Chapter 394: The Demon’s Tasks

"Grayson..." Mailah murmured, her laughter melting into pure, overwhelming affection. "You are completely out of your mind."

"I was desperate, Mailah," Grayson said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, serious tone. "I lost all my memory of how to deal with humans, and I was terrified that my ignorance would push you away forever. I wanted to learn how to be the husband you deserved. I thought that if I understood human life better, I could come back and treat you properly."

He reached into the pocket of his dark trousers and pulled out a small, thick black leather book. He held it out toward her like a man turning over evidence in court.

Mailah took the book, her eyes wide. "What is this?"

"My field notes," Grayson said gravely.

Mailah flipped open the cover. Written in sharp, elegant handwriting that looked like it belonged on a hundred-year-old royal decree were neat, numbered lines:

Entry 12: Human women dislike cold room temperatures. When temperature drops, do not use heat magic. Offer jacket with dramatic shoulder movement.

Entry 19: If human wife is angry, do not offer rare jewels immediately. First, listen without speaking for three minutes. Do not cross arms.

Entry 27: Rain is emotionally significant. Always hold umbrella over her, even if my own left shoulder gets completely wet.

Entry 34: Head pats create emotional bonding. Practice soft touch so as not to break human skull.

Mailah stared at the page, her mouth open. She looked up at Grayson, who was sitting on the edge of the sofa, watching her with total, tense seriousness, waiting for her verdict.

"Grayson..." Mailah gasped, clutching her chest as another wave of laughter burst out of her. "You took notes on how not to break my skull during a head pat?!"

"I have incredible physical strength, Mailah!" Grayson defended himself instantly, pulling his shoulders back with dramatic dignity. "A tap can shatter solid rock! I have to measure the force! I practiced on a peach for three days!"

"You practiced head pats... on a peach?" Mailah was laughing so hard tears were streaming down her face. She leaned back against the cushions, gasping for air. "Oh my god. You are insane. You are the most ridiculous creature in the universe."

"I was being thorough," Grayson muttered. He reached over and gently took the notebook back, tucking it away. "I was trying to be a good husband."

Mailah’s laughter softened. She looked at his sharp, perfect face, illuminated by the golden fairy lights he had just spent an hour stringing up for her. Beneath his grand demon lord pride, he had spent four weeks living in a cramped city apartment, watching television shows and practicing on fruit, just because he was terrified of failing her.

It was silly. It was totally dramatic. And it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

Mailah wiped a tear of laughter from her eye and set her tea cup down on the table. She looked him up and down, a mischievous spark lighting up her eyes.

"Alright," Mailah said, folding her arms over her chest. "You spent four weeks studying human husbands. Now it’s time for your final exam."

Grayson narrowed his eyes slightly, leaning closer. "An exam?"

"Yes," Mailah smiled innocently. "You left me alone in a cold house for a month. You made me worry. So today, you are going to indulge every single one of my demands. No complaining. No demon speed. No magic. Just you, working hard to earn your way back into my good graces."

Grayson stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, a low, smooth smile touched his lips. He leaned down, placing one hand on the sofa cushion next to her head, bringing his handsome face inches from hers. His dark eyes burned with intense, unwavering focus.

"Ask for anything, Mailah," he whispered, his deep voice sending a shiver right down her spine. "I am entirely at your service."

Twenty minutes later, Mailah had moved her operation to the grand stone kitchen.

She sat comfortably on a tall bar stool near the central island, her bandaged leg rested safely on a cushioned chair in front of her. She held a red pen and a small notepad.

Grayson stood in the middle of the kitchen. He was wearing his simple grey t-shirt, his broad shoulders and strong arms on full display. But over his shirt, Mailah had forced him to wear a bright yellow kitchen apron printed with tiny cartoon ducks.

Grayson looked down at the duck apron, then up at Mailah with deep, aristocratic offense. "Is the apron strictly necessary for the cooking process?"

"It is required by law," Mailah said solemnly, clicking her pen. "It builds humble character. Now, chef. Menu for tonight: homemade kimchi stew, fried eggs, and rolled omelets. From scratch. No magic."

Grayson took a deep breath. "Understood."

He walked over to the wooden cutting board like a general marching toward a battlefield. He pulled out two yellow onions, a block of tofu, and a bowl of aged kimchi.

"Remember," Mailah called out, resting her chin on her hand, "Rule number one: human speed."

"I am fully aware of human limitations," Grayson said stiffly.

He picked up the heavy chef’s knife. He held it with intense focus, lowering the blade to the onion.

Chop. Chop. Chop.

He moved with agonizing slowness, cutting each piece of onion into perfect, identical millimeter-wide cubes. His posture was so straight and formal he looked like he was carving a stone monument.

"Grayson," Mailah giggled. "It’s an onion, not a diamond. Relax!"

"If the cuts are uneven, the soup flavor will not spread correctly," Grayson stated without looking up. "I read this in Chapter three of The Art of Home Cooking."

"You read a cooking textbook?!"

"I read four," Grayson corrected calmly.

He kept chopping. But after thirty seconds, Grayson suddenly froze.

His hand stopped moving. He blinked once. Then twice.

Mailah leaned forward, her eyes widening.

A single, large, crystal-clear tear rolled out of Grayson’s dark eye, trailing slowly down his sharp cheekbone. A second later, another tear followed down his opposite cheek.

Mailah gasped in pure joy. "Are you... crying?!"

Grayson stiffened instantly. He set the knife down with military precision and turned his face completely away from her. "I am not crying. Incubus lords do not shed tears over roots."

"Grayson! You are totally crying over an onion!" Mailah burst out laughing, clapping her hands. "The ancient lord of the dark realm is getting defeated by a vegetable!"

"It is a chemical attack!" Grayson insisted dramatically, wiping his cheek with the back of his forearm. His dark eyes were glossy and red at the edges, making him look hilarious behind his serious, handsome face. "The plant is emitting sulfur compounds to defend itself! It is unfair tactics!"

"Come here," Mailah wheezed, wiping laughter from her own eyes. "Come here, big guy."

Grayson hesitated, then walked over to her stool, looking deeply humiliated. He knelt down beside her chair so they were at eye level, his head slightly bowed.

Mailah took a soft tissue and gently dabbed the tear tracks from his face. Grayson stayed completely still, his dark eyes locked onto hers with quiet, helpless devotion. Up close, his skin was warm, and his sharp jawline was tight with embarrassing defeat.

"There," Mailah whispered softly, brushing a lock of dark hair off his forehead. "All clean, my brave onion warrior."

Grayson let out a quiet, defeated sigh, resting his forehead lightly against her shoulder for a brief second. "You enjoy my humiliation far too much, Mailah."

"It’s my compensation for the last four weeks," she murmured, her heart melting as she ran her fingers through his soft hair. "Now, go finish my stew."

Grayson stood up, cleared his throat, and returned to the stove with renewed determination.

For the next forty-five minutes, Grayson worked with absolute dedication. He fried the kimchi in sesame oil until the kitchen smelled rich and savory. He added hot broth, soft tofu, and pork belly, letting the stone pot bubble gently over the fire.

When he finally set two ceramic bowls on the counter, the meal looked—and smelled—incredible.

Mailah picked up her spoon, took a bite of the hot stew, and chewed slowly. Grayson stood beside her, his arms folded behind his back, watching her face as if awaiting a death sentence.

"Well?" Grayson asked, his voice tight.

Mailah swallowed. She kept her face totally blank for five long seconds.

"It’s..." Mailah paused. "It’s actually amazing. Ten out of ten, Grayson."

Grayson’s shoulders dropped three inches. A proud, handsome smirk slowly spread across his face. He leaned down, pressing a quick, triumphant kiss to her cheek. "I told you. I am a fast learner."

After dinner, Mailah declared that her leg was feeling stiff and that she refused to move to the cold living room.

"We are staying in the sunroom," Mailah announced as Grayson cleared the dishes. "And I want a fort."

Grayson paused, holding two clean bowls. "A fort?"

"Yes. A blanket fort," Mailah said, nodding firmly. "In the middle of the yellow rug. Using the new pink blanket, three chairs, and four cushions."

Grayson looked at her like she had asked him to build a space rocket out of wooden spoons. "Mailah, we have six grand bedrooms in this estate. Why would we sleep under a temporary structure made of chairs?"

"Because fort building builds husband bonding," Mailah lied smoothly, crossing her arms. "Didn’t you learn that?"

Grayson narrowed his eyes, suspicious.