Chapter 412: The Demon’s Therapy

Grayson stared at the tablet screen as if Silas had just announced an invading army at the gates. His dark eyebrows pulled together into a severe line, and his posture straightened so fast that the bright yellow duck apron stretched tight across his chest.

"He dares to set foot on my grounds at this hour?" Grayson murmured, his deep voice echoing with dramatic peril. "Does this woodland creature not possess a home? Does he not hibernate during the winter months like the rest of his fairy species?"

"Grayson, it is ten o’clock in the morning," Mailah said, trying very hard to hold back a giggle as she reached for her glass of water. "And Ethan came with Soren. You literally paid them to check on my leg."

"Morrison is our long-time family doctor!" Grayson declared haughtily, tapping the screen to end the call with Silas. "That phoenix healer has served the Ashford line for centuries! But bringing a fairy therapist into my private sanctuary is an act of pure treason!"

He set the tablet down on the bedside table with enough force to make the silver tea spoons rattle. Then, turning toward Mailah, he reached out and adjusted the soft wool blanket around her legs with meticulous, absurd precision, smoothing every single wrinkle until the fabric lay perfectly flat.

"Listen to me carefully, Mailah," Grayson said, leaning down so his sharp, dangerously handsome face was only inches from hers. His dark charcoal eyes burned with intense, serious gravity. "When they enter this room, you will remain silent regarding your pain levels. You will not smile at the fairy. You will not engage in friendly woodland pleasantries. If he asks how you feel, you will inform him that your husband’s dark healing energy has already restored you to absolute physical perfection."

Mailah reached up and gently pinched his cheek. "You are being ridiculous again, My Lord."

Grayson did not flinch. He merely tilted his chin higher, holding his aristocratic posture with supreme dignity. "I am not ridiculous. I am protecting my territory. Now, sit tall. Look noble."

A few moments later, a soft knock sounded at the bedroom door.

"Enter!" Grayson barked, sounding like an ancient king summoning a low-ranking prisoner to the royal court.

The door swung open, and Dr. Soren Morrison stepped into the room. The phoenix healer looked as calm and unbothered as ever, wearing a simple wool coat over a sharp suit. His warm eyes held a quiet spark that hinted at his ancient fire magic. Behind him stood Ethan, the physical therapist, who had a friendly smile and a light, magical fairy glow humming softly around his shoulders.

Soren stopped in the doorway, his experienced eyes taking in the scene: Mailah sitting like a queen in a luxury black leather wheelchair, and Grayson standing beside her like a towering bodyguard in a grey shirt and a bright yellow duck apron.

Soren let out a slow, quiet breath. "Good morning, Grayson. Good morning, Mailah. I see the royal transport has arrived."

"It is a highly engineered medical throne," Grayson corrected flatly, folding his broad arms across his chest. "It was crafted from dark Italian wood and padded with high-grade leather to ensure zero physical impact on my wife’s soft human frame. Step no further, Morrison."

Soren paused, one foot hovering over the hardwood floor. "Grayson, I have been the doctor for your family for God knows how long. Do not start with me today."

"You brought the woodland fairy into my private bedroom!" Grayson argued flatly, pointing a stern finger at Ethan. "His magical aura is full of pollen and spring leaves! It is disrupting the dark ambiance of my home!"

Ethan chuckled softly, completely unbothered by Grayson’s scary shadow. "Good morning, Mr. Ashford. Good morning, Mailah. I assure you, my fairy magic is completely clean today."

Mailah covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Soren, Ethan, please ignore him. Come on in. I am so sorry about last night."

"Do not apologize!" Grayson snapped softly, giving Mailah a stern look before turning back to the doctor. "State your business quickly."

"Ethan is here to handle Mailah’s light foot stretches, just as he usually does," Soren explained patiently, taking off his coat. "So sit down, Grayson, and let her regular therapist work."

"He will not touch my wife again," Grayson declared flatly.

"Grayson!" Mailah gasped, looking up at him in shock. "Ethan has been my therapist for weeks! Be nice!"

"I was exceptionally tolerant during your previous sessions!" Grayson argued haughtily, sitting down on the edge of the bed with his arms still crossed. "I am a creature of ancient dark power. I possess supreme physical mastery. If any stretching of limbs is required, I shall perform the task myself today under strict supervision."

Ethan raised an eyebrow, a familiar, amused smile playing on his lips as he looked at Soren.

Grayson dropped down onto one knee beside Mailah’s wheelchair with absolute, dramatic flair. His dark coat swept across the floor, his yellow duck apron fluttering gently. He reached out, his large, warm hands gently lifting Mailah’s bare foot off the footrest.

Mailah held her breath, watching him.

Grayson closed his eyes for a short second. He took a slow breath, centering his energy just like he had done the night before. When he opened his eyes, the wild, dramatic storm in his dark charcoal gaze vanished completely. In its place was a quiet, intense focus.

His hands were impossibly steady. His fingers supported her heel with extreme care, applying just enough upward pressure to flex her toes toward the ceiling. A soft, soothing warmth radiated from his palms—not burning hot, but gentle, comforting, and perfectly controlled.

"Is there pain?" Grayson asked quietly, his deep voice dropping into a gentle, low murmur that was meant only for her.

"No," Mailah whispered, looking down at his sharp profile. "It actually feels... really good."

"Observe, woodland creature," Grayson called out over his shoulder to Ethan, refusing to look back at him. "Notice the subtle forty-five-degree tilt of the joint. Notice the complete absence of muscle resistance. Notice how my warmth matches your fairy magic, yet possesses superior dark authority."

Ethan stepped closer, watching Grayson’s hands with genuine surprise. Having treated Mailah through several recovery sessions before, he knew exactly how much care her joint needed. He leaned down slightly, inspecting the movement with an expert eye.

"Well," Ethan admitted softly, a small, impressed smile touching his lips. "I have to say... your hand placement is surprisingly perfect, Mr. Ashford. You’re keeping the pressure off her ligament while applying ideal warmth therapy. You might actually be giving me a run for my money as her therapist."

Grayson froze. He slowly turned his head, looking up at Ethan and Soren with a look of supreme triumph.

"Did you hear that, Mailah?" Grayson said loudly, his voice filled with arrogant pride. "Your own therapist has admitted my clear superiority! My dark intelligence remains unmatched in all physical fields!"

Soren let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Well, since Lord Grayson has officially taken over Ethan’s job today, we are no longer needed. Just make sure she does those foot rotations three times a day, Grayson. Ten repetitions each."

"She shall not touch the floor for three whole days," Grayson declared, standing up and dusting off his knees with great dignity. "I have already arranged a complete transportation plan."

"I am sure you have," Soren said, picking up his coat. "Mailah, if your new full-time therapist tries to lock you in a golden tower for your safety, call my office immediately."

"I will, Soren. Thank you, Ethan," Mailah laughed softly.

Soren nodded politely, gave Grayson a respectful nod—which Grayson returned with a haughty tilt of his chin—and walked out of the bedroom with Ethan trailing behind him, still smiling at the demon prince’s sudden career change.

The moment the front door down the hall clicked shut, Grayson let out a long, satisfied breath. He turned to Mailah, folding his arms once more, a dark, swoon-worthy smirk curving his lips.

"Another victory for the house of Ashford," Grayson proclaimed smoothly. "The phoenix and the fairy have fled the premises, recognizing my complete ability to handle your care myself."

"They didn’t flee, Grayson, you just took over Ethan’s job," Mailah said, shaking her head with a sweet smile. "You are such an absolute show-off."

"I am a protector," Grayson corrected, leaning down to place a sweet, soft kiss on her temple. "Now... we must address the next stage of your physical recovery program."

Mailah’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Which is?"

"Project Winter Sun," Grayson whispered smoothly.

Before Mailah could ask another question, Grayson unlocked the wheels of the luxury wheelchair. He stepped behind it, taking hold of the dark wooden handles with supreme, military focus.

"Hold firmly onto the armrests," Grayson commanded seriously. "We are about to enter the hallway. The carpet friction may cause slight vibrations."

"Grayson, it is a carpet, not a rocky mountain trail!" Mailah laughed, clinging to the soft leather armrests anyway as he slowly pushed her out of the bedroom.

He navigated the wide hallways of the grand estate like a man driving an expensive sports car through a tight turn. Every movement was calculated to perfection. Whenever they approached a small doorway, Grayson would stop completely, inspect the clearance on both sides with sharp eyes, and then push her through with dramatic slow motion.

"Clearance secured," Grayson muttered to himself. "Path clear of dangerous floor rugs."

Mailah leaned back against the high leather headrest, shaking her head in total amusement. "You know, if people in the business world saw the great Grayson Ashford pushing a wheelchair in a yellow duck apron, your corporate stock would drop instantly."

Grayson paused mid-stride, holding his chin high. "My corporate stock is backed by centuries of dark wealth and power. Furthermore, this apron was chosen by my wife. Therefore, it is a garment of supreme status."

"You are impossible," Mailah whispered, her heart swelling with sweet affection.

They reached the grand eastern wing of the estate—a quiet, private corridor that Mailah rarely visited during the cold winter months because the stone walls usually held a deep chill. But as Grayson pushed her further down the hallway, Mailah noticed something strange.

The air was changing.

The cool, dry winter draft that usually seeped through the grand estate was completely gone. Instead, a wave of soft, wonderful warmth rolled down the hallway to meet them. It smelled faintly of rich soil, blooming jasmine flowers, and fresh, crisp rain.

Mailah tilted her head, her dark eyes widening. "Grayson... what is that smell?"

"It is the smell of high-level financial planning," Grayson lied smoothly, though his dark eyes flickered toward her with nervous excitement.

He pushed her up to a set of massive double glass doors at the end of the corridor. The glass was frosted over with beautiful, delicate patterns, hiding whatever lay inside.

"Close your eyes," Grayson ordered softly.

"Grayson—"

"Close them, Mailah," he rumbled in that deep, velvety voice that made her heart skip a beat. "Do not argue with your husband during a royal surprise."

Mailah smiled, gently closing her eyes and folding her hands in her lap. "Okay. They are closed."

She heard the heavy click of the glass doors opening. A rush of warm, tropical air instantly wrapped around her skin, making her feel as if she had just stepped out of the cold winter morning and straight into a sunny spring afternoon. The quiet sound of trickling water echoed softly nearby, accompanied by the gentle patter of rain against a high glass roof.

Grayson pushed her forward a few feet, stopped the wheelchair, and set the foot brakes with a quiet click.

He leaned down close to her ear, his warm breath tickling her skin. "You may open them now, my love."

Mailah opened her eyes—and her breath caught completely in her throat.