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

"OH, I’M FURIOUS."

She turned to face him, and he could see it now—the fear and anger carefully controlled behind her calm exterior. "I’m furious that we can’t just have consecutive normal days. That every time things feel even slightly stable, something happens."

She crossed back to him, meeting his eyes.

"But I’m not furious at you. You’re trying to keep me safe. And yes, it’s frustrating, but—" She paused. "But you came back. You kept your promise."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want her gratitude for something so basic. Didn’t want her reading meanings into tactical decisions.

"So yes," she continued. "I’ll stay in warded rooms. Follow protocols. But Grayson? Stop pretending this is just tactical."

"It is tactical."

"You came back when you didn’t have to."

"I said I would."

"Exactly." She moved closer, her hand reaching for his face.

He caught her wrist before she could touch him, his grip firm but not painful. "Don’t."

"Don’t what?"

"Don’t look at me like that. Like you think you understand what this is." His voice had gone cold, that pre-exile edge cutting through. "You’re under my protection. That’s what this is."

But he didn’t let go of her wrist.

Mailah’s eyes narrowed. "Then let go."

"In a moment."

"Grayson—"

He pulled her closer instead, his other hand finding her waist with the kind of possessive certainty that had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with something he refused to name.

"You want to know what this is?" His voice was low, dangerous. "This is me ensuring my enemy doesn’t get to you. That’s all."

"You’re a terrible liar."

"I’m an excellent liar. You’re just too stubborn to believe it."

She tried to pull back. He held firm, his fingers pressing into her hip through the fabric of her clothes. The touch was territorial, claiming, nothing gentle about it.

"Let me go."

"No."

"Why not?"

Instead of answering, he kissed her.

Not the careful, tender kiss from earlier. This was something else entirely—hungry and demanding and edged with frustration. His hand released her wrist only to tangle in her hair, angling her head exactly where he wanted it.

The other hand on her waist pulled her flush against him, eliminating any space between them.

When he finally released her, they were both breathing hard.

"That’s why," he said flatly. "Because apparently I can’t."

Before Mailah could respond, before she could say whatever emotional thing was forming on her lips, he stepped back. Put distance between them with deliberate precision.

"Pack what you need. We’re changing rooms in twenty minutes." His voice had gone completely neutral, all business. "Bring only essentials. Security will move everything else."

"Grayson—"

"Twenty minutes, Mailah. Not negotiable."

He turned toward the door, needing to leave before she could push further. Before she could make him admit things he wasn’t ready to admit even to himself.

"You’re doing it again," she called after him. "The hot and cold thing."

He stopped, hand on the doorframe. Didn’t turn around.

"Get used to it," he said. "Because I don’t know how to be anything else right now."

Then he left, closing the door behind him with controlled precision.

In the hallway, he found Carson leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression far too knowing.

"Smooth," Carson said. "Very smooth. Really selling the ’she’s just an asset’ narrative."

"Shut up."

"You know the walls aren’t soundproofed, right? Because that sounded very tactical. Very asset-protection-oriented. Especially the part where—"

Grayson’s hand shot out, pressing Carson back against the wall. "One more word."

Carson grinned, completely unintimidated. "You’ve got it so bad. It’s actually painful to watch."

Grayson released him with a sound of frustration and stalked down the hallway toward the west wing. Carson followed, still grinning.

"For what it’s worth, she’s right. You are doing the hot and cold thing. Very confusing for the poor human."

"She’s not confused. She’s too perceptive for her own good."

"She sees through your bullshit, you mean."

"That too."

They reached the west wing suite—larger than the master bedroom, with better sight lines and reinforced walls. Mason was already there, checking the wards.

"This room is secure," Mason said without looking up. "Triple-warded, proximity alerts, and the windows are reinforced. Nothing gets through without us knowing."

"Good." Grayson moved to the window, studying the grounds. From this angle, he had clear sightlines to both the eastern perimeter where Theron had been and the main entrance. "How long to transfer her belongings?"

"Already in progress. Lucson has a team moving everything now." Mason finally looked up, his expression unreadable. "She’s agreeing to this?"

"She doesn’t have a choice."

"That’s not what I asked."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. "She’s accepting it. For now."

"And when she stops accepting it? When she realizes you’re treating her like a prisoner instead of a partner?"

"Then I’ll deal with that when it happens." He turned from the window. "My priority is keeping her alive. Everything else is secondary."

"Including her opinion of you?"

"Especially that."

Mason and Carson exchanged glances.

"You’re an idiot," Carson said cheerfully. "But at least you’re a consistent idiot."

Before Grayson could respond, his phone buzzed. Lucson’s name flashed on the screen.

"Yes."

"We found something," Lucson’s voice was tense. "In the household staff background checks. One of the newer hires—hired three months ago as groundskeeping staff—his references don’t check out. The company he claimed to work for doesn’t exist."

Grayson’s blood went cold.

"Where is he now?"

"That’s the problem. He didn’t show up for his shift this morning. And his quarters are empty. Completely cleared out, like he was never here."

"Get me everything. Background, hiring records, who interviewed him, who approved him, every interaction he’s had with other staff."

"Already compiling. Gray, there’s more. He had access to the eastern perimeter. His duties included maintaining the gardens near that ward junction."

The ward junction where Theron had left his mark.

"Find him," Grayson said, his voice lethal. "And when you do, bring him to me alive. I have questions."

He ended the call and turned to his brothers. "We have a leak. Former groundskeeper, three months embedded, disappeared this morning."

"That’s how Theron knew about the beach house," Mason said. "Three months of observation. Long enough to learn patterns, schedules, security rotations."

"Long enough to identify vulnerabilities." Grayson’s hands clenched. "And long enough to report back to Theron about Mailah."

Carson’s usual levity had completely vanished. "If he’s been watching for three months, he knows everything. Her routines, her relationships, where she goes, when she’s alone—"

"She’s never alone again," Grayson interrupted. "Not until we find this leak and plug it permanently."

A soft knock at the door interrupted them.

Mailah pushed it open, a small bag slung over her shoulder. She’d changed into fresh clothes and pulled her hair back, looking alert and surprisingly calm for someone who’d just been told an ancient demon was stalking her.

"Twenty minutes," she said. "As ordered."

Grayson gestured to the room. "This is the west wing suite. Better security, reinforced walls, triple-warded. You’ll stay here until the situation with Theron is resolved."

Mailah walked in, studying the space with a critical eye. It was larger than the master bedroom, but also more austere. Less personal. More fortress than home.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"Here."

She turned to look at him. "In this room? With me?"

"The wards are strongest with continuous occupation. And I’m not leaving you unguarded." He moved to the window, deliberately putting space between them. "There’s a sitting room attached if you need privacy."

"How considerate."

The sarcasm in her voice was barely concealed. Good. Anger he could deal with. Anger didn’t make his chest feel tight.

"Carson, Mason—perimeter check," he ordered. "I want eyes on every entrance, every weak point, everywhere that leak might have provided information."

His brothers left without argument, though Carson shot him one last knowing look on the way out.

Alone with Mailah in the new room, Grayson found himself acutely aware of the bed—singular, large, dominating the space.

The realization that they’d be sharing it tonight was both inevitable and complicated. Memories of their passionate times assaulted his mind.

"We found the leak," he said, keeping his voice flat, informational. "A groundskeeper hired three months ago. Fake background, disappeared this morning. He had access to the eastern perimeter where Theron left his mark."

Mailah’s face paled slightly. "So he’s been watching me for three months?"

"Watching all of us. But yes, primarily gathering information about you."

She sat down on the edge of the bed, processing. "That’s why you’re moving me here. Not just because of the claiming mark. Because someone’s been reporting back to Theron about my movements, my routines, everything."

"Yes."

"And you think he’ll try to take me."

It wasn’t a question, but Grayson answered anyway. "I think he’ll try. And I think he’ll fail, because he won’t get within a hundred feet of you."

"You can’t promise that."

"Watch me."

The certainty in his voice made her look up. Their eyes met across the room, and something passed between them—something that had nothing to do with tactics or protection and everything to do with the thing he refused to name.

"Grayson—"

"Don’t." He cut her off, his voice harsh. "Don’t say whatever you’re about to say. Don’t make this more complicated than it already is."

"It’s already complicated."

"Then let’s not make it worse."

Mailah stood, crossing to him with deliberate steps. He held his ground, refusing to retreat even as every instinct screamed at him to put distance between them.

She stopped directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel her warmth, smell the faint scent of her shampoo.

"You kissed me earlier," she said quietly. "That wasn’t tactical."

"It was a mistake."

"You’re a terrible liar."

"So you keep saying."

Her hand came up, palm resting against his chest, right over his heart. He could feel it beating—faster than usual, harder than it should be.

"Your heart is racing," she observed.

"Adrenaline. From the security situation."

"Of course." But she didn’t move her hand. "And this?" She pressed slightly, feeling the acceleration under her palm. "Also adrenaline?"

Grayson’s control was fracturing. He could feel it—the careful walls he’d built crumbling under her steady, knowing gaze.

He grabbed her wrist, intending to remove her hand.

Instead, he held it there, pressed against his chest, his fingers tight around her delicate bones.