Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 187: The Old Wound

THEY STOPPED WITHOUT CEREMONY.

Mason eased the sedan onto the shoulder of a narrow mountain road where the trees crowded close, their branches knitting together overhead like conspirators. The engine cut off. No one spoke.

Lucson was already opening his door.

Mason followed, stretching slightly as he stepped out, scanning the tree line out of habit more than concern.

Mailah stayed frozen for half a second, waiting for one of them to say something—anything—that would explain why they had chosen this exact patch of forest that looked identical to the last ten kilometers of forest.

They didn’t.

They also didn’t tell her to stay put.

Which felt deliberate.

With a quiet huff, she grabbed her jacket and climbed out of the car.

The air here felt... old. Not heavy exactly, but layered, like the place remembered too much and hadn’t bothered to forget any of it.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves in uneven bands, catching dust motes that hovered longer than they should have.

Lucson and Mason walked a few paces ahead and stopped at a massive oak just off the road. Its trunk was thick and scarred, bark split in places as though something had once tried to claw its way out.

Mailah joined them, gaze flicking between the tree and the two brothers. "Okay," she said. "I’m officially lost. Why are we staring at an aggressively haunted tree?"

Mason snorted softly. Lucson remained silent.

She turned to Mason. "Please tell me this isn’t one of those demon things where I’m supposed to just... feel the significance."

Mason glanced at the oak, then at her. "This," he said, almost gently, "is where five demons were thrown into exile on Earth."

Mailah blinked.

Once.

Then again.

"...Excuse me?"

Mason smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing grin he usually wore.

"Long time ago," he said. "Violent politics. Family drama. You already know the story. Grayson told you."

Mailah’s breath caught anyway.

She stared at the oak, really looked at it this time—the way the bark twisted unnaturally, the way the ground around its roots dipped as if something enormous had once torn through and the earth never quite recovered.

"This is where you came through," she said slowly. Not a question. "You and your brothers."

Mason nodded once. "This is where we exited."

Her chest tightened. She took a half step back, equal parts awe and instinctive self-preservation. "So this isn’t just some symbolic site. This is an actual breach."

"A scar," Mason corrected. "One that never healed right."

She dragged her gaze downward—to the roots, the soil, the faint hum she hadn’t noticed until now.

Lucson moved.

Mailah turned toward him. He stood closer to the oak than either of them now, one hand resting against the trunk. Not reverent. Not cautious. Familiar—like touching bone that had once been broken.

"And we’re here," she said carefully, "because you think someone else used it."

Lucson’s gaze never left the tree, finally speaking to her again. "If someone crossed between realms," he said, "they wouldn’t choose a clean border. They’d use an old wound. Residual power distorts detection."

Mason nodded. "Masks signatures. Confuses trackers. Makes mistakes easier to hide."

Mailah exhaled slowly. "So if Grayson—or whoever took him—came through..."

"This would be the most efficient exit point," Lucson finished.

Something coiled tight in her chest.

She stepped closer to the oak before she could stop herself. Her fingers hovered inches from the bark.

"Does it still work?" she asked. "I mean... could something really cross here?"

Lucson’s mouth curved faintly. "That depends on who is trying."

She shot him a flat look. "You say that like it’s supposed to be reassuring."

"It isn’t."

Mason crouched near the roots, brushing his fingers through the soil. The humor drained from his face, replaced by something sharp and intent.

"There’s movement," he said.

Mailah’s pulse jumped. "Recent like... what?"

Lucson turned sharply. "You feel that?"

"Yes," Mason replied. "And you do too."

Lucson’s jaw tightened. He closed his eyes, pressing his palm harder against the bark. The air vibrated—not loudly, but insistently, like a frequency just beyond hearing.

Mailah watched him, heart racing. When he focused like this, the illusion of humanity fell away.

He looked older. Heavier. Like something the world had learned to accommodate rather than understand.

Then his eyes opened.

"Someone came through," Lucson said. "Just recently."

Her breath stuttered. "Who? Some demon?"

"No." His voice softened just enough to matter. "If it was just some demon, I’d know."

A strange thrill coiled in her chest, mingled with fear. The idea that a demon might have passed through here, that he could have stood in the same space where they now stood, made the hairs along her arms rise.

"Does it still work?" she asked, curiosity overtaking caution. "I mean... could someone else use it now?"

Lucson exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against the tree. The air vibrated subtly, almost imperceptibly. Mailah could feel it in her chest—energy, tense and residual, not her own, not entirely of this world.

She shook her head and glanced at the tree again. "If this place is so important, why isn’t it guarded?"

Lucson’s dry chuckle was humorless. "Because most things that come through here don’t survive long enough to leave a trace."

Another wind stirred through the branches overhead, teasing with sounds of whispers and movement.

Mailah stepped closer to him instinctively. He noticed, eyes dropping briefly to her before returning to the tree. Silence stretched, thick, charged.

Then, finally, Lucson turned fully toward her. His expression, unreadable and sharp, carried the weight of centuries. "Mailah," he said carefully, almost reluctantly, "I suspect who crossed realms here and took Grayson."

Her stomach froze. "Who?"

He inhaled slowly, voice measured, unflinching. "Seryn."

"Who?" Mailah asked, confusion flickering to alarm.

Lucson’s gaze hardened. "Seryn. The demon princess responsible for our exile three centuries ago."

Her breath caught sharply. The name resonated with every tale Grayson had told her—the stories of betrayal, cunning, and the cruelty of power wielded with malicious grace.

"Wait," she said, stepping closer, mind racing. "Seryn? The one... you said... the princess who orchestrated the exile? That Seryn?"

"Yes," Lucson confirmed, expression unyielding. "She hasn’t been active openly for centuries, but she has motive, means, and... opportunity. This would be her signature—subtle, effective, and personal."

Mailah felt the air press in around her, the forest suddenly too still. "Why would she take Grayson? What... what could she want with him now?"

"I don’t know," Lucson said calmly, though the words carried ice.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "That’s... impossible. He’s... he’s my fiancé. He’s—he’s... he’s not hers."

Lucson’s eyes softened just enough to convey the truth without pity. "Grayson is strong. Fierce. Determined. But she knows him. And she knows what he values. You. And through you, she wields leverage."

Mailah’s heart thudded violently. She had thought she understood danger, betrayal, and strategy, but nothing had prepared her for this—Seryn, centuries-old, cunning beyond reckoning, and capable of manipulating forces she barely understood.

"Then we follow her trail," Mason said firmly, breaking the haze of her fear. "We don’t chase blindly, but we move. Every step counts."

She drew a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. "Fine. We follow her."

Lucson’s gaze lingered on her, a measure of assessment passing over his features. "Be careful. Seryn doesn’t make mistakes, and she anticipates those who act on impulse."

Mailah’s pulse spiked, but determination overrode fear. "I’m not acting on impulse. I’m acting on loyalty. Love. And if she thinks she can manipulate him away from me—"

"Then she will have underestimated you," Lucson finished for her, almost as if reading her resolve like a script.

Mason smirked faintly. "Finally, some confidence. Good."

Mailah glared at him briefly before shifting her attention back to the forest path. Somewhere out there, Seryn was moving, scheming, maybe torturing Grayson.

And they were the only ones standing between the past’s mistakes and the present’s catastrophe.

She swallowed the rising panic, straightened her spine, and followed the brothers deeper into the trees. Every step, every sound, every shadow felt like a message, a puzzle, a warning—and yet, beneath the tension, a current of purpose surged through her.

Because Grayson was out there.

And she would not let Seryn—or anyone—win.

She tightened her grip on the strap of her bag, heart thundering, mind racing. The hunt had begun, and there would be no retreat.

The forest grew denser as they moved, branches snapping underfoot with surprising sharpness. The sunlight filtered sporadically through the canopy, painting the mossy floor in jagged patterns.

Mailah’s senses sharpened with every step; the air itself seemed charged, vibrating faintly under her skin.

Lucson moved ahead with that quiet, predatory grace that always made her feel simultaneously safe and exposed. Mason followed close behind, alert yet relaxed, as if he could sense every hidden corner of the forest.

Mailah’s own footsteps felt deliberate, calculated—not just following, but learning the rhythm of the land, the cadence of the hunt.

"Do you think she knows we’re coming?" Mailah asked, her voice low.

Lucson’s gaze swept the shadows. "She might. She may already be aware. That’s why we move quietly. We leave no imprint she can track."

Mason’s smirk returned faintly. "And yet here you are, striding boldly into her playground. Courage or stupidity?"

"Neither," she said, tightening her jaw. "Necessity."

The wind stirred again, carrying whispers that might have been leaves—or warnings.

Mailah felt it prickling along her neck, a subtle reminder that Seryn’s power wasn’t just in what she did, but in the atmosphere she could manipulate.

Lucson paused, raising a hand. "There."

A faint shimmer in the air, almost imperceptible, marked the trail of passage. The residual energy pulsed softly, guiding them.

Mailah’s stomach tightened with anticipation. Every second from here on out mattered. Every misstep could cost Grayson—or worse, cost them all.

And she would not allow it.