Chapter 290: The Plan 2
"STOP CARING."
Grayson stared at Mailah. "You want me to pretend I don’t care if you die."
"I want you to execute the plan the way it was meant to be executed. With cold strategic precision. No emotional compromise." She leaned forward.
"That’s—"
"Smart," she interrupted. "It’s smart, and you know it. Your past self wrote this plan assuming you’d stay detached. So stay detached. Let Theron think I’m just a tactical asset you’re willing to sacrifice for the greater strategic goal."
Grayson’s hands clenched on the documents. "And if something goes wrong? If you’re actually in danger?"
"Then you stick to the plan anyway. Because that’s what wins." Her eyes were steady, unflinching. "Unless you don’t think you can do that."
It was a challenge. Deliberate. Pushing him to admit he’d gone soft.
He should tell her it was impossible. That he couldn’t just turn off whatever this was between them. That the thought of watching her be in actual danger while maintaining cold strategic distance was unacceptable.
Instead, he pulled the documents back toward himself and started reading again. Recalculating. Adjusting for current variables.
"The timeline needs to compress," he said, his voice returning to that flat, analytical tone. "Theron won’t wait long after the dream-walk. He’ll want to capitalize on the emotional impact while it’s fresh."
"How long?"
"Three days. Maybe four." He marked notes in the margins. "We’ll need to stage the security compromise tomorrow. Make it look like the perimeter breach did more damage than we’re admitting. Start moving you around, looking nervous. Protective."
"And then?"
"Then I pull back. Become cold. Treat you like a liability I’m tired of managing." He looked up at her. "It won’t be pleasant. I’ll say things designed to convince Theron you mean nothing to me."
"I can handle unpleasant."
"Can you handle me treating you like you’re disposable? Like you’re just a strategic problem I’m solving?" His voice had gone quiet, dangerous. "Because that’s what this requires. Complete emotional detachment. In front of everyone, including you."
"Do what you need to do."
She said it simply. Like it was obvious. Like she trusted him to hurt her if it kept her alive.
Something in his chest tightened.
He stood abruptly, moving to the window. "This is insane. You’re agreeing to let me use you as bait based on a plan written by someone who didn’t know you existed. Who wouldn’t have cared if you lived or died as long as the strategic objective was met."
"Yes."
"Mailah—"
"Grayson." She stood, moving to him. "I’m not an idiot. I know this is dangerous. I know there’s a significant chance I get hurt or worse. But I also know that Theron isn’t going to stop. He’s going to keep escalating until either he’s dead or we are. So we might as well control when and where that confrontation happens."
He turned to face her. "You’re too calm about this."
"One of us has to be." She reached up, her hand finding his face. "Besides, you wrote this plan. And whatever else you were eight months ago, you were smart. Strategic. You wouldn’t have outlined something with only a 60% survival rate unless you were confident you could improve those odds."
"The plan assumed I’d stay objective. That I wouldn’t compromise tactical positioning for emotional reasons."
"Then don’t." Her thumb brushed across his cheekbone. "Be the cold, calculating demon who wrote this. Execute it exactly as planned. And when it’s over and Theron’s dead—then you can go back to being the version of you who gives a damn."
Grayson caught her wrist, holding her hand against his face. "You’re asking me to turn off everything I’ve—" He stopped. Because finishing that sentence meant admitting things he wasn’t ready to admit.
"Everything you’ve what?" she prompted quietly.
Instead of answering, he pulled her against him, his mouth finding hers with the kind of desperate intensity that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with the fact that in three days, he was going to put her in danger and pretend he didn’t care.
When he finally released her, they were both breathing hard.
"That," he said roughly, "is the last time I do that until this is over. Starting tomorrow, I treat you like a stranger. Nothing more."
"I know."
"I’ll say things. Do things. That are designed to convince Theron you’re expendable."
"I know."
"And you can’t react. Can’t show that it bothers you. Can’t give him any reason to think I’m lying."
"I understand." She pulled back slightly, looking up at him. "But Grayson? When this is over—when Theron’s dead and we’re both still alive—you’re going to explain exactly what you were about to say before you kissed me instead."
He didn’t promise. Couldn’t.
Just pulled her close again and tried to memorize what this felt like before he had to pretend it meant nothing.
The next morning, Grayson woke to find Mailah already dressed, standing at the window despite his orders to stay away from it.
"Get away from there," he said, his voice cold.
She turned, surprised by the tone. Then understanding flickered across her face.
It had started.
"I’m not near the glass," she said carefully.
"You’re near enough." He stood, moving to physically pull her away. Not gently. Efficiently. Like moving an object. "From now on, you follow protocols exactly. No interpretation. No judgment calls."
"Grayson—"
"That’s not a discussion."
He released her and moved to the door, pulling it open. Mason was outside, looking alert.
"Establish a new security rotation," Grayson ordered. "Four-hour shifts, rotating teams. I want fresh eyes on this room at all times."
"You don’t trust the current detail?"
"I don’t trust anyone. Yesterday’s breach proved our security has more holes than we thought. Until they’re plugged, we assume everyone is compromised." He glanced back at Mailah. "She doesn’t leave this room without explicit authorization from me. Not for any reason."
"Understood."
Grayson closed the door and turned to find Mailah watching him with an unreadable expression.
"Was that necessary?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. Mason will report that conversation to my brothers. They’ll report it to their contacts. By noon, half the supernatural community will know I’ve locked you down like a prisoner." He moved to his phone, typing rapidly. "Theron will hear about it within hours. It supports the narrative that you’re a liability I’m managing poorly."
"And treating me like a tactical problem instead of a person."
"Exactly." He hit send and pocketed the phone. "I’m going to coordinate with Lucson about staging the security compromise. You stay here. Away from windows. Away from doors. Away from anything that could be used as an access point."
"For how long?"
"Until I decide otherwise."
He left without looking back. Without softening the dismissal. Without giving her any indication that this was an act.
Because if he looked at her—if he saw whatever expression was on her face—he might break.
And breaking wasn’t part of the plan.
In the hallway, Mason fell into step beside him. "That was cold. Even for you."
"It’s necessary."
"Is it? Or are you just reverting to old patterns because it’s easier than admitting you actually care about—"
Grayson stopped walking. Turned to face his brother. "What I care about is eliminating a threat that has infiltrated my estate, possessed someone under my protection, and killed a man to send a message. Everything else is secondary."
Mason studied his face. "You’re really going to do this. The Nightweaver Protocol."
"You’ve read the file?"
"Lucson briefed us. Gray, using her as bait—even with heavy protection—is incredibly risky."
"73% success probability. Those are acceptable odds."
"For the plan. What about for her?"
Grayson’s jaw tightened. "She agreed to the terms. Knew the risks. Made an informed decision."
"That’s not what I asked."
"Then ask a question I’m willing to answer."
He resumed walking, leaving Mason standing in the hallway looking concerned.
Good. Let him be concerned. Let all of them question his judgment. Let the word spread that Grayson Ashford had gone cold and tactical again, treating the human like a chess piece instead of a person.
Let Theron hear about it.
Let him think he’d won.
And when the ancient demon came for his prize—when he walked into that greenhouse thinking Mailah was poorly protected and expendable—he’d learn exactly why the plan had a 73% success rate.
Because the remaining 27% failure probability?
That was entirely on Theron’s side.
Grayson reached the security center and pulled up the greenhouse specifications on the screen. Sight lines. Entry points. Defensive positions.
His phone buzzed. Carson: She okay up there? Mason says you were pretty harsh.
Grayson typed back: She’s fine. Stay focused on the perimeter.
Another message: You know you don’t have to actually be an asshole, right? You could just pretend when Theron’s watching.
This IS pretending.
Is it?
Grayson didn’t respond. Just pulled up the tactical diagrams and started making adjustments.
Three days.
In three days, Theron would make his move.
And Grayson would be ready.
Cold. Strategic. Completely detached.
Exactly the way the plan required.
He ignored the part of him that whispered he was lying.
That whispered he’d never be able to watch her be in danger without breaking.
That whispered this plan was going to fail because he’d already compromised the one requirement it needed to succeed.
He ignored all of it.
And kept planning.