Chapter 397: The Demon Husband 1

The next morning, sunlight poured through the glass roof of the sunroom, painting the yellow rug in warm, golden light.

Mailah woke up slowly. She blinked, feeling the ultra-soft feather pillow beneath her head and the heavy, ridiculous pink blanket tucked snugly around her shoulders. Her knee felt remarkably better—hardly stiff at all.

She turned her head toward the sofa.

Grayson was no longer there. The sofa cushion still held the deep imprint of his broad shoulders, but the demon prince himself had vanished.

Mailah sat up, resting her back against the sofa cushions, a small smirk already forming on her lips. "Grayson?" she called out softly.

"Do not move!" a deep voice commanded sharply from the corridor.

A second later, Grayson marched into the sunroom. He moved with the serious, stiff posture of a high-ranking military general entering a war room.

Mailah’s jaw dropped, and she had to bite her lower lip until it hurt to stop herself from screaming with laughter.

Grayson was wearing his sharpest dark blue dress trousers and a crisp white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. But tied tightly around his waist was the bright yellow duck apron. In his left hand, he held a silver tray with a steaming mug of coffee. In his right hand, he held a small, black digital thermometer.

He walked over to her blanket fort, knelt gracefully on one knee, and set the tray down on the low wooden table.

"Good morning," Grayson said, his dark eyes searching her face with intense concern. "How is the joint? Did you experience inflammation during the night? Did the temperature inside the temporary pink habitat drop below comfortable human levels?"

"I’m fine, Grayson," Mailah giggled, pulling the pink blanket around her shoulders. "My knee actually feels great."

"Acceptable," Grayson noted solemnly. He picked up the mug of coffee and offered it to her with both hands, like an ancient lord presenting a peace offering to an emperor. "Your morning beverage. I brewed it at precisely ninety-three degrees Celsius. The milk-to-coffee ratio is sixty-forty, as specified in human home manuals."

Mailah took the cup. She looked down into the warm, creamy foam on top.

There was an attempt at latte art. It looked like a blob with two uneven circles and a bumpy line.

Mailah raised an eyebrow, looking at him. "Grayson... what is this shape?"

Grayson’s shoulders stiffened. A faint, dark blush touched the tops of his cheekbones. He cleared his throat loudly, looking slightly away.

"It is a heart," Grayson declared with absolute, aristocratic dignity. "A symbol of deep romantic affection."

"It looks like a sad toad," Mailah said innocently, taking a small sip.

Grayson’s head snapped back to her, his dark eyes wide with deep offense. "A toad?! Mailah, I spent twenty-two minutes manipulating steam pressure to form those curves! It is a high-art abstract heart!"

"It’s a toad," Mailah insisted, grinning as the rich, delicious coffee hit her tongue. "A very tasty toad, though. Nine out of ten."

Grayson narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "I am being judged unfairly by a harsh critic."

"You are on probation, remember?" Mailah reminded him, pointing a finger at his duck apron. "And a man on probation must dress the part. Your dark shirts are too intimidating. If you want to prove you are a soft, caring husband, you need to wear normal human clothes."

Grayson looked down at his crisp white shirt. "My attire is clean and dignified."

"It’s too sharp," Mailah declared. She reached into a shopping bag sitting near her sofa—one of the many packages that had arrived the day before—and pulled out a thick, oversized cream-colored knit sweater. "Put this on."

Grayson stared at the soft, fluffy sweater as if she had just handed him a bag of poisonous snakes.

"This garment lacks structure," Grayson said flatly, pulling his head back in disgust. "It has no sharp lines. It makes me look like a gentle herbivore."

"It makes you look cozy," Mailah corrected smoothly. "Put it on, or I am adding two more days to your couch duty."

Grayson gasped softly, his chest expanding with dramatic outrage. "This is open blackmail!"

"Take it or leave it, demon prince."

Grayson glared at the fluffy cream sweater. He glared at Mailah. Then, letting out a dark, long sigh that sounded like thunder rolling over distant hills, he grabbed the sweater. He unbuttoned his sharp shirt, tossed it aside, and pulled the soft knit sweater over his broad shoulders.

Mailah held her breath.

The contrast was unbelievable. The sweater was oversized, soft, and warm, but Grayson’s sharp jawline, broad chest, and dark, intense eyes made him look so handsome it was practically illegal. He looked like the wealthy, devastatingly attractive male lead of a top-rated K-drama who had just stepped out of a winter romance scene.

Grayson smoothed down the front of the sweater with a pouting, disgruntled expression. "It feels light. I feel unprotected."

"You look..." Mailah swallowed hard, her face growing warm. "You look very good, Grayson."

Grayson paused. His dark eyes flicked to her face, catching the slight blush on her cheeks. Slowly, his disgruntled pout melted away, replaced by a smooth, wicked smirk that sent a thrill straight through her heart.

He leaned down, placing one hand on the edge of her pillow, bringing his handsome face inches from hers.

"Do I look like a husband you can forgive?" Grayson whispered, his deep voice smooth and dangerously low.

Mailah pressed her hand against his broad chest, pushing him back an inch before her heart exploded. "Nice try. We still have a full day of tasks ahead of us."

The Outing and the Flower Shop

By two o’clock in the afternoon, Mailah was getting restless. Her knee was feeling much better, thanks to Grayson’s careful wrapping and the medicine.

"I want to go out," Mailah announced from the living room couch.

Grayson, who was currently dusting an ancient stone statue using a tiny feathered duster with extreme, serious precision, froze instantly. He turned around, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Out?" Grayson repeated. "Into the public human sphere? In your state?"

"My state is fine!" Mailah said, swinging her legs off the couch. "I can walk slowly. I want to go to the town center. I need fresh air, and I want to buy flowers for the sunroom."

Grayson set the feather duster down like a soldier dropping a weapon. "If we go, we follow strict safety protocols. You will hold my arm at all times. If you feel pain, I will carry you. If any human steps within three feet of your injured leg, I will deal with them."

"No violence, Grayson!" Mailah warned, pointing a finger at him. "We are being normal humans today."

"I shall exercise restraint," Grayson muttered, adjusting his soft cream sweater with a regal air.

Twenty minutes later, Grayson’s sleek black car pulled up to the historic cobblestone square of the nearby town.

The town center was bustling with people visiting small shops, cafes, and bakeries under the cool afternoon sky. Grayson stepped out of the driver’s seat first, walking around the car to open Mailah’s door with grand, ceremonial politeness. He offered her his arm, his strong frame standing tall and protective beside her.

Mailah wrapped her hand around his forearm. Even through his soft sweater, she could feel the solid, steady muscle underneath. She smiled up at him, feeling a sudden surge of pride. Every woman walking past turned to look at Grayson, their eyes wide as they took in his sharp, jaw-dropping looks and tall, elegant stature.

Grayson ignored everyone. His dark eyes were fixed solely on the sidewalk ahead, scanning the ground for loose pebbles or slick wet spots that might cause Mailah to trip.

"Step carefully here," Grayson instructed softly, guiding her around a tiny crack in the stone. "The human infrastructure in this district is poorly maintained."

"Grayson, it’s a historic street, it’s supposed to look old," Mailah giggled.

They walked slowly until they reached a bright, beautiful flower shop filled with colorful buckets of tulips, lilies, and fresh greenery. The air smelled sweet and fresh.

"Oh, look!" Mailah said, her eyes lighting up as she pointed to a display of pale yellow roses near the entrance. "These are gorgeous."

Grayson looked at the small yellow flowers, then down at Mailah’s bright expression. He noted the joy on her face and immediately marked it down in his mental notebook.

"Good afternoon!" a friendly voice called out.

A tall, handsome young florist wearing a green canvas apron stepped out from behind the counter. He had a warm, bright smile and friendly eyes. He walked over to Mailah, smiling warmly.

"Welcome! Can I help you find something specific today?" the florist asked Mailah, his tone warm and welcoming. "Those yellow roses just came in fresh this morning. They would look lovely on a bright table."

Before Mailah could answer, the temperature in the flower shop seemed to drop by ten degrees.

Grayson stepped forward. He didn’t use magic. He didn’t say a word. He simply placed a heavy, protective arm around Mailah’s waist, pulling her flush against his side, and towered over the young florist.

Grayson glid his dark, intense gaze down to the florist’s face. His expression was cold, majestic, and deeply terrifying—like an ancient king looking at a peasant who had accidentally stepped on his robe.

The young florist’s warm smile froze. He took a tiny step back, swallowing hard, suddenly looking very nervous under Grayson’s dark, possessive stare.

"She likes the yellow ones," Grayson said. His voice was low, smooth, and laced with absolute, undisputed authority.

"Ah... y-yes, sir!" the florist stuttered, pulling out a plastic wrap. "How many would you like? A dozen?"

"All of them," Grayson commanded flatly.

Mailah blinked, looking up at Grayson in shock. "All of them?! Grayson, there are at least fifty roses here!"

"We are taking all of them," Grayson repeated, not breaking eye contact with the terrified florist. "Pack them carefully. If a single petal is damaged during transit, I will be deeply dissatisfied."

"R-right away, sir!" the florist squeaked, practically running behind the counter to gather every single yellow rose in the shop.

Mailah covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking with silent, wild laughter. She leaned her head against Grayson’s arm, whispering up to him, "You are ridiculous! You are totally threatening the poor flower guy!"

"I am not threatening him," Grayson said haughtily, staring straight ahead with his chin held high. "I am engaging in commercial transaction. Furthermore, his smile was uncomfortably wide."

"He was just being polite, you jealous demon!"

"He was hovering," Grayson insisted crossly, though his arm tightened around her waist, keeping her safe and warm against his side. "I do not like hoverers."

As they walked out of the flower shop, Grayson carrying three massive, wrapped bouquets of yellow roses in one arm while holding Mailah with the other, Mailah suddenly winced slightly. A small, sharp twinge went through her healing knee.

It was barely anything, but Grayson’s demonic senses caught the slight hitch in her step instantly.

He stopped dead in his tracks. "Your joint."

"It’s just a tiny twinge, Grayson, I can keep walking—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Grayson handed the giant bouquets of roses to a nearby park bench, bent down, and effortlessly scooped Mailah up into his arms.

One strong arm went under her knees, and the other supported her back. He lifted her against his broad chest as easily as if she were made of air.

"Grayson!" Mailah gasped, her face flushing bright red as several people on the street stopped to watch. "Put me down! People are looking!"

"Let them look," Grayson said calmly. He picked up the giant bundles of yellow roses with his free hand, holding them easily while carrying Mailah securely in his arms.

He began walking down the busy sidewalk with slow, regal strides. He looked completely unbothered by the fact that he was carrying a full-grown human woman and fifty yellow roses down a public street while wearing an oversized cream knit sweater. He looked like an absolute monarch inspecting his lands.

Mailah hid her hot face against his neck, but she couldn’t hide her wide, thrilled smile.

"You are so dramatic," Mailah whispered into his skin, feeling the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart under her cheek.

"I am protecting my investment," Grayson replied smoothly, looking down at her with a soft, breathtaking gaze that made her breath catch. "Your recovery is my top priority. If I must carry you across the entire city to ensure your leg heals, I will do so without hesitation."

Mailah looked into his dark, sincere eyes. The teasing in her mind faded away, replaced by that deep, melting warmth that only Grayson could create inside her. She reached up, gently resting her hand against his cheek.

"You really are a good husband, Grayson," she murmured softly.

Grayson’s eyes softened completely. A quiet, handsome smile touched his lips—a look so pure and swoon-worthy that Mailah felt her knees go weak, even though she was already being carried.

"But is it enough?", she asked.

"I am trying, Mailah," Grayson whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of her nose. "Every single day."