Chapter 395: The Jealous Demon

"Didn’t you learn that in your research?"

Grayson stared at her for five long seconds. He looked down at the bright yellow duck apron still tied around his waist, then at the three heavy wooden armchairs sitting near the grand window, and finally back to Mailah’s sweet, innocent face.

He let out a long, dark sigh that made the golden flames of the kitchen candles flicker slightly.

"I am a demon prince of the dark realm," Grayson muttered to himself, though his hands were already reaching for the backs of the heavy wooden chairs. "I have led armies across barren lands. I have dictated treaties that lasted centuries. And now I am constructing a fortress out of cushions."

"A pink fortress," Mailah reminded him cheerfully, tapping her notepad with her pen. "And remember: no magic. Use your muscles."

Grayson didn’t need magic. Even without his power, his physical strength was terrifying. He picked up a solid oak armchair with one hand as if it were made of paper, moving it to the center of the giant yellow rug.

Mailah watched him with an appreciative grin. His simple grey t-shirt stretched tight over his broad back and shoulders as he worked. For a man who claimed to be a dark and dangerous creature, he was currently measuring the distance between chairs with meticulous, scientific precision.

"If we place the third anchor chair at a forty-five-degree angle," Grayson analyzed aloud, his brow furrowing in deep concentration, "the structural tension of the blanket will prevent any sagging in the middle. It will maximize internal airflow while maintaining heat retention."

"Grayson, it’s a blanket fort, not a military bunker," Mailah giggled, resting her chin on her hand.

"A structural collapse during rest is an unacceptable failure," Grayson replied with total seriousness.

He opened the giant box containing the bright bubblegum-pink blanket. He held it up by two corners, draped it over the wooden chair backs, and used heavy silver clips from the kitchen to lock the edges in place. Then, he unrolled a layer of soft white quilts inside and arranged six oversized goose-feather pillows against the central support.

When he stepped back, he looked genuinely proud.

In the middle of the grand, stone sunroom—surrounded by tall monstera plants, ancient stone pillars, and strings of golden fairy lights—sat a magnificent, glowing pink tent.

Mailah stared at it, her eyes wide with real delight. "Oh wow. That actually looks amazing!"

"It is engineered for maximum comfort," Grayson said, crossing his arms and trying very hard not to look pleased with himself. He gestured toward the opening. "Please enter, my queen. Test the tension."

Mailah hopped off her stool, using the chairs for support, and carefully crawled inside.

The interior was pure heaven. The golden fairy lights outside shone through the fluffy pink blanket, casting a warm, dreamy rose-colored light inside the small space. It was soft, quiet, and completely blocked out the cold draft of the high glass ceiling above.

"It’s perfect!" Mailah called out, sinking into the pile of pillows. "Come inside!"

Grayson looked at the small entrance of the fort. He was over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. The sight of this sharp, imposing incubus lord trying to fit into a pink blanket tent was the most entertaining thing Mailah had seen all week.

Grayson ducked his head, carefully crawling inside on his hands and knees so he wouldn’t disturb the clips. Once inside, he sat down, shifting his long legs until he was sitting behind Mailah.

Without a word, he reached out and pulled her gently back against his chest. He wrapped his long arms around her waist, tucking her securely against his broad frame.

Mailah leaned her head back against his shoulder, letting out a soft, happy sigh. His body was like a furnace, radiating steady, deep heat that instantly made her feel safe.

"Is the temperature acceptable?" Grayson whispered near her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin.

"It’s perfect, Grayson," Mailah murmured, running her hand over his forearm. "You did a really good job."

"I am a lord of high standards," Grayson replied smoothly, though his chest expanded with quiet pride. "I do not build inferior forts."

For twenty minutes, they sat in peaceful silence inside their glowing pink dome. Mailah felt the lingering anger and hurt from the past four weeks slowly dissolving into the warm air.

Then, Mailah’s eyes caught her digital tablet resting on the small side table outside the fort. A mischievous idea instantly lit up her mind.

"Grayson?" Mailah asked, peeking back at him.

"Yes, my love?"

"Let’s watch a show. I want to see how well your research matches real human entertainment."

Grayson narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicious of her tone, but he nodded. "Very well. I am familiar with the medium."

Mailah reached out of the tent, grabbed her tablet, and set it up on a pillow in front of them. She opened a popular romance drama and skipped straight to a dramatic scene.

On the screen, a ridiculously handsome male actor with sharp features and stylized dark hair was standing in the middle of a heavy rainstorm. He was holding a large black umbrella over the female lead, his dark eyes filled with intense, tragic passion.

Mailah leaned forward, placing her chin in her hands. "Aww, look at him," Mailah sighed dramatically, peeking at Grayson out of the corner of her eye. "Look how handsome he is! Look at those shoulders! That coat looks so good on him!"

Beside her, Grayson froze completely.

The warm air inside the tent suddenly dropped by two degrees. Grayson slowly turned his head to stare at the small screen, then looked down at his own grey t-shirt, and then glared back at the actor.

"His shoulders are not broad," Grayson stated flatly, his deep voice turning cold and regal. "They are average. He is clearly wearing tailored padding under that coat."

Mailah bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. "He is not wearing padding! He’s a famous actor! He’s super handsome!"

"It is a human optical illusion," Grayson declared with absolute confidence, pointing a long, dark finger at the screen. "Furthermore, his posture is inefficient. If he continues to tilt the umbrella at that angle, his left sleeve will be soaked within two minutes."

"It’s romantic, Grayson!" Mailah argued playfully, turning to look at him. "He’s letting himself get wet just to protect her!"

"It is a lack of practical intelligence," Grayson grumbled, folding his broad arms across his chest. "If he was smart, he would stand closer to her or escort her into a nearby building. Standing in freezing water creates a risk of respiratory infection. This is not romance; it is poor planning."

"You have zero drama in your heart, demon prince," Mailah teased, poking his rib gently. "Look at how he stares at her! It’s so intense!"

Grayson’s blue eyes darkened—a subtle sign of his rising possessive irritation.

"Intense?" Grayson repeated softly.

Before Mailah could answer, Grayson reached out, grabbed his sharp dark blue button-down shirt from the floor outside the tent, and draped it dramatically over Mailah’s head and shoulders.

He pulled the fabric tight around her neck, leaning down until his sharp face was only an inch from hers. His dark eyes burned with a fierce, swoon-worthy heat that made her heart leap into her throat.

"There," Grayson whispered, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest. "You now have a high-quality garment protecting you from draft. You do not need to watch a padded actor stand in a puddle."

Mailah blinked under the heavy blue shirt, looking into his ridiculously intense, jealous eyes.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst into wild, helpless laughter, falling sideways against his lap.

"You are jealous!" Mailah wheezed, clutching his knee as she laughed. "You are literally jealous of a guy on a screen!"

"I am not jealous," Grayson insisted haughtily, though his hands instantly moved to hold her waist so she wouldn’t slip off the cushions. "I am pointing out logical flaws in human entertainment."

"You are totally jealous!" Mailah grinned up at him, reaching up to pinch his sharp cheek. "You cute, possessive idiot."

Grayson caught her hand, wrapping his long fingers around her wrist. He didn’t let go. Instead, he leaned down further, his sharp jaw tight, his dark gaze locked onto her lips.

"I am not cute, Mailah," Grayson murmured, his low voice sending a delicious shiver down her spine. "I am a centuries-old incubus who spent four weeks living in a quiet city, staring at a wall every night because my bed felt too large without you. If you look at another man with admiration—even a man made of light on a glass screen—I will be displeased."

Mailah’s laughter died in her throat. The romantic tension inside the small pink fort suddenly turned electric.

Grayson lowered his head, pressing his lips against hers in a slow, deep, possessive kiss that wiped every thought from her brain. His hand moved to the back of her neck, holding her gently but firmly, pulling her closer against his chest.

When he finally pulled back, Mailah was completely breathless, her face flushed red.

"Now," Grayson whispered smoothly, a triumphant smirk touching his lips. "Does your television actor kiss you like that?"

Mailah swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her ribs. "No," she admitted softly.

"Good," Grayson approved, smoothing down her hair with a satisfied nod. "Then I have won this round."