Chapter 401: The Demon’s Service

Ten minutes later, Grayson marched back into the sunroom carrying a silver tray.

On the tray sat a plate of golden, fragrant brioche French toast, dusted with powdered sugar and cut into mathematically perfect triangles. Beside it sat a glass of crystal-clear orange juice and a small bowl of fresh maple syrup.

Mailah was sitting comfortably in the pink blanket fort, trying her absolute hardest not to laugh out loud.

Grayson knelt gracefully on one knee outside the fort. He set the tray down on the low table with ceremonial elegance. He adjusted his duck apron, sat on his heels, and picked up the silver fork.

"Your morning nourishment," Grayson announced stiffly, his dark eyes fixed on her face. "The brioche triangles possess exact forty-five-degree angles. The orange juice has been filtered through triple-ply silk to guarantee total pulp eradication."

Mailah peeked at the plate. "It looks very good, Grayson. Now... rule number three."

Grayson swallowed hard. A faint, dark blush touched the tops of his cheekbones. He carefully dipped a golden triangle of French toast into the maple syrup, picked it up with the silver fork, and brought it toward Mailah’s mouth.

He held his breath, his hand steady as a rock, watching her intently as she took a bite.

Mailah chewed slowly, making a dramatic, thoughtful face. She closed her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.

"Well?" Grayson asked, his voice carrying a tiny, hilarious hint of nervous tension. "Is the crispness ratio acceptable? Did the silk fail to catch any pulp?"

"The French toast is incredible," Mailah smiled, opening her eyes. "Ten out of ten. But..."

Grayson’s posture went rigid as a steel pipe. "But?!"

Mailah pointed to the glass of orange juice. "I need to test the juice."

Grayson picked up the glass with both hands and offered it to her like a holy relic. Mailah took a slow sip. The juice was cold, sweet, and completely, perfectly smooth.

"Hmm," Mailah murmured, setting the glass down. "No pulp. Excellent filtration work, Mr. Probation."

Grayson let out a long, quiet sigh of relief, his shoulders sinking two inches. A subtle, victorious smirk touched his lips. "I am a lord of high execution. A simple citrus fruit cannot defeat me."

"Don’t get cocky," Mailah teased, poking his stomach over the duck apron. "You still have to feed me two more bites."

Grayson leaned closer, his dark eyes softening with a sudden, devastating warmth that made Mailah’s heart skip a beat. He picked up another piece of French toast with the fork, but instead of feeding her immediately, he leaned in until his sharp, breathtaking face was only inches from hers.

"And if I feed you the entire plate," Grayson whispered softly, his deep voice smooth as velvet, "does my probation evaluation yield an afternoon reward?"

Mailah swallowed hard, her face growing hot under his intense, possessive gaze. "That depends on how well you behave during our afternoon walk."

By three o’clock in the afternoon, the rain outside had stopped, leaving behind a crisp, cool air and a sky filled with soft grey clouds.

Mailah insisted on leaving the sunroom to walk through the estate’s massive glass greenhouse—a tropical sanctuary filled with exotic flowers, tall palm trees, and winding stone pathways.

Grayson walked directly beside her. He had taken off his duck apron, but he was wearing his long black coat over a soft grey sweater. He didn’t just walk beside her—he hovered like a massive, dark shadow, his dark eyes locked onto her feet with terrifying intensity.

"Grayson, stop staring at my shoes," Mailah giggled, holding onto his broad forearm as they strolled down the stone path. "You’re going to trip over a flowerpot."

"I do not trip," Grayson stated flatly, his arm held firm as an iron bar for her to lean on. "And I am monitoring the stone surfaces. The humidity in this greenhouse creates moisture on the floor tiles. Moisture creates a friction reduction of forty percent."

"You are so dramatic," Mailah smiled, leaning her shoulder against his broad side.

They walked slowly past vibrant purple orchids and large green ferns. The air was warm and smelled of sweet earth and fresh leaves. Mailah felt completely peaceful, her hand tucked securely into Grayson’s large, warm palm.

Suddenly, Mailah’s foot caught the edge of an uneven cobblestone tile.

Her ankle turned slightly, and she gasped as her balance shifted.

She didn’t fall. She barely even tilted an inch.

But to Grayson, time stopped completely.

In a split second, the bright greenhouse vanished from his mind. A terrifying, violent flashback slammed into his chest—the memory of that freezing morning four weeks ago, the sight of Mailah lying pale, broken, and cold at the bottom of the terrace steps while he was miles away, walking off a hangover.

No. Not again. Never again.

Before Mailah could even register the stumble, Grayson moved with explosive, terrifying speed.

He didn’t just catch her arm. He swept both of his long, powerful arms around her waist and knees, scooping her up into his chest with a sharp, violent gasp of air. He pulled her flush against his broad torso, backing up three steps until his back hit the solid trunk of a giant palm tree, locking her in his grip like a dragon protecting its only treasure.

His heart was hammering against his ribs like a wild beast trying to break free. His dark eyes flashed with a bright, terrifying silver-blue glow, his breathing heavy and ragged.

Mailah blinked in complete shock, holding onto his neck. "Grayson! Grayson, calm down! I just stumbled!"

Grayson didn’t hear her. He was staring down at her with wide, terrified eyes, his hands trembling violently against her back and legs. He was squeezing her so tightly she could barely breathe, his broad chest heaving as if he had just run a hundred miles.

"Grayson," Mailah whispered, her heart aching as she realized what was happening. She reached up, cupping both sides of his sharp, pale face with her hands. "Look at me. Look at my eyes, Grayson. I’m okay. I didn’t fall."

Grayson focused on her face. The silver glow in his eyes slowly faded back into deep, dark charcoal. His rapid breathing began to slow down, but his body remained stiff as iron against the tree.

"You... you stumbled," Grayson rasped out, his voice raw and choked with buried panic. "The tile was uneven. You could have fallen on the stone."

"I didn’t fall because you caught me," Mailah said softly, using her thumbs to stroke his sharp cheekbones. "You were right here, Grayson. You caught me instantly."

Grayson closed his eyes, leaning his heavy head down until his forehead rested against her shoulder. He let out a long, shaky exhale that felt warm and wet against her neck.

"I cannot lose you, Mailah," Grayson whispered, his voice cracking with a level of raw, desperate emotion that made Mailah’s eyes fill with tears. "I cannot... I cannot see you broken on the cold stone again. If anything happens to you because of my failure, I will tear this entire world down."

Mailah held him tight, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her face into his soft sweater. She realized then, with absolute certainty, just how deeply his guilt ran. He wasn’t just doing probation tasks for fun; he was terrified every single second that his past failure would repeat itself.

"You are never going to lose me, Grayson," Mailah murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his ear. "And you are never going to fail me again. I trust you. Completely."

Grayson stayed still for a long moment, breathing in her sweet scent, letting her warm words wash over the dark, agonizing guilt in his soul. Slowly, his trembling hands stilled. His grip on her softened, turning into a gentle, protective embrace.

He lifted his head, looking down into her face with a gaze so intensely loving, so deeply swoon-worthy, that Mailah felt her heart melt completely.

"I will carry you back to the house," Grayson commanded softly, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.

Mailah smiled, resting her chin against his chest. "I’m not going to complain this time, my drama lord. Carry me."

At seven o’clock in the evening, the sunroom was bathed in the warm, dreamy glow of fairy lights and candle fire.

The dozens of yellow roses in their tall crystal vases smelled sweet and fresh. Inside the pink blanket fort, Mailah sat on a mountain of pillows, her notepad resting on her lap.

Grayson sat on the soft yellow rug directly in front of the fort opening. He had taken off his coat, wearing only his dark grey sweater. He sat with his hands folded in his lap, watching her with quiet, regal patience, waiting for his daily judgment.

Mailah clicked her red pen, looking down at the notebook page.

"Let’s review today’s official probation log," Mailah announced cheerfully.

Grayson stiffened slightly, though a subtle, amused smirk touched his lips.

"Proceed."