Chapter 68: Chapter 68: The Chaotic Brother
THE VOICES GREW grew louder as Mailah followed the long corridor, her bare feet silent against the polished marble floors.
The further she ventured from the sanctuary of Grayson’s den, the more the air itself seemed to thicken with tension—a palpable weight that pressed against her skin like humidity before a thunderstorm.
The estate’s morning light filtered through tall windows, casting long shadows that seemed to writhe and shift as she passed.
Every portrait along the walls appeared to watch her with knowing eyes, their painted gazes following her movement with an awareness that made her skin crawl.
By the time she reached the ornate double doors at the corridor’s end, the atmosphere had become so charged she could taste it—metallic and bitter.
The voices beyond the doors carried undertones that spoke of barely restrained violence.
Mailah pressed her palm against the carved wood, feeling the vibrations of raised voices through her fingertips.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as she recognized Grayson’s voice among them, though it carried an edge she’d never heard before—cold, commanding, absolutely ruthless.
She pushed the doors open.
The scene that greeted her was like stepping into the eye of a supernatural hurricane.
The morning room, usually pristine and welcoming, felt transformed into a battlefield of wills.
Vivienne stood near the tall windows, her usual composed elegance fractured into sharp angles of distress. Her silver hair had escaped its perfect chignon, wild strands framing a face pale with what looked like genuine fear.
Across from her, Mrs. Baker—unflappable, eternally composed Mrs. Baker—appeared on the verge of violence, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her normally warm eyes blazing with fury.
But it was the third figure that made Mailah’s breath catch in her throat.
Grayson stood in the center of the chaos, his body coiled with barely restrained violence.
Gone was the careful control he usually maintained—his jaw was clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin, his hands flexed as though he wanted to wrap them around someone’s throat.
The energy rolling off him was chaotic, jagged with frustration and rage.
When his eyes met hers, she saw something that made her heart stutter—not the cold calculation of a demon lord, but the desperate fury of a man who had been pushed beyond his limits and found himself unable to act.
"You shouldn’t be here," he said, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. There was something else in his tone—exhaustion mixed with protective instinct, as though he’d been fighting a battle he couldn’t win. "Not now. Not with—"
Before Mailah could respond, before she could even ask what was happening, a new voice cut through the tension like silk sliding over steel.
"Well, well, well... and here I thought this morning couldn’t get any more entertaining."
Movement in her peripheral vision made her turn, and she watched as a figure emerged from behind one of the tall marble columns near the fireplace—a figure that had apparently been there the entire time, watching the chaos unfold with obvious amusement.
Every nerve in her body screamed danger as he stepped into the morning light.
He was tall, perhaps even taller than Grayson, with the kind of broad-shouldered build that spoke of both physical power and supernatural strength.
His hair fell in waves of pure gold to his shoulders, catching the morning light like spun metal. But it was his eyes that made her pulse stutter—storm-gray and alive with a reckless intelligence that reminded her uncomfortably of Mason’s cold calculation, but twisted into something far more unpredictable.
And his smile... God, that smile. It was boyish and charming and absolutely terrifying in its implications.
This was the face of someone who found genuine joy in chaos, who thrived on the kind of dangerous games that left bodies in their wake.
"Carson," Grayson’s voice carried centuries of complicated history, but more than that—it carried the raw frustration of a man who had been trying and failing to control his volatile brother.
Carson’s grin widened, revealing teeth that gleamed too sharp in the morning light. "Brother." He moved toward Mailah with the fluid grace of a predator, each step deliberate and mesmerizing, completely ignoring Grayson’s obvious tension. "You’re looking rather... frazzled. I told you this would be more fun than your usual boring morning routines."
As he approached, Mailah realized with growing horror that the chaos in the room—Vivienne’s distress, Mrs. Baker’s fury, Grayson’s barely contained rage—it had probably all been orchestrated.
Carson had been feeding off the disorder, the heightened emotions, the energy crackling through the air.
His gaze found Mailah and lingered with uncomfortable intensity, as though he were savoring a particularly fine wine. "And this must be the infamous Mrs. Mailah Ashford. The woman who survived a direct feeding attempt from dear Grayson and lived to tell the tale."
"Carson, enough," Grayson snarled, moving quickly to position himself between them. His voice carried centuries of barely controlled fury. "You’ve had your fun. Leave her out of this."
But Carson simply laughed, that rich, warm sound that somehow made everything more dangerous. "Oh, but Grayson, she’s already in it, isn’t she? Right in the middle of our family’s delightful dysfunction."
His storm-gray eyes glittered with predatory interest as they remained fixed on Mailah over Grayson’s shoulder. "I’ve been so looking forward to meeting her."
Mailah felt heat creep up her neck under his scrutiny. There was something about the way Carson looked at her that made her feel exposed, as though he could see through her clothes, through her skin, straight to the fears and desires she kept locked away in her deepest thoughts.
"How fascinating," Carson continued, taking another step closer. The scent that followed him made her head spin. "And here I was expecting another one of Grayson’s convenient, disposable wives. But you..." His eyes glittered with interest. "You’re something else entirely, aren’t you?"
Grayson moved between them so quickly that Mailah barely saw him cross the distance.
One moment Carson was advancing on her with that dangerous smile, the next Grayson’s hand was wrapped around his brother’s throat, pressing him back against the ornate wallpaper with enough force to crack the plaster.
"Touch her," Grayson growled, his voice dropping to registers that no human throat could produce, "and I will remind you exactly why I was named heir before the exile."
The temperature in the room plummeted.
Frost began forming on the windows, and Mailah’s breath came out in visible puffs.
This was Grayson unleashed and the display of raw power was both terrifying and oddly arousing.
For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, the brothers stared at each other.
Carson’s ever-present smile had finally faltered, replaced by something that might have been respect—or calculation. Whatever he saw in Grayson’s face made him raise his hands in mock surrender.
"Easy, brother," Carson said, his voice still carrying that maddening note of amusement despite the grip on his throat. "I’m not here to steal your pretty little prize. Though I admit, I’m curious about what makes her so... special."
Grayson didn’t release his hold. "Speak quickly. My patience has limits."
Carson’s laugh was rich and warm, nothing like Mason’s cold amusement.
"What do you want, Carson?" Grayson’s patience was clearly reaching its limits.
"I want to know what your backup plan involves," Carson said, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious. "Because if you’re planning something catastrophically stupid—like silver poisoning or deliberate soul severance—I need to know now."
The way he said those terms, like they were real possibilities, made Mailah’s stomach lurch with dread. What could be so permanent, so final, that it would guarantee her safety even if Grayson lost all control?
"We’re not discussing this," Grayson said firmly.
"Then when?" Carson shot back. "Because if you think I’m walking away without answers—"
"Enough. My plans are none of your concern," Grayson replied, his voice carrying dangerous undertones.
"Aren’t they?" Carson’s voice carried genuine curiosity rather than mockery. "When was the last time you cared about anyone, brother? Really cared, not just your usual protective instincts? Because from where I’m standing, this looks like something that could be... problematic."
Mailah watched the exchange with growing unease. There was something in Carson’s tone that suggested he wasn’t just making conversation.
"What I feel is irrelevant," Grayson said firmly.
"Is it?" Carson’s smile turned razor-sharp. "Because it looks to me like you’re about to make the same mistake you made with the princess. Letting emotion cloud your judgment, putting your precious feelings above rational thought."
The comparison made Mailah feel air leave her lungs.
He was comparing her to the demon who had manipulated Grayson and his brothers into genocide, the creature who had orchestrated the destruction of entire bloodlines for her own political gain.
Grayson went utterly still, his entire body coiling with lethal intent. "Don’t."
"Don’t what? Don’t point out the obvious parallels?" Carson’s voice carried genuine amusement now, as though he’d found the reaction he’d been fishing for. "A mysterious woman appears in your life. She survives things that should have killed her, draws your protection, makes you feel things you haven’t felt in centuries..."
"Mailah is nothing like her," Grayson said, his voice dropping to dangerous registers.
"Isn’t she?" Carson tilted his head with mock curiosity. "Tell me, sweetheart," he addressed Mailah directly, his storm-gray eyes glittering with malicious interest, "how much of your current situation would you say is coincidence? Your sister’s convenient death, the letter leading you here..."
Mailah’s heart hammered against her ribs as implications she’d never considered crashed over her like waves.
She’d been so focused on survival, so overwhelmed by the supernatural world she’d been thrust into, that she’d never stopped to question the sequence of events that had brought her to Grayson.
"Stop," Grayson warned, moving to fully shield Mailah from Carson’s predatory gaze.
The room seemed to spin around Mailah as the implications crashed over her. Had her journey here been her own choice? Or had she been guided, manipulated, led like a lamb to slaughter by forces she couldn’t even perceive?
"Stop," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just... stop."
But Carson was relentless, feeding off the chaos and doubt he’d created like a predator savoring a kill. "The real question is, which brother has been pulling your strings? Mason, with his talent for nightmares? Or perhaps Lucson, the master of influence and subtle manipulation?"
"Enough," Grayson roared, supernatural power exploding from him in a wave that cracked the windows and sent ornaments crashing from their shelves. "Get out. Now."
Carson laughed, the sound rich with satisfaction. "Oh, brother. You still don’t see it, do you? This isn’t your house. This isn’t your life. This isn’t even your choice." His gray eyes found Mailah one last time, and his smile was pure venom.
And then he was gone, leaving behind only the echo of mocking laughter.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of settling debris and Mailah’s ragged breathing.
She could feel Grayson’s eyes on her, could sense the questions he was afraid to ask, the doubts Carson had planted taking root in his mind.
Had everything been a lie? Had her feelings, her choices, her very presence here been nothing more than supernatural manipulation?