Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 122: The Engaged

THE RING felt both weightless and impossibly heavy on Mailah’s finger.

She couldn’t stop looking at it—the way the blue gem caught the fading sunlight, the way the silver band settled against her skin like it had always belonged there.

Every small movement of her hand sent tiny refractions of light dancing across the walls of the sunroom, creating patterns that seemed almost magical.

Which was fitting, given the circumstances.

"You’re staring at it," Grayson observed, his voice warm with amusement.

"You’re noticing me staring at it," Mailah countered, finally tearing her gaze away from the ring to look at him. "Which means you’ve been watching me stare at it."

"Guilty," he admitted, pulling her closer until she was tucked against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. "Though I’m allowed. I spent weeks trying to find the right one."

Mailah’s head snapped up. "Weeks? You’ve been planning this for three weeks?"

"Longer, actually," Grayson said, looking slightly sheepish. "But the ring took weeks to make. I wanted something that would..." He paused, searching for words. "Something that would feel like you. Strong but delicate. Beautiful but practical. Unique."

Her heart did complicated acrobatics in her chest. "You designed this for me?"

"Well, I had help," he admitted. "Dr. Morrison knows a jeweler who works with enchanted stones. The gem is actually a fragment of crystallized starlight—it’s supposed to provide protection against manipulation."

Mailah stared at the ring with new appreciation. "You got me an engagement ring that doubles as armor?"

"I got you an engagement ring that reflects both worlds we live in," Grayson corrected. "Beautiful enough for any human occasion, powerful enough to keep you safe in mine."

"That’s..." Mailah felt tears prickling at her eyes again. "That’s possibly the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Don’t cry," Grayson said, though his voice was rough with emotion. "You’ll ruin the moment I’ve been rehearsing for weeks."

"You rehearsed?" Mailah laughed through her tears. "What, in front of a mirror?"

He hesitated, gaze flicking away. "Theoretically."

The mental image of Grayson practicing proposals made Mailah laugh outright. "I would have paid good money to see that."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the afternoon light shift and change through the windows. Outside, the estate grounds were peaceful, the gardens perfectly maintained, the walls secure. It was easy to forget, in moments like this, that danger lurked beyond those walls in the form of pain-feeding demons and supernatural politics.

The peace in the sunroom felt almost unnatural—like the world had paused just long enough for them to breathe. But peace, Mailah knew by now, rarely lasted long in her world now.

Grayson’s arm was still around her, heavy and reassuring, but his gaze had turned distant. That faraway, calculating look—the one that said his mind had shifted somewhere dangerous. Somewhere that didn’t belong in a sunroom full of flowers and fading light.

She tilted her head to look up at him. "You’re thinking too hard again."

He blinked and gave a small, guilty smile. "Caught."

"What is it this time? Conspiracies? Another ’mysterious disturbance’?" she teased, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with her fingertip.

His eyes softened, but there was a flicker of something—unease, maybe—behind them. "Something like that."

"Grayson," she said gently, "don’t go cold on me now. You just proposed."

His gaze snapped back to her, the tension easing as a reluctant smile curved his lips. "Ah yes, my shining moment of vulnerability. I should enjoy my humiliation while it lasts."

"You mean my shining moment of saying yes to a man who thinks vulnerability is a weakness."

He huffed a laugh. "A temporary weakness."

Mailah rolled her eyes and nestled closer. "I’m beginning to think Mrs. Baker was right—you do need more sunlight."

"I was in the sunroom," he said flatly.

"Mm, yes," she murmured against his shoulder, "but you were brooding in it. That doesn’t count."

By the time they left the sunroom, the sky outside had turned the color of peach tea—soft, glowing, and impossibly calm. Mailah clutched his hand, the ring catching the light with every step.

"You’re thinking about something again," he said as they walked down the hallway toward the main foyer.

"I am," she admitted, squeezing his fingers. "Something normal."

"That word still sounds like an insult."

Mailah smiled up at him, the corner of her lips lifting. "Then it’s perfect for today."

He glanced down suspiciously. "Perfect for what?"

"You’ll see."

********************************************************************

Mailah stood by the stairs, already dressed, her hair caught up in a loose knot, a scarf looped around her neck. 𝓯𝙧𝓮𝓮𝒘𝓮𝙗𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒆𝓵.𝓬𝓸𝒎

"Are you sure she’ll be all right alone?" Mailah asked, glancing toward the hall that led to Elin’s room.

Grayson nodded. "Elin has survived under worse circumstances than an empty house," he said lightly, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his tone.

Mailah crossed her arms. "I’m not leaving her here without protection. You said Varrow’s creatures can find cracks in wards. What if—"

Grayson raised a hand. "I anticipated this."

He took out his phone and dialed a number without looking at the screen. His expression remained neutral when the call connected.

A smooth, velvet voice answered, low enough that even Mailah felt it hum through the space.

"You still know how to summon me, I see," said the man on the other end.

Grayson’s lips curved faintly. "You still know how to answer when I do."

A few minutes later, the front doors opened soundlessly.

The man who entered did not look like someone summoned. He looked like someone who belonged to the night itself — tall, sleek, and unhurried, with an elegance that carried a dangerous undertone.

His coat was long and black, trimmed with faint metallic threads that caught the light when he moved. His hair was dark with a faint blue sheen, and his eyes were a shade of storm-grey that seemed to shift when he blinked.

Mailah’s first thought was that the supernatural world must have a factory somewhere that produced these infuriatingly perfect people.

"This is him?" she whispered to Grayson.

"Lucien Vale," Grayson confirmed. "Old acquaintance. He deals in shadow wards and protection."

Lucien inclined his head slightly, a courtly gesture that somehow didn’t feel archaic on him. "And you must be Mailah," he said, his voice smooth as wine. "The mortal Grayson can’t seem to stop talking about."

Mailah blinked, caught off guard. "Oh, he talks about me?"

Grayson shot him a warning look. "Do not start."

Lucien smiled lazily, the kind of smile that could get a lesser soul in trouble. "I start nothing. I simply observe."

He walked past them, his movements fluid, and pressed a gloved hand to one of the marble pillars. Dark filigree markings appeared beneath his palm — symbols that pulsed faintly before vanishing into the stone. The air shifted, cooler now, heavier with warded strength.

"There," Lucien murmured. "The estate will repel anything with Varrow’s scent. Even the shadows will think twice before crossing that threshold."

Mailah tilted her head, watching him. "How do you do that?"

Lucien’s lips curved. "Old habits. Old power." His eyes lingered on her for a fraction too long, as though he were reading her rather than looking. "And perhaps a bit of artistry."

"Enough," Grayson cut in smoothly. "You have your task. Keep her safe."

Lucien turned his gaze back to Grayson — two predators measuring the other. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled again, softer this time. "You’ve changed, old friend. She’s good for you."

Grayson’s reply was quiet, sharp. "Guard the estate, Lucien."

Mailah tried not to grin as she followed Grayson out. "He’s charming," she said once they were outside.

"He’s infuriating," Grayson muttered. "And dangerous."

"Which, I suspect, is your polite way of saying you like him."

He didn’t answer, which meant she was right.

The city was awake when they reached it — light slanting through glass windows, cars rolling past, and the faint scent of roasted beans drifting through the air. The café she chose was small and warm, the kind of place with crooked tables and a constant hum of life.

Grayson hesitated at the doorway. "This is... crowded."

"That’s called atmosphere," Mailah said, smiling. "Come on, it’s cozy."

He followed her in, though he looked distinctly out of place among the chatter and clinking cups. His coat was too immaculate, his posture too regal. Yet when he sat across from her, the space around them seemed to rearrange itself — quieter, more intimate, like the café itself knew who it was hosting.

Mailah stirred her coffee. "You know, I think this is one of the most human thing you’ve ever done."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sit in a noisy room and drink overpriced beans?"

"Exactly."

He leaned back, eyes narrowing. "And why, precisely, is that considered charming?"

"Because it makes you real." She smiled. "For a moment, you’re not the lord of shadows. You’re just... you."

Something softened in his expression — fleeting, but there. "You assume there’s a version of me beneath all that."

"I don’t assume," she said quietly. "I know."

He didn’t answer, but the way he looked at her — slow, deliberate, and hungry — made her pulse skip.

Their coffees arrived, steam curling between them. Mailah wrapped her hands around her cup, more for grounding than warmth.

Grayson reached over, his fingers brushing hers as he adjusted the cup’s handle. The touch was small, accidental — but the contact sparked like static. His thumb lingered just long enough for her breath to catch.

"You’re cold," he murmured.

"I’m fine."

"You’re lying," he said softly, his voice dropping. "Your pulse always stutters when you lie."

She tried to laugh, but it came out breathy. "You’ve been watching my pulse?"

"Always."

The noise of the café faded. It was still there — clinking spoons, laughter, the hiss of the espresso machine — but it no longer felt relevant. The only thing that mattered was the space between them, and how it kept shrinking.

"Grayson..." she began, but he reached out again — this time not for her cup, but for her.