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

IT WAS A LOCK OF DARK HAIR.

Mailah’s hair.

"He got close enough to touch her," Lucson said quietly, appearing at Grayson’s shoulder. "Close enough to take that without her noticing."

Grayson’s hands clenched so hard his knuckles cracked. "When we find him—"

"When we find him, he’ll wish Theron had killed him instead."

They stood in silence, staring at the evidence of months of stalking.

Of violation.

Of an enemy getting close enough to the woman Grayson was protecting—the woman he refused to admit meant more than protection—to steal part of her without anyone knowing.

"Bag everything," Grayson ordered, his voice utterly emotionless. "I want every scrap of paper, every map, every note analyzed. Find me a pattern. Find me his next move. Find me anything that tells us what Theron is planning."

The security team moved with practiced efficiency, clearing the workspace while Lucson coordinated with other teams sweeping the building.

Grayson stood at the window, looking out at the city, thinking about Mailah back at the estate.

Probably still angry at him. Definitely not understanding why he’d kissed her and then left.

Good. Let her be angry.

Anger was safer than whatever else she might feel when she learned about this apartment.

About the photographs. About how close the threat had been without anyone knowing.

His phone rang. Carson’s name flashed on the screen.

"Yes."

"We found him."

Grayson’s entire body went still. "Where?"

"Trying to board a flight out of the country. Airport security flagged his fake passport—lucky break. He’s in custody. Local police are holding him for us."

"I’m on my way." He turned to Lucson. "Carson found our groundskeeper. Airport. I need—"

"Go." Lucson was already moving toward the door. "I’ll finish here and meet you there. Gray?" He paused. "Don’t kill him before we get answers."

"No promises."

Grayson was out of the apartment and down the stairs before Lucson could respond. His phone was already out, calling the security team for an immediate pickup.

Because somewhere in the city, the demon who’d been stalking Mailah for three months was in custody.

And Grayson had questions.

So many questions.

And by the time he was done, the groundskeeper was going to regret every photograph he’d taken, every moment he’d watched her, every piece of information he’d given to Theron.

He was going to regret all of it.

********************************************************************

The airport holding room was small, windowless, and smelled of fear.

The groundskeeper—a thin demon with nervous eyes and trembling hands—was cuffed to a metal chair bolted to the floor. Two airport security guards stood by the door until Carson dismissed them with a gesture and a fabricated federal badge.

The door closed with a final-sounding click.

Grayson stood in the corner, perfectly still, watching the demon sweat.

"His name is Kael," Carson said, leaning against the wall. "Low-level nightmare demon. Been on Earth for about five years, mostly doing odd jobs. No previous connection to Theron that we can find."

"There’s a connection," Grayson said quietly. "Or he wouldn’t have spent three months watching my estate."

Kael’s head snapped up at the sound of Grayson’s voice. Recognition flared in his eyes, followed immediately by terror.

Good.

Grayson moved forward with deliberate slowness, stopping directly in front of the chair. He didn’t crouch down to Kael’s level—didn’t try to appear less threatening.

Just stood there, looking down, letting the silence stretch.

"I’m going to ask you questions," he said finally. "You’re going to answer them. Quickly and completely. Every hesitation, every lie, every omission will be... unpleasant for you."

"I don’t know anything—"

Grayson’s hand shot out, gripping Kael’s throat. Not choking him. Just holding him. A reminder of how easily that could change.

"That was a lie." His voice remained perfectly calm. "Let’s not start with lies."

He released Kael, who gasped and coughed.

"Who hired you?"

"I can’t—he’ll kill me—"

"I’ll kill you." Grayson’s tone didn’t change. Still calm. Still controlled. "The question is whether it happens quickly or slowly. Theron isn’t here. I am. Choose accordingly."

Kael’s eyes darted between Grayson and Carson, looking for mercy. Finding none.

"Theron," he gasped out. "He found me six months ago. Said he needed someone to watch you. Report back. I needed the money, I didn’t—"

"What did you report?"

"Everything. Your schedule. Your brothers’ movements. The human woman—Mailah. When she came and went. Where she went. Who she talked to." The words tumbled out faster now, desperation making him careless. "He was especially interested in her. Wanted to know her routines. Her vulnerabilities."

Grayson’s hands clenched at his sides. "The photographs."

"He made me take them. Said he needed proof. Documentation. I didn’t want to, but he—"

"The hair."

Kael went pale. "That was... she was in the estate gardens. Sitting outside. I walked past, got close enough to... it was just a few strands. She didn’t even notice."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Carson shifted, recognizing the signs of Grayson’s control fracturing.

"You touched her," Grayson said, his voice deadly quiet.

"Barely—just her hair—I didn’t hurt her—"

Grayson’s hand was around Kael’s throat again, tighter this time. Kael’s eyes bulged, his bound hands scrabbling uselessly at the restraints.

"Gray," Carson said quietly. Not a warning. Just a reminder. Get the information first.

Grayson released him. Stepped back. Forced himself to breathe.

"What is Theron planning?"

Kael coughed, gasping for air. "I don’t know. He never told me. Just said he needed to know when you were vulnerable. When she was vulnerable."

"When we left for the beach house."

"Yes. I reported that immediately. He was very pleased."

"And the ward weakness at the eastern perimeter?"

"I showed him where to look. I’ve been maintaining those gardens for months. I knew where the coverage was thin." Kael’s voice was getting weaker. "Please, I’ve told you everything. I was just following orders. I needed—"

"You needed money." Grayson’s tone was flat. "So you helped an ancient demon stalk a human woman for three months. Took photographs of her without her knowledge. Stole her hair. Identified when she was most vulnerable."

"I didn’t know what he was planning to do with—"

"You knew enough." Grayson turned to Carson. "Get him to the estate. Put him in the holding cells. I’m not done with him yet."

"Gray, he’s told us everything he—"

"He hasn’t told me where Theron is. Where he’s been staying. How to find him." Grayson moved toward the door. "He will. Eventually. But right now, I need to get back."

Back to Mailah.

Back to the estate. Back to the woman this demon had been watching, photographing, violating for months while Grayson had been oblivious.

Carson nodded, pulling out his phone to arrange transport. "We’ll have him secured within the hour. What are you going to tell her?"

"Nothing."

"Gray—"

"She doesn’t need to know about the photographs. About him getting close enough to touch her. About any of it." He pulled open the door. "She’s already dealing with enough."

"She’ll find out eventually."

"Eventually isn’t now."

He left before Carson could argue further, pulling out his phone as he walked. A message from Mason: Still secure. She’s stopped asking where you are. Now she’s just angry.

Good. Anger he could handle.

The drive back to the estate felt longer than it should have. Grayson’s mind kept circling back to the apartment.

The photographs. The hair.

The violation of it.

Someone had been watching her. Documenting her. Planning ways to use her against him.

And Grayson hadn’t known. Hadn’t protected her. Had been so focused on his internal conflicts and missing memories that he’d missed the threat.

It wouldn’t happen again.

By the time he reached the estate, the sun was setting, painting the grounds in shades of amber and red.

Beautiful. Peaceful.

A lie.

He took the stairs to the west wing two at a time. Mason was still outside the door, reading something on his phone.

"Anything?" Grayson asked.

"She threw a pillow at the door about an hour ago. Does that count?"

"Did she try to leave?"

"Once. I told her you’d ordered me to physically restrain her if necessary. She called you several creative names and went back inside." Mason straightened. "You find the groundskeeper?"

"Yes. Carson’s bringing him to the estate. I want him in the holding cells. No one talks to him without my permission."

Mason nodded slowly. "How bad was it?"

"Bad enough." Grayson reached for the door handle. "I’ll be inside. No interruptions unless it’s critical."

"Understood."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind him with a soft click.

Mailah was standing at the window—the one he’d specifically told her to stay away from. Her arms were crossed, her posture rigid with anger.

She didn’t turn around when he entered.

"You’re back," she said, her voice carefully neutral.

"I am."

"Four hours. You were gone for four hours."

"It took longer than expected."

"And you couldn’t call? Couldn’t send a message beyond ’I’m handling the security situation’?" She finally turned to face him. "Mason wouldn’t tell me anything. Just stood outside the door like a silent, judgmental wall."

Grayson moved to the window, taking her by the arm—not roughly, but firmly—and pulling her away from it. "I told you to stay away from the windows."

"I’m not a child to be ordered around."

"No. You’re a target." He released her arm and moved to close the curtains, blocking the view. "The groundskeeper had a clear sightline to the café you like. Could see you from his apartment window. Could track your movements without you ever knowing."

That stopped her. "You found him? The leak?"

"We found him. He’s being transferred to the estate now." Grayson turned to face her, his expression controlled. "He’s been watching you for three months. Reporting back to Theron. Taking—" He stopped, remembering his decision not to tell her everything. "Taking notes on your routines."

Mailah’s face had gone pale. "Three months. That’s... before the beach house. Before—"

"Before everything." He wanted to cross to her, to offer some kind of comfort. Instead, he stayed where he was. Distance was safer. "He won’t be a problem anymore."

"What are you going to do to him?"

"What needs to be done."

She studied his face, reading meanings in the cold tone. "You’re going to hurt him."

"I’m going to get information. If that process is unpleasant for him, so be it."

"Grayson—"

"He helped Theron stalk you, Mailah. For months. Identified your vulnerabilities. Your routines. When you were alone. When you were most accessible." His voice remained flat, emotionless. "Whatever I do to him is significantly less than what he deserves."

She was quiet for a long moment, processing. Then: "You’re angry."

"I’m practical."

"You’re angry. I can see it. There’s something more," she said with certainty. "Something more you’re not telling me."

He didn’t respond.

Instead, he moved toward her with deliberate steps.

She held her ground, chin lifted, not backing down even though everything in his posture screamed predator.