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

THE DOOR BURST OPEN with the kind of enthusiastic violence that could only mean one thing.

Carson.

Grayson didn’t move from his position beside Mailah—didn’t remove his arm from around her waist or disentangle their hands. He simply turned his head and fixed his youngest brother with a look that could have frozen hellfire.

Carson stopped mid-stride, taking in the scene: Grayson lying beside Mailah on the bed, both fully clothed but undeniably intimate, her sleeping peacefully against him.

"Oh," Carson said, his grin spreading like wildfire. "Oh, this is delicious."

"Leave." Grayson’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough menace to make lesser beings reconsider their life choices.

"I’m not leaving. This is the best thing I’ve seen all week." Carson pulled out his phone. "I need photographic evidence that the Ice King has melted."

"Carson, I will end you."

"You’re threatening me in a whisper because you don’t want to wake her up." Carson’s grin widened impossibly further. "That’s adorable. You’re being adorable. I didn’t know you could do adorable."

Grayson carefully extracted himself from Mailah, moving with supernatural grace to ensure she didn’t stir. Then he was across the room in a blur of movement, his hand clamping over Carson’s phone before his brother could capture the moment.

"Hey!" Carson protested. "That’s an invasion of privacy!"

"You burst into my bedroom without knocking."

"The door was unlocked. That’s basically an invitation."

"It absolutely is not."

They were standing nose to nose now, engaged in the kind of silent sibling standoff that had probably been perfected over centuries.

Carson was still grinning. Grayson looked like he was seriously reconsidering his stance on fratricide.

"You’re holding her hand while she sleeps," Carson said in a stage whisper. "That’s the most romantic thing you’ve done since—" He stopped abruptly, his expression shifting. "Well. Since after the memory loss, anyway."

Something flickered across Grayson’s face. "What did I do before?"

"Nope. Not telling you. That would ruin the fun of watching you figure it out yourself." Carson pocketed his phone, though his grin remained. "But I will say that past-you was significantly less grumpy about public displays of affection."

"There’s nothing public about my private bedroom."

"It’s public if I’m here."

"You weren’t invited."

"Details." Carson glanced back at the bed where Mailah was still sleeping peacefully. "She looks better. The essence must be working."

"Dr. Morrison said she needs rest."

"And you’re providing... bedside supervision?" Carson waggled his eyebrows. "Very thorough of you."

"I’m ensuring she doesn’t experience adverse effects from the poisoning."

"By lying in bed with her. While holding her hand. And looking at her like you’re in love with her." Carson’s tone shifted slightly, losing some of its teasing edge. "Gray, you’re about three seconds away from doing something really stupid like admitting you have feelings."

"I don’t—" Grayson stopped, his jaw tightening. "It’s complicated."

"It’s really not. You like her. She likes you. You’re both terrible at just saying that out loud." Carson moved toward the door, then paused. "Also, Lucson wants to see you. Something about Theron’s signature being detected near the eastern perimeter."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. "When?"

"Twenty minutes ago. He’s been trying to call you, but apparently you’ve been too busy playing sleeping beauty’s guardian to answer your phone."

Grayson pulled out his phone to find six missed calls from Lucson. "Why didn’t you lead with that?"

"Because watching you panic about leaving her side is way more entertaining than starting with the crisis." Carson’s grin returned. "You’re doing that thing where you look at her, then look at the door, then look at her again. It’s like watching a computer try to process conflicting commands."

"I’m not—"

"You are. You probably promised to be here when she wakes up, but you also need to go handle the Theron situation, and your brain is currently short-circuiting trying to figure out which priority wins." Carson leaned against the doorframe. "For what it’s worth, she’ll understand if you have to go. She’s surprisingly reasonable about supernatural crisis management."

Grayson looked back at Mailah, still sleeping peacefully under the blanket. Her hand was curled where his had been, fingers slightly open as if still reaching for something.

"I told her I’d be here," he said quietly.

"And you will be. Eventually. After you’ve dealt with the psychotic archdemon trying to infiltrate the estate." Carson’s expression turned more serious. "Gray, she’s safe here. The room is warded, Dr. Morrison’s essence is working, and I can sit with her until you get back. You won’t be gone long."

"You’re volunteering to babysit?"

"I’m volunteering to ensure your human doesn’t wake up alone and assume you’ve gone full ice demon on her again." Carson pushed off from the doorframe. "Plus, I want to be here when she wakes up and realizes she made drunk confessions. That’s entertainment gold."

Grayson moved back to the bed, kneeling beside it. Carefully, he brushed hair back from Mailah’s face, his touch feather-light. Then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I’ll be back soon," he whispered, even though she couldn’t hear him. "I promise."

When he stood, Carson was watching him with an expression that was surprisingly soft for someone who spent most of his time being deliberately chaotic.

"You’ve got it bad. Again," Carson said.

"Shut up."

"I’m just saying. The last time I saw you like this was—" He stopped again. "Actually, I’m not supposed to tell you that either. Spoilers and all."

Grayson wanted to press for more information, but Lucson’s name was flashing on his phone again. "Don’t let her wake up alone."

"I won’t."

"And don’t tell her any embarrassing stories."

"I make no promises on that front."

"Carson—"

"Fine, fine. I’ll be on my best behavior. Which is still pretty terrible behavior, but relatively speaking, it’s the best I’ve got." Carson settled into the seat Grayson had occupied all night. "Go. Handle the murder demon situation. I’ve got this."

Grayson hesitated one more moment, his gaze returning to Mailah. Then, with visible effort, he forced himself toward the door.

He was halfway through it when Carson called out softly, "Gray?"

"What?"

"Past-you would be proud. Of present-you, I mean."

Grayson didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. He just left, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click.

The hallway was bustling with security personnel.

Lucson was at the end of it, phone pressed to his ear, his expression grim. When he saw Grayson, he ended the call abruptly.

"There you are. I’ve been trying to reach you for—" He stopped, taking in Grayson’s slightly disheveled appearance, the faint lipstick mark still visible on his jaw. "Were you sleeping?"

"No."

"Then why do you look like—" Lucson’s eyes narrowed. "Never mind. I don’t want to know. Mason detected Theron’s signature near the eastern ward approximately thirty minutes ago."

"Inside or outside the perimeter?"

"Outside. But he was testing the wards. Looking for weaknesses." Lucson started walking, and Grayson fell into step beside him. "Mason thinks he found one. A small gap in the coverage near the old garden entrance."

"How small?"

"Small enough that most entities wouldn’t notice. Large enough that something ancient and patient could exploit it." They descended the stairs toward the security center. "We’ve reinforced it, but the fact that he found it at all is concerning."

"He’s been watching longer than we thought."

"Months, probably. Maybe longer." Lucson pushed open the door to the security center, where Mason and Ravenson were hunched over multiple monitors displaying various feeds of the estate grounds. "He knows this place. Knows your patterns."

Mason looked up as they entered. "There." He pointed to one of the screens showing thermal imaging. "That’s where his signature was strongest. He wasn’t trying to hide it—he wanted us to know he’d been there."

Grayson studied the screen. The signature was unmistakable—nightmare essence mixed with something older, darker. Terror distilled into a traceable form.

"He’s playing with us," Grayson said flatly.

"Obviously." Mason’s expression was grim. "The question is what his actual objective is. This isn’t a serious infiltration attempt. It’s a message."

"What message?"

"That he can reach you whenever he wants. That your defenses aren’t as strong as you think."

Ravenson pulled up another screen showing a timeline of detection events. "He’s been probing the wards for three days. We only caught it because Mason happened to be monitoring."

"Three days," Grayson repeated, his jaw tightening. "While we were at the beach house."

"He knew you were away. Waited until you were distracted to test your security." Lucson’s tone was carefully neutral. "Which raises questions about information sources. Someone told him you’d be gone."

The implications hung heavy in the air. There was a leak. Someone close enough to know Grayson’s schedule, connected enough to pass information to Theron.

"List," Grayson said sharply. "Everyone who knew about the beach house trip."

"You, Mailah, the five of us, household staff, security detail." Ravenson was already pulling up files. "Approximately thirty-two individuals total."

"Narrow it down. Who has demonstrated supernatural abilities or connections to other realms?"

"Three of the security detail are half-demons. Two household staff members are witches." Mason leaned back in his chair. "But the security detail was vetted by me personally. The witches have been here for decades."

"Which means the leak is either someone we trust implicitly, or—" Grayson stopped.

"Or someone we don’t even know is watching," Lucson finished. "A passive observer. Someone who simply pays attention to patterns and reports back."

"We need to assume all communications are compromised," Grayson said. "All schedules, all movements, everything."

"Already working on it," Ravenson replied, fingers flying across a keyboard. "But Gray, there’s something else."

He pulled up another image—this one showing symbols carved into the ground near the eastern ward. They were small, easy to miss, but their meaning was clear to anyone who understood demon sigils.

"That’s a claiming mark," Mason said quietly. "Theron isn’t just probing defenses. He’s marking territory. He’s saying this place—and everyone in it—belongs to him now."

The room fell silent. Outside, through the security center’s reinforced windows, the estate grounds looked peaceful. Beautiful. Safe.

It was an illusion.