Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 236: The Blue Roses

FOR MAILAH, the morning light brought no relief. She had spent the better part of the night staring at the ornate carvings on the ceiling of her bedroom, her ears straining for the sound of a creaking floorboard or the rustle of an oversized black hoodie.

Even if Seryn was "human," the word felt like a trap.

Mailah dressed slowly, her fingers trembling as she buttoned her blouse. She felt a strange, lingering heat on her lips—a ghost of Grayson’s kiss from the night before—but it was dampened by the memory of Seryn’s mocking laughter echoing from the balcony.

When she finally made her way down to the dining hall, the scent of expensive coffee and something savory, like smoked venison, filled the air.

At the head of the table sat Grayson. He looked remarkably composed for a man who had spent the previous evening being taunted by his ex-lover.

Beside him were Lucson, Mason, and Carson. Ravenson was still conspicuously absent, likely tucked away in some dark corner of the realm, nursing his disdain for family drama.

"Good morning, sunshine," Carson chirped, waving a fork at her. It was a surprisingly cheerful greeting, a departure from his usual mischievous smirk. "You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or several."

"I didn’t sleep much," Mailah admitted, sliding into a seat.

She felt a heavy gaze on her and looked up to find Grayson watching her. He didn’t smile—Grayson wasn’t exactly a man of radiant smiles—but he gave her a short, decisive nod. His eyes, usually as cold as flint, held a flicker of something softer.

Acknowledgment. Perhaps even a trace of concern.

Mailah’s eyes flickered toward the empty seat at the far end of the table. "Where is she?"

Mason, who was lazily stirring a cup of dark liquid, didn’t need to ask who "she" was. "The princess hasn’t graced us with her presence yet. Apparently, being mortal is exhausting. She’s probably still buried under three layers of silk, trying to figure out how to wake up without a demonic herald."

He leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "She’s not used to being human, you see. She’s probably forgotten that ’good manners’ dictate one should show up for breakfast before the food grows cold."

Carson let out a sharp, barking laugh. "Good manners? Seryn? Mason, don’t be ridiculous. Even when she had wings and could command the fires of the abyss, she didn’t have manners. She once threw a goblet at someone because his shoes squeaked too loudly. Being human hasn’t changed her personality; it’s just taken away her ammunition."

The humor at the table was a welcome distraction, but Lucson remained silent, his expression a mask of brooding intensity. He was staring at his sleek phone sitting next to his plate. Occasionally, he would tap it with a fingernail, watching for a glow that never came.

"I’ve been trying to reach Ysoria," Lucson said, his voice cutting through Carson’s laughter like a blade. "I’ve sent three messages and tried to call her twice. Nothing."

He looked at Mailah, and for the first time, she felt like she was truly a part of their inner circle. It wasn’t just a "human in the room" situation anymore; the way Lucson’s eyes held hers suggested he respected the part she had played in their survival.

"I want to know exactly what that banishing spell was supposed to do," Lucson continued, his brow furrowed in frustration. "It was meant to cast her out of this realm. It wasn’t meant to drop her at our front door like a discarded parcel. There is a flaw in the magic, or Ysoria played us."

"Or it was what Ysoria’s spell meant to do," Mailah whispered.

"A distinct possibility," Lucson agreed, leaning back. "The witch is powerful, but she’s also reclusive. I’ll keep calling. She’ll answer eventually, even if I have to set her building on fire to get her attention."

A hand suddenly covered Mailah’s on the table. She jumped slightly, her breath catching.

It was Grayson. His touch was warm, firm, and surprisingly grounding. He didn’t look at his brothers; he kept his focus entirely on his food.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his voice meant only for her.

"I’m just... uneasy," she replied, her heart starting to gallop.

Grayson shifted his chair closer. The movement was subtle, but in the quiet room, it felt monumental. He leaned toward her, his shoulder brushing hers. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, a sharp contrast to the damp, misty morning outside.

"Eat," he commanded gently, pushing a plate of fruit and pastries toward her. "You need your strength."

Mailah picked up a piece of fruit, but her mind was elsewhere. She was hyper-aware of Grayson’s presence—the way his leather jacket creaked when he moved, the scent of him that felt like a sanctuary, and the way his fingers lingered near hers on the tablecloth.

It was a moment of rare, simmering peace. For a few seconds, it felt as though they were just two people in a room, the weight of the supernatural world momentarily lifted.

Then, the doors to the dining hall swung open with a dramatic bang.

Seryn sauntered in, looking entirely too refreshed for someone who had supposedly been "exhausted." She was wearing a silk robe she must have pilfered from one of the guest suites—it was a deep, blood-red color that made her pale skin look almost translucent. Her midnight-black hair was tousled in a way that screamed ’effortless beauty.’

"Did I miss the toast?" Seryn asked, her voice like honey dripping over a razor. She didn’t wait for an answer, sliding into the seat right next to Grayson, effectively breaking the bubble of intimacy between him and Mailah.

"You missed the breakfast," Grayson said coldly, his hand finally retreating from Mailah’s.

Seryn pouted, a gesture that looked incredibly fake but nonetheless annoying. "Oh, Gray. Don’t be such a grump. I’m still adjusting to these... biological needs. Did you know that when you’re human, your stomach actually hurts if you don’t put things in it? It’s quite rude, really."

She reached out and snatched a grape from Grayson’s plate, popping it into her mouth and watching Mailah with a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"And you," Seryn said, pointing a slender finger at Mailah. "You look terrible. Those dark circles? Not a good look for a girl trying to keep a prince’s attention. Maybe you should try some of that ’sleep’ thing people talk about."

"I would, if I didn’t have to worry about who might be wandering into my room," Mailah retorted, her voice sharper than she intended.

Seryn laughed, a bright, melodic sound. "Honey, if I wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t do it while you were sleeping. That’s so uninspired. I’d do it while you were looking me in the eye so I could see the light go out."

"That’s enough," Lucson snapped, his voice booming.

The room went cold. Seryn just shrugged, leaning back and admiring her fingernails. "You’re all so tense. It’s a celebration! You won the game, didn’t you? You saved the human, you rule for a century, and you even got your favorite princess back. It’s a win-win-win."

Grayson didn’t look at Seryn. He turned back to Mailah, but the moment was gone. The heat had been replaced by a stiff, formal air.

Every time he tried to lean in or catch Mailah’s eye, Seryn would make a comment, drop a fork, or ask Grayson a question about a memory they supposedly shared from five hundred years ago.

"Remember the gardens, Grayson?" she purred. "The blue roses that only bloomed under a blood moon? You said they reminded you of my eyes."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "I do remember, Seryn, but I was a different person then."

"A better person," she whispered, leaning so close to him that her hair brushed his shoulder.

Mailah felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to believe Grayson when he said Seryn was a ghost, but seeing them together—the dark prince and the fallen princess—felt like looking at a masterpiece that was meant to stay whole. She felt like an interloper, a human heartbeat in a room full of eternal echoes.

Lucson stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He checked his watch and then looked at his brothers.

"The cleaning is done," Lucson announced. "The Ashford Manor is ready. We’re leaving."

Carson and Mason stood up as well, looking relieved to be moving again.

"Finally," Carson muttered. "I miss my own bed. This place is too... Grayson-y."

Lucson turned his gaze toward the end of the table, his eyes landing on Seryn. "Seryn. Get up. You’re coming with us."

Seryn’s smile faltered for the first time. She looked from Lucson to Grayson, then back again. "Excuse me? I thought I was staying here with Gray. This estate is so much more... private."

"You are a ward of the Ashford family," Lucson said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And since I am the eldest, you stay where I can keep an eye on you. The North Tower at Ashford Manor has been reinforced. You’ll be staying there."

He didn’t wait for her to agree. He looked at Mailah, then at Grayson.

"We leave in ten minutes. Seryn, if you’re not at the car, I’ll have Mason drag you there by your ’human’ hair." 𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

Lucson walked out, followed by Mason and Carson.

Seryn stood up slowly, her eyes flashing with a brief, terrifying glimpse of the princess she used to be. She looked at Mailah, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips.

"Well," Seryn whispered. "That doesn’t mean I can’t come here for unannounced visits."

She turned and sauntered out, leaving Mailah and Grayson alone in the sudden, deafening silence of the hall.

Grayson looked at Mailah. He reached out as if to touch her cheek, but his hand stopped mid-air. The shadow of Seryn seemed to hang between them like a physical wall.

"I won’t let her touch you," Grayson promised, his voice rough.

But as Mailah watched him walk out of the dining room, she couldn’t help but think: With Seryn’s wings gone, they were finally equals. But that equality was terrifying; it meant they were both fighting for the same heart, and Seryn had centuries of practice in winning.