed when another guest drifted into their orbit—a tall man with loose blond hair that caught the candlelight like spun gold.

His features were unfairly symmetrical, the kind of beauty that seemed deliberately crafted to disarm. A grin—lazy, rakish, and far too charming for its own good—played across his lips. His bright blue eyes matched his blond hair.

He carried himself with the languid grace of someone who had been drinking too freely, swaying slightly as he bent in a dramatic bow.

"May I?" he asked, extending a hand toward Mailah.

Before she could form the word no, Grayson’s voice brushed against her ear. "Go on."

Her head snapped toward him, incredulous. "What?"

"He’s harmless," Grayson said smoothly, though his eyes were cold steel. "And it’ll draw less attention if you accept at least one dance from the guests"

Mailah narrowed her eyes. Grayson’s smirk deepened, wicked and knowing. "Besides," he added, "I’d enjoy watching you try to keep your toes intact."

Heat rose in her cheeks. Infuriating man.

With great reluctance, she placed her hand in the stranger’s. His grip was cool, but steady, almost reassuring.

A moment later, she was swept into the dizzying whirl of dancers.

It was immediately disastrous. He stumbled, his polished shoe landing squarely on her toes. Mailah bit down a yelp.

"So sorry, my dear," he slurred with a laugh that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all.

He spun her far too quickly, nearly flinging her into another couple before reeling her back in with reckless confidence.

"Name’s Hugh," he said at last, flashing another grin as if that explained everything. "And you must be the one keeping Grayson entertained."

Mailah blinked, startled, her balance wobbling with his uneven steps.

Hugh didn’t even glance at Grayson as though they were strangers; his tone carried the ease of someone who knew him well—perhaps too well.

From the edge of the floor, Grayson’s eyes burned into her, equal parts amusement and irritation.

By the third stumble, Mailah was biting her tongue to keep from laughing hysterically. This was absurd.

She found herself wondering what kind of supernatural being he truly was.

But then—

At the very end of the song, Hugh leaned in, his lips almost brushing her ear. "You’ve got that look," he murmured, voice low enough to be swallowed by the music. "The is-he-or-isn’t-he look. Save yourself the headache—I’ll spare you the guessing. Vampire. Through and through."

Mailah stiffened. Her eyes darted to his mouth, unbidden, then back up in horror at her own reaction.

Hugh’s grin widened, wickedly pleased. "Relax, sweetheart. I’ve already fed tonight. You’re perfectly safe—your lovely neck will remain unpunctured. For now."

Her breath caught, halfway between relief and outrage. "That’s supposed to be comforting?"

"Of course," Hugh said lightly, twirling her one last time with surprising elegance, as if the clumsy stumbles had been nothing but theater. "I save my worst habits for less charming company."

And just like that, the song ended. He released her with an elaborate bow, the grin never leaving his lips.

Mailah’s pulse thundered in her throat.

From the sidelines, Grayson’s smirk deepened—though the sharpness in his eyes promised that Hugh’s little game had not gone unnoticed.

The drunken slur vanished. His voice was low, precise, and chillingly clear.

"Meet me at midnight, east balcony."

Mailah’s breath froze in her chest.

"Bring your demon if you’re suspicious. But keep it a secret. Trust no one else."

Before she could react, he spun her dramatically out of the dance, bowed with perfect grace, and vanished into the crowd.

The music swelled. Laughter rose. The ballroom glittered.

But Mailah stood rooted, heart hammering, the vampire’s whispered words searing into her mind.

Trust no one else.

Her gaze shot to Grayson, who was already moving toward her, his expression unreadable.

And suddenly, the question that had been simmering all night boiled to the surface:

Who here could she trust at all?