Chapter 406: The Night Trip

By eleven o’clock that night, the rain had settled into a steady, rhythmic patter against the glass roof of the sunroom.

Mailah was fast asleep, tucked safely inside the soft pink blanket fort. Her breathing was slow and peaceful, her hand still resting lightly on the edge of Grayson’s dark sweater.

Grayson remained entirely still for ten full minutes. He did not move a single muscle, acting as a human-sized pillow until he was absolute certain she was deep in dreamland.

Slowly, with the extreme grace that only an ancient lord could pull off, he slid his sweater out from under her fingers. He pulled the heavy fleece blanket up over her shoulders, adjusted her pillow by two centimeters, and placed a warm kiss against her forehead.

"Sleep well, my love," he whispered softly into the quiet room.

He stood up. The relaxed, petty, scone-baking husband vanished instantly.

In his place stood the cold, formidable demon prince. His blue eyes lost their soft glow, turning as hard and deep as polished obsidian.

His black smartphone, resting on the side table, vibrated once. There was no sound, only a single, dark pulse of light across the screen.

[Message Received: 23:14] He is waiting.

Grayson’s jaw tightened. He picked up the phone, slipped it into his pocket, and silently walked out of the sunroom.

Ten minutes later, Grayson stood in his private dressing room. He took off the yellow duck apron, folding it with neat, reverent care and laying it across a velvet bench. He removed his grey domestic sweater and replaced it with a tailored black suit, a silk tie, and a long, charcoal-grey wool coat that brushed against his ankles.

He looked down at his watch. Eleven twenty-five.

"I have three hours," Grayson murmured to himself, adjusting his silver cufflinks. If Mailah wakes up and finds him absent, she will ask questions he cannot yet answer.

He walked down the private rear staircase, stepped out into the damp midnight air, and walked toward the sleek black sedan parked in the dark driveway.

Sitting in the driver’s seat was a middle-aged man wearing a immaculate suit and wire-rimmed glasses. This was Silas—Grayson’s chief mortal administrator and long-suffering executive manager who had spent the last forty years handling Grayson’s vast corporate wealth and secret underworld holdings. He recently found out about him after he contacted him and introduced himself. He immediately trusted his words after he revealed something about him that he his past self wouldn’t have told anyone else.

Grayson opened the back door and sat down inside the quiet leather interior.

"Good evening, My Lord," Silas said dryly, adjusting the rearview mirror. "You smell like dark chocolate and clotted cream."

Grayson gave Silas a cold, terrifying glare through the glass. "Silence, Silas. My baking achievements are not open for commentary."

"Of course, My Lord," Silas replied, starting the silent engine and pulling out of the iron gates. "I merely assumed your evening was spent engaging in low-frequency domestic warfare against the physical therapist."

"The fairy was dealt with," Grayson said haughtily, leaning his head back against the leather headrest. "He has been put in his place. Now, state the situation."

Silas’s dry, sarcastic tone vanished immediately. His face turned serious as he navigated the dark, rain-slicked city streets.

"The auction at the Blackwood Gallery ended twenty minutes ago," Silas reported, his voice low. "As you predicted, the item was not listed in the public catalog. It was brought in through the subterranean docks by a private seller from Europe. They know what it is, My Lord. Or at least, they know it holds immense power."

Grayson stared out the window at the passing city lights. A cold, dangerous atmosphere filled the car.

"Did anyone else bid on it?" Grayson asked smoothly.

"Two regional lords and a representative from the North Council," Silas answered. "They offered astronomical sums. But I used your private line to override the auction floor. The seller agreed to a private meeting with you directly at the gallery vault."

"Good," Grayson said coldly.

"My Lord," Silas hesitated, glancing at him through the mirror. "Are you certain you want to handle this yourself? If Mrs. Ashford discovers what you are looking for—"

"She will not discover anything," Grayson cut him off, his voice dropping into a dark rumble. "Mailah believes I am taking care of household duties and recovering my strength. She must remain completely isolated from this matter. If she learns about the seal... if she realizes what it means for her safety..."

He stopped speaking. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Silas understood completely.

"Understood, My Lord," Silas said quietly. "We have arrived."

The Blackwood Gallery sat on the top floor of a historic, fifty-story glass tower in the heart of the city’s financial district. To the mortal world, it was an exclusive private art club for billionaires and art collectors.

To those who lived in the dark corners of the world, it was a neutral trading floor for ancient artifacts, cursed objects, and high-value secrets.

Grayson stepped out of the private elevator into the dimly lit, marble-paved foyer of the gallery. His long charcoal coat billowed slightly behind him as he walked with sweeping, majestic strides. Even without using his dark aura, his tall frame and sharp, breathtaking face commanded instant, terrifying respect.

Two heavy-set security guards in black suits stepped forward to block the entrance to the inner vault.

"Private event, sir," one guard said gruffly. "Members only."

Grayson didn’t even slow down. He didn’t raise his voice or lift a hand. He simply looked the guard directly in the eyes, his dark charcoal gaze turning cold as iron.

"Move," Grayson commanded softly.

The guard froze. A wave of ancient, overwhelming authority hit the man like a physical wall, making his knees tremble uncontrollably. Without thinking, both guards stumbled backward, bowing their heads in instinctual, terrifying submission as Grayson swept past them.

Silas followed two steps behind, holding a leather briefcase. "You always were subtle, My Lord."

"I am on a tight schedule," Grayson replied, checking his watch. "It is eleven forty-five. I need to be back in my sunroom by two in the morning to prepare for Mailah’s morning routine."

They walked through double doors made of reinforced steel into a grand, dimly lit vault lined with velvet-covered display cases.

Standing near the center of the room was a tall man in an expensive white suit, sipping scotch from a crystal glass. Beside him sat a small, heavy iron box locked with silver chains.

The man turned around, a sharp, arrogant smile spreading across his face. "Ah. The legendary Grayson Ashford. I didn’t think a creature of your stature still walked among mortals. I heard rumors you had retired to a quiet life in the suburbs."

Grayson walked up to the iron box, completely ignoring the man’s pleasantries. He stood towering over the seller, his arms folded behind his back, looking down his sharp nose with royal disdain.

"You have five minutes to state your terms, Victor," Grayson said smoothly. "Do not waste my time with dramatic introductions."

Victos’s smile faltered slightly at Grayson’s utter lack of respect, but he quickly recovered his composure, leaning against a display case.

"Direct as always," Victor chuckled, tapping the iron box with his ring. "What lies inside this box belonged to your house three hundred years ago. An ancient seal, forged in dark blood and iron. It was believed to be lost during the Great War of the Eastern Realm."

Grayson’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits.

"Where did you find it?" Grayson asked quietly.

"That is my secret," Victor replied slyly, holding up a finger. "What matters is what it does. This seal holds the power to lock away a soul’s mortal tether. In the hands of an enemy, it could sever your bond with your human wife instantly, leaving her completely unprotected from underworld threats."

The temperature in the vault plummeted by twenty degrees in a single second.

The air grew so heavy and dense that Victor choked on his scotch, stumbling back two steps as his breath turned to visible white mist. The glass light fixtures overhead buzzed violently, micro-cracks spreading across the surface.

Grayson stepped forward. The cold, terrifying pressure radiating from his dark soul was so intense that Vance dropped his crystal glass, letting it shatter against the marble floor.

"You speak her name in my presence again," Grayson whispered, his deep voice carrying a dark, lethal threat that rattled Victor’s very bones, "and I will tear this gallery from the earth and throw it into the deep ocean."

Victor’s face went completely pale. He held his hands up in total panic, his arrogant confidence completely destroyed. "I... I meant no offense, Lord Grayson! I brought it here specifically to sell to you! I have no desire to be your enemy!"

"Name your price," Grayson commanded, standing like a dark mountain over the terrified broker.

"Ten million mortal dollars," Victor stammered out, his voice shaking. "And... and a guarantee of safe passage through your territory!"

Grayson glanced back at Silas.

Silas stepped forward smoothly, set the leather briefcase on the table, and snapped it open, revealing row upon row of certified bank drafts and bearer bonds.

"Twelve million," Silas said dryly, closing the briefcase. "Consider the extra two million a fee for your immediate, permanent silence regarding this transaction."

Victor swallowed hard, nodding frantically. "Agreed! Agreed! The box is yours!"

Victor pulled a small silver key from his pocket and unlocked the heavy iron chains around the box. He slid the lid open, revealing a thick, dark obsidian medallion resting on black velvet. Strange, glowing red runes were carved into its surface, pulsing with a faint, rhythmic heartbeat.

Grayson stared down at the medallion.

This was the Seal of the Bound Flame. An ancient relic he heard he had searched for over two decades. It was the only item in existence that could permanently hide Mailah’s human life-force from the dark entities that constantly hunted his house. As long as he held this seal, no shadow creature, demon rival, or underworld lord could ever track her location or use her to hurt him.

He had to lie to Mailah if he found about where he went on his "night trips." He should let her think he was merely managing corporate real estate. He could never let her know that while she was resting, he was fighting a silent, deadly war in the dark to keep her safe from the monsters of his past.

Grayson reached down with his bare hand and picked up the dark medallion.

The glowing red runes flared bright for a split second before vanishing entirely, acknowledging its true master. Grayson closed his large palm around the cold stone, feeling its ancient power settle under his skin.

"It is done," Grayson said softly.

He slipped the medallion into the inner pocket of his long coat, right next to his heart.

Just as he turned to leave, his phone in his trouser pocket began to vibrate with a lively, upbeat pop song.