Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 125: The Bedtime Distraction

"VARROW?" Grayson’s voice was a low growl, more vibration than sound.

Lucien didn’t answer at once. His eyes flicked toward the garden, where the mist had thickened into lazy ribbons curling around the hedges. "If it was," he said finally, "then he’s testing your patience before your defenses."

"I don’t like tests," Grayson muttered.

"You never did," Lucien said lightly, the corners of his mouth curving. "Which is ironic, considering your entire existence is one."

Grayson shot him a glare that could have scorched marble, but Lucien only raised a brow, unbothered. "Relax, demon. Your little human is safe."

"She’s not mine," Grayson said automatically, though the words felt false the moment they left his mouth.

Lucien’s smile deepened, cruel and knowing. "No?" He tilted his head, a faint shimmer of silver feathers ghosting into sight before vanishing again. "Then why does your aura react every time she says your name?"

Grayson didn’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, he turned toward the house. "If something crosses that perimeter again—"

"I’ll know before you do," Lucien interrupted. His gaze slid upward toward the glowing edge of the wards. "Get some rest, Grayson. You’re starting to look almost human."

That earned him a glare sharp enough to cut celestial bone.

But Grayson didn’t stay. He vanished inside with a swish of his coat, the air cooling in his wake.

Mailah couldn’t sleep.

Not after the words fallen angel. Not after seeing Grayson’s eyes when he said it—eyes that looked as if they’d seen Heaven burn.

The room was too quiet. Too aware of her breathing. Even the shadows seemed to lean in, listening.

She tried counting sheep, then clouds, then demons she hadn’t met yet—but her brain refused to cooperate.

"Perfect," she muttered, sitting up. "My first sleepless night in a demon’s estate."

She kicked the blanket off and padded toward the window, the moonlight spilling silver across her bare feet. Somewhere downstairs, she heard voices—low, even, masculine.

Grayson. And Lucien.

Her curiosity, naturally, began to stretch its legs.

"I’m not snooping," she whispered, already halfway to the door. "Just... ensuring the mysterious immortal men aren’t arguing again."

She eased the door open. It creaked like it had been waiting centuries for the drama.

Mailah winced. "Shhh," she told the door. "You’ll wake the brooding one."

And then—thud.

She froze.

Another sound followed. A faint rustle. Something outside her window.

Her heart gave a startled leap. "Okay," she breathed. "Probably a raccoon. Or a demonic raccoon. Either way, I can handle this."

She reached for the nearest weapon—again, the owl-shaped candlestick. "Deja vu," she muttered. "You and me, bird boy."

Gripping her absurd weapon, she tiptoed to the window.

Silence.

Then—knock.

A polite, knock.

Mailah’s pulse stuttered. "What kind of demon knocks?!"

Cautiously, she peered through the curtains... and came face-to-face with—Lucien.

Upside down.

Floating.

Holding a tray.

She yelped, dropping the candlestick. "Good grief, you could warn people!"

Lucien blinked, hanging midair like gravity was a suggestion. "I did knock."

"Through a window!"

"Front doors are for mortals," he said serenely. "Besides, Grayson locked me out. I brought tea."

She stared at the tray. "At midnight?"

"It calms the nerves." His faint smile suggested he wasn’t only talking about tea.

Before she could argue, another voice cut in sharply from the hallway. "Lucien."

Grayson stood in the doorway—barefoot, shirt unbuttoned at the throat, looking every inch the annoyed gothic novel hero.

"What are you doing?," he said flatly.

Lucien righted himself with insulting grace and stepped inside through the window. "A gesture of peace," he said mildly. "The mortal seemed restless."

"I’m not restless," Mailah lied, still clutching the candlestick like it was Excalibur.

Grayson’s gaze dropped to her makeshift weapon, then to the angel. "You’re teaching her terrible habits."

Lucien looked offended. "I’m encouraging vigilance."

"She’s holding an owl."

"A symbol of wisdom," Lucien countered.

Mailah, caught in the middle, lifted the owl slightly. "He’s not wrong."

Grayson pinched the bridge of his nose. "If I murder him, does that count as heresy or pest control?"

Lucien smirked. "Both."

Mailah couldn’t help it—she laughed. The sound broke the tension like sunlight through fog.

Grayson sighed, defeated. "Put the candlestick down before you hurt yourself."

"Or you," Lucien added pleasantly.

"Out," Grayson said.

Lucien only tilted his head, all amusement. "You’re adorable when you think you’re in charge."

Mailah leaned toward Grayson, whispering conspiratorially, "He kind of has a point."

Grayson shot her a look that promised retribution later—though the faint curve at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Lucien set the tray down on her nightstand with the flourish of a butler from Heaven’s lost opera. "Chamomile and honey. I find mortals respond well to warm things."

Then he winked—yes, winked—and vanished into a ripple of shadow and light.

Mailah blinked. "Does he... always just disappear like that?"

"Yes," Grayson said tightly. "Usually right before I can strangle him."

She snorted, taking a sip of the tea anyway. It was perfect. Infuriatingly perfect.

He lingered in the doorway, watching her with that half-suspicious, half-concerned expression he seemed to reserve only for her.

"What?" she asked.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer—or a curse—before walking in. "You should sleep."

"Can’t."

"Because of Lucien?"

"No." She looked at him over the rim of her cup. "Because of you."

He froze mid-step. "Me?"

"You’re very distracting," she said.

A low, rough laugh escaped him—one that sounded pulled from somewhere deep. "You have no idea what you do to my self-control."

Her pulse skipped. "Maybe I do."

He moved closer, the air between them tightening. The firelight from the hallway framed him in gold and shadow.

"Mailah," he said, her name low and careful, like a secret he wasn’t supposed to say aloud.

She set her cup down. "You don’t have to keep warning me."

"I’m not warning you," he murmured. "I’m warning myself."

He stopped a breath away, his hand brushing a stray curl from her face. The warmth of his fingers lingered, trailing along her jaw, her throat.

For a moment, the world held its breath.

The air between them thrummed—alive, suspended, unbearably close.

Then—

Thud.

A crash from downstairs.

Mailah flinched. "Tell me that was the wind."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "That was—"

Another thump, followed by a sharp, indignant yowl.

"...a cat," he finished flatly.

Mailah blinked. "A what?"

Before she could react, a blur of black fur shot through the open doorway and streaked across the room like a possessed shadow.

Grayson’s expression didn’t change. "Mrs. Baker adopted it yesterday. I forgot."

The cat leapt—straight onto his leg.

Mailah dissolved into laughter, clutching her stomach. "Oh yes, truly terrifying. The mighty demon lord, defeated by a house cat."

Grayson scowled down at the creature as it wrapped its claws around his pants. "It’s attacking my foot."

"Maybe it senses your inner warmth," she teased, eyes gleaming.

"I don’t have inner warmth."

"You do now."

Her words hung in the air—half challenge, half confession. The laughter between them faded into something deeper, heavier. The cat hopped away, utterly uninterested in the tension it had just saved them from.

Grayson’s gaze lingered on her lips. "You should really sleep."

"Make me."

His head tilted, dark amusement flickering beneath that dangerous calm. "You really want to test me, don’t you?"

"Maybe I do," she whispered.

He moved before she could think—closing the space between them with a slow, deliberate step. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, fingertips lingering against her skin as if memorizing the shape of her.

He kissed her—hard, deep, and claiming. Every trace of restraint melted into heat, into hunger. Her hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer as if the air itself had become too thin to survive without him.

Grayson’s mouth trailed to her jaw, to the curve of her neck. His voice rasped against her skin. "You drive me insane."

"Good," she breathed. "It’s mutual."

The moment stretched, pulsing with heat—until a sudden mewl sliced through the haze.

They froze.

The cat sat on the nightstand, tail flicking, glaring at them as if they were the ones being indecent.

Mailah blinked, cheeks flushed. "...Is it judging us?"

Grayson exhaled, half growl, half laugh. "Apparently."

The cat yowled again, louder this time, then jumped between them on the bed like a self-appointed chaperone.

Mailah burst into helpless laughter, burying her face against his chest. "I can’t believe we were just cockblocked by a cat."

Grayson’s lips curved against her hair. "That thing is going to mysteriously vanish by morning."

She smacked his arm playfully. "You wouldn’t dare."

"Try me."

Their laughter softened into something gentler, the earlier heat simmering rather than fading.

He traced a slow line down her arm, voice roughened. "You should sleep before I forget why I stopped."

Her smile turned languid. "You mean before the cat stopped you."

He leaned close again, his breath brushing her ear. "Sleep, Mailah."

For a long moment, neither moved. Then, with visible effort, Grayson stepped back, jaw tight. "Goodnight, Mailah."

Her voice trembled with warmth. "Goodnight, Grayson."

He lingered a second too long before leaving, the faint scent of smoke and cedar trailing behind.

Mailah collapsed back onto her bed, dazed and smiling. "Fallen angels, brooding demons, and one very judgmental cat. Totally normal."

The cat purred beside her, curling into a ball—its tail flicking like it was laughing.

Outside her door, Grayson paused, hand resting on the knob. His eyes softened, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips before he turned away into the dim hall.