Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband

MAILAH WOKE UP to the sensation that her brain had been replaced with broken glass and her body had declared war on itself.

Everything hurt.

Her head was pounding like something was trying to escape from inside her skull. Her mouth tasted like she’d been licking ancient copper coins. Her stomach was performing acrobatics that would make an Olympic gymnast jealous.

And the light—oh God, the light streaming through the windows was personally offensive.

"No," she moaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Turn off the sun. Cancel daylight."

"That’s not within my current abilities." Grayson’s voice came from somewhere nearby, low and careful. "Though I’ve closed the curtains. How are you feeling?"

"Like death. Is this what death feels like? Because if so, I have some complaints to file with the universe."

She heard movement, then felt the bed dip as he sat beside her. A cool hand touched her forehead, and she leaned into it shamelessly.

"You drank approximately four shots of demon alcohol," Grayson said. "Which is distilled from nightmare essence and aged in realms where time moves differently. For a human, the equivalent would be somewhere between twelve and fifteen shots of high-proof alcohol, plus hallucinogenic properties, plus a minor curse."

Mailah cracked one eye open to glare at him. "You have cursed alcohol in your minibar?"

"It’s not cursed for demons. For humans, it’s... inadvisable." His expression was carefully neutral. "I should have labeled it. Or locked it. Or removed it entirely from a room where a human would be staying."

"Not your fault I’m an idiot who drinks mystery liquor." She tried to sit up and immediately regretted it. Her stomach lurched, and she made an undignified sound. "Oh no. Oh no, this is happening."

Grayson moved with supernatural speed, producing a waste bin just in time.

The next few minutes were deeply undignified.

When she finally finished, Grayson was there with water and a damp cloth, his expression unreadable.

"I hate everything," Mailah announced, accepting the water with shaking hands. "Especially demon alcohol. And decisions. And yesterday."

"Noted." He took the bin away and returned with a clean one, setting it within easy reach. "Dr. Morrison should arrive within the hour. He’ll have something for the symptoms."

"Dr. Morrison?" Mailah’s foggy brain tried to process this. "You called Dr. Morrison? For a hangover?"

"For a supernatural poisoning, yes." Grayson settled back in the chair by the bed—the chair he’d apparently spent the entire night in, if his slightly rumpled appearance was any indication. "Standard protocol for human exposure to demon substances."

"You stayed all night."

"You were unconscious after consuming a potentially lethal amount of otherworldly alcohol. Where else would I be?"

Despite feeling like microwaved death, Mailah felt something warm bloom in her chest. "You could have been handling the security stuff. Being cold and tactical. Making strategic decisions."

"I made the strategic decision to ensure you were still breathing." His voice was carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed him. "Everything else could wait."

Before Mailah could respond—before she could even process what that admission meant—there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Grayson called.

The door opened to reveal Dr. Soren Morrison, looking exactly as Mailah remembered. He carried his leather medical bag and wore an expression of long-suffering patience.

"Mailah," he said. "What manner of supernatural mishap have you stumbled into this time?"

"Soren," Mailah managed weakly. "How lovely to see you. I drank demon alcohol."

"Of course you did." He set his bag down and began unpacking various bottles and instruments that looked like they belonged in a Victorian apothecary. "And how much demon alcohol did you consume?"

"Four glasses?" Mailah offered. "Maybe five?"

Dr. Morrison’s eyebrows rose. "Four glasses of...?"

"Infernum Reserve," Grayson supplied. "The 1847."

The doctor’s head swiveled toward Grayson with an expression of disbelief. "You let her drink Infernum Reserve? That bottle is distilled from concentrated nightmare essence and aged in temporal anomalies. It’s not even meant for young demons, let alone humans."

"I didn’t let her do anything. I found her already intoxicated." Grayson’s jaw tightened. "I should have removed it from the room. I wasn’t thinking about—"

"Human safety protocols?" Dr. Morrison interrupted. "Yes, you’ve never been particularly good at those, even before—" He stopped abruptly, glancing between them.

Mailah caught the pause. There was history there. History that Grayson didn’t remember because of his memory loss.

"Before what?" Grayson asked, his voice sharp.

"Before you had a human living in your primary residence," Dr. Morrison finished smoothly. "It changes the safety considerations." He turned back to Mailah, all business. "Let me see your eyes."

He produced a small light that glowed with a soft, golden luminescence—definitely not a normal medical penlight. When he shined it in her eyes, Mailah felt a strange warmth spread through her skull, like sunshine dissolving the worst of the headache.

"Hmm," Dr. Morrison said. "Severe temporal disorientation, reality membrane thinning, and what appears to be a minor truth curse. Nothing permanent, fortunately. You’re remarkably resilient for a human."

"Is that a compliment?" Mailah asked.

"It’s an observation. Most humans who consume demon alcohol end up with permanent neurological damage or, in extreme cases, involuntary realm-shifting." He pulled out a vial of liquid that shimmered like liquid gold. "This will counteract the worst of it. Fair warning: it tastes like concentrated sunlight and regret."

"Can’t be worse than how I feel now."

"You’d be surprised." He handed her the vial. "Drink it all at once."

Mailah uncorked it and downed the contents in one gulp.

He was right. It tasted like someone had liquified the concept of summer mornings and mixed it with bitter disappointment.

But within seconds, the pounding in her head began to ease, and her stomach stopped threatening revolution.

"Oh," she breathed. "Oh, that’s better. That’s so much better."

"Phoenix essence," Dr. Morrison explained, packing away his supplies. "Specifically formulated to counteract infernal substances. You’ll still feel somewhat off for the next few hours, but the worst has passed."

"Thank you," Mailah said sincerely. "I owe you."

"You owe me approximately seventeen favors at this point, but who’s counting?" His tone was dry, but there was fondness underneath. "Though to be fair, most of those incidents were caused by your attachment to this particular demon." He nodded toward Grayson.

"I don’t have that many incidents," Mailah protested weakly.

"Let’s see. There was the chandelier incident, where you nearly died and Grayson depleted his reserves saving you. The dream realm incident. The full feeding incident, where you volunteered to be drained. The effects of a vigorous activity you had with his pre-exile version. And now the demon alcohol incident." Dr. Morrison ticked them off on his fingers. "I’m beginning to think you have a supernatural death wish."

Mailah felt her face heat. "When you list it like that, it sounds worse than it is."

"It sounds exactly as bad as it is." Dr. Morrison turned to Grayson. "And you. I understand you’ve lost your recent memories, but surely basic human safety protocols aren’t that difficult to remember?"

Grayson’s expression had gone carefully blank. "I’m fully aware."

Mailah watched the exchange with growing curiosity.

"Did we—before the memory loss—did we get along?" Grayson suddenly asked, and Mailah heard genuine uncertainty in his voice.

Dr. Morrison’s expression softened fractionally. "You once told me that I was the only being you trusted to tell you the truth, even when it was uncomfortable. I took that as a compliment."

"That sounds like something I would say."

"It was. You’ve always valued honesty, even when it damages your carefully constructed emotional walls." Dr. Morrison picked up his bag. "Mailah should rest for the remainder of the day. No strenuous activity, no additional demon substances, and definitely no more emotional confessions while intoxicated."

Mailah’s eyes widened. "I made emotional confessions?"

"You made several," Grayson said quietly. "Though you probably don’t remember them."

"Oh no." She put her face in her hands. "What did I say?"

"We’ll discuss it later," Grayson said. "When you’re feeling better and less likely to die of embarrassment."

"I want to die of embarrassment right now, actually. It would be less painful than this suspense."

Dr. Morrison let out a sound that might have been a laugh. "You two are exhausting. I’ll show myself out." He paused at the door. "Grayson, try not to let her consume any more cursed substances. Mailah, try not to get yourself killed while I’m gone. I’ll check in tomorrow to ensure there are no lingering effects."

After he left, the room fell into awkward silence.

Mailah was acutely aware that she was in Grayson’s bed, wearing yesterday’s clothes, having apparently spent the night making drunken confessions that she couldn’t remember but that he clearly did.

"So," she said finally. "On a scale of one to ’I can never look at you again,’ how bad were the things I said?"

Grayson leaned back in his chair, studying her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.