Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 176: The Influence Leech

"RAVENSON, you’ll handle the Hollow," Lucson said, already moving toward the door with the kind of authority that suggested he’d never needed to ask permission for anything in his life. "Mason, check your sources in the underground networks. Carson, work your contacts in the chaos sectors."

"And what will you be doing?" Mason asked.

"Following a different lead." Lucson paused at the threshold, turning back to survey the room. His light gray eyes settled on Mailah with calculating precision. "You’re coming with me."

It wasn’t a question.

Mailah blinked. "I—what?"

"You volunteered to help," Lucson said, his voice carrying that particular quality that made disagreement feel somehow churlish. "This is you helping."

"Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to go with Ravenson?" Mailah asked, aware even as she spoke that arguing with Lucson probably ranked somewhere between futile and actively stupid on the scale of good decisions. "Since he’s investigating The Hollow, and I’m the one who got the call?"

"Ravenson’s meeting with Kieran," Lucson replied with infinite patience. "An incubus who will respond better to another demon than to Grayson’s distraught human bride. My contacts, however..." His smile could have sold ice to winter itself. "They respond very well to human elements. Makes things seem less threatening. More... personal."

"You mean you want to use her as bait," Mason said flatly.

"I mean," Lucson corrected, "that showing up with Grayson’s bride sends a specific message. One that opens doors demon presence alone would keep firmly closed."

Carson laughed—sharp and genuine. "He means yes, you’re bait, but very effective bait."

"I prefer the term ’strategic asset,’" Lucson said mildly.

Mailah looked at Ravenson, hoping for some kind of rescue, but the conflict-feeding demon just shrugged. "He’s not wrong. The contacts Lucson has wouldn’t talk to you without him, and they might not talk to him without you. It’s actually sound strategy."

"See?" Lucson gestured as though the matter was settled. "Sound strategy. Now, we’re wasting time. Every minute we spend debating is a minute whoever has Grayson gets farther away."

The mention of Grayson snapped Mailah’s priorities back into sharp focus.

Fine. If going with the most dangerous of the Ashford brothers was what it took to find Grayson, she’d do it. Even if the prospect of spending extended time alone with someone who fed on influence and admiration made her deeply uncomfortable.

"Fine," she said. "But I’m not ’strategic asset.’ I’m helping find Grayson."

"Of course," Lucson agreed, his tone suggesting he saw absolutely no difference between the two. "Shall we?"

Twenty minutes later, Mailah found herself in the passenger seat of Lucson’s car—a sleek black vehicle that he drove like it was personally offended by the concept of speed limits.

The Tuscan countryside blurred past the windows as Lucson navigated winding roads with the casual precision of someone who’d been driving for longer than most countries had existed.

Neither of them spoke.

The silence stretched, growing heavier with each passing mile.

Mailah kept her eyes fixed on the landscape, hyperaware of Lucson’s presence beside her. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on the center console, radiating the kind of effortless confidence that probably made world leaders stumble over themselves to gain his approval.

Don’t look at him, she told herself firmly. Don’t engage. Just focus on finding Grayson.

But it was like trying not to think about a particular word—the act of avoiding it made it loom larger in her consciousness. She could feel Lucson’s presence like gravity, a constant pull that suggested if she just turned to look at him, if she just acknowledged him properly, something magnificent would happen.

Grayson had warned her about this.

Lucson feeds on influence and admiration.

He’s probably the most dangerous of all of us because his victims never realize they’re being consumed.

They’re too busy feeling grateful for his attention.

Was he doing it now? Was she already being fed on without realizing it?

The thought sent a spike of panic through her chest.

Mailah gave Lucson a brief side-glance, trying to assess whether she felt any different. Whether that pull she was experiencing was supernatural manipulation or just her own stressed-out brain reacting to proximity to an objectively attractive demon.

"I’m not," Lucson said suddenly, his eyes never leaving the road.

Mailah’s head snapped toward him. "Not what?"

"I’m not feeding on you, so you can stop worrying." His tone remained conversational, almost bored. "Your admiration levels are too low to sustain anything useful anyway. You’re too busy being terrified and missing Grayson to properly appreciate my presence."

Heat flooded Mailah’s cheeks. "I wasn’t—"

"You were." He took a turn with surgical precision, the car hugging the curve like it was magnetized to the asphalt. "It’s natural to worry. Grayson probably told you all sorts of dire warnings about me. The dangerous one. The one who consumes people’s devotion without them noticing."

His lips curved slightly. "He’s not entirely wrong, for what it’s worth. But I have enough self-control not to feed on my brother’s traumatized bride while we’re searching for him. That would be in poor taste."

"How reassuring," Mailah said dryly.

"I thought so." Lucson’s expression remained perfectly pleasant. "Besides, you’re useless to me in your current state. Feeding on someone requires them to feel genuine admiration or desire for influence. Right now, you mostly just want to punch me in the face for being difficult. That’s not exactly high-quality sustenance."

Despite everything—the stress, the fear, the absolute weirdness of discussing supernatural feeding mechanics with a demon who could apparently read her emotional state like a book—Mailah felt a laugh bubble up in her throat.

"You know," she said, "Grayson mentioned you were dangerous. He didn’t mention you were also kind of an asshole."

"The two aren’t mutually exclusive." Lucson’s smile widened infinitesimally. "In fact, I’ve found they complement each other quite nicely."

The tension in the car eased slightly. Not disappeared—Mailah wasn’t stupid enough to think Lucson was suddenly safe—but lessened enough that she could breathe without feeling like she was preparing for battle.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Florence. There’s a gallery owner who owes me a favor." Lucson’s fingers drummed once against the steering wheel—the first sign of anything resembling nervous energy she’d seen from him. "He has connections to certain... entities that exist between human and supernatural worlds. The kind of beings who hear things that never make it to official channels."

"Like The Hollow?"

"The Hollow isn’t a monolith. It’s a network. Networks have nodes, intersections, points where information flows." His eyes flickered toward her briefly before returning to the road. "This particular node happens to enjoy collecting art and cultivating relationships with influential people. Which means he talks to me."

"Because you’re influential."

"Because I make people want to be influential. There’s a difference." Lucson’s voice carried a note of something that might have been pride or might have been simple statement of fact. "Matteo doesn’t just collect art. He collects relationships. Access. The ability to say he knows people who matter. I provide that. In exchange, he provides information."

Mailah processed this. "So you’re using your demon ability to maintain a supernatural intelligence network."

"Among other things. It’s amazing what people will tell you when they think impressing you will elevate their social standing." He said it without particular malice—just observation. "Matteo might have valuable information. Information for art, art for access, access for more information. He’ll know who might be involved in Grayson’s disappearance."

"And he’ll just tell you?"

"He’ll tell me because the alternative—disappointing me, losing access to the influence I provide—is worse than whatever consequences that might be imposed on him." Lucson’s smile turned sharp. "That’s how you build lasting intelligence networks. Not through fear, but through making people believe their value comes from pleasing you."

The casual ruthlessness of it made Mailah’s stomach turn slightly. This was what Grayson had meant.

Lucson didn’t need to threaten or torture. He just made people need his approval so desperately they’d do anything to maintain it.

"Does it bother you?" she asked before she could stop herself. "Manipulating people like that?"

Lucson was quiet for a long moment. The car ate up miles of countryside, cypress trees and vineyards flowing past like a Renaissance painting come to life.

"Does it bother Grayson," he finally said, "that he feeds on desire? That his very nature involves manipulating attraction and hunger? Does it bother Mason that he lives on fear? Carson that he thrives on chaos?"

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the only answer I have." His voice remained level, but something in it suggested actual thought rather than deflection. "We are what we are, Mailah. I feed on influence and admiration. Fighting that would be like fighting the need to breathe. The question isn’t whether it bothers me—the question is whether I use it responsibly."

"And do you?"

"I don’t feed to death. I don’t destroy lives. I don’t leave people husks of their former selves." He took another turn, and buildings began appearing in the distance—Florence rising from the hills like a crown of terracotta and marble. "Is it manipulation? Yes. But so is every political campaign, every advertisement, every charismatic leader who ever inspired followers. I’m just more honest about what I’m doing."

"That’s a hell of a rationalization."

"It’s the rationalization that’s kept me sane for three centuries." For the first time, Lucson’s voice carried something that sounded almost like genuine emotion. "You think abstaining like Grayson did is noble? It nearly killed him. You think losing control is better? Look what happened to Carson after decades of feeding too recklessly. We all choose how to survive. This is mine."

Mailah wanted to argue, to point out the ethical problems with building an entire existence on making people dependent on your approval. But she also remembered Grayson’s face when he’d talked about his brothers—the complicated mixture of love and frustration and guilt that suggested their relationship was far more nuanced than simple good versus evil.

"Did you come to check on Grayson?" she asked instead. "After his first feeding? Or did you come to gloat?"

Lucson’s hands tightened fractionally on the steering wheel. "I came because Grayson breaking three centuries of abstinence meant something. It meant he’d finally stopped trying to die slowly and started living. Whether that terrified him or not was secondary to the fact that he’d finally done it."

"That’s not an answer either."

"Isn’t it?" He pulled into Florence proper, navigating narrow streets with the ease of intimate familiarity. "You asked if I came to check on him or gloat. I came because he’s my brother. Both checking and gloating were involved."

The car slowed as they entered what looked like an art district—galleries and studios lining cobblestone streets, tourists and locals mixing in the afternoon light.

Lucson parked in front of a gallery that looked expensive even from the outside. Glass and steel and carefully curated displays that screamed wealth and taste in equal measure.

"Final advice before we go in," Lucson said, turning to face her fully for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. "Matteo will try to charm you. He’ll be gracious, interested, flattering. Don’t fall for it. He’s looking for leverage, always. The moment he thinks he can use you to gain my favor or Grayson’s, he will."

"So trust no one?"

"Trust me," Lucson corrected. "Because right now, finding Grayson is more valuable to me than anything Matteo could offer. Which makes us temporarily aligned. After we find him?" He shrugged elegantly. "We’ll reassess."

"That’s charmingly honest."

"I find honesty works better than people expect." He opened his door. "Shall we?"

Mailah climbed out of the car, her legs slightly unsteady after the drive and the conversation and the sustained low-level stress of being alone with a demon who could make people worship him without them realizing it.