Chapter 413: The Demon’s Project

The ancient, drafty sunroom had been completely transformed into a breathtaking indoor winter garden.

The cold stone floor was gone. In its place was smooth, beautiful dark marble that glowed with a faint, deep warmth. All along the perimeter of the grand glass room were lush green trees, vibrant pink orchids, trailing jasmine vines, and tiny orange trees heavy with sweet fruit. In the center sat a huge plush velvet sofa filled with soft silk pillows and thick knitted blankets, resting right beside a small, clear indoor pond where golden fish swam quietly.

High above them, through the grand glass dome ceiling, the cold winter rain was falling against the glass—but inside the room, it felt like a tropical paradise.

Mailah sat completely frozen, her eyes wandering over every tiny, beautiful detail. "Grayson... this... this is..."

"Project Winter Sun," Grayson announced smoothly, stepping around her chair to stand beside her. He adjusted his grey turtleneck cuffs with aristocratic calm, holding his head high despite the yellow duck apron still tied firmly around his waist. "Last week, you mentioned that the winter sky was making you feel tired. You stated that you missed the feeling of green grass, sunshine, and warm earth."

He looked around the room, taking a quiet breath. "Therefore, I acquired the necessary permits, hired an international crew of landscape architects, imported dark marble directly from a private Italian quarry, and constructed a climate-controlled ecosystem."

Mailah looked up at his sharp, handsome profile. "You... you built a whole garden... just because I said I was tired of winter?"

"It was a logical decision," Grayson stated haughtily, though his dark eyes were watching her face intently, searching for her reaction. "Cold temperatures decrease human happiness by fourteen percent. A happy wife ensures a peaceful household. Therefore, this project yields a high return on investment."

Mailah looked down at the dark marble floor, then back up at him. She saw the tiny, nervous tension in his jaw—the quiet, hidden fear that she might not like it after all his dramatic effort.

Tears of pure, overwhelming happiness welled up in her dark eyes.

Grayson’s aristocratic composure shattered instantly.

"Mailah!" Grayson gasped out in total panic, dropping down onto his knees right beside her wheelchair. His handsome face turned pale. "Why are there tears?! Is the humidity level too high?! Are the orange trees offensive to your human vision?! I shall have Silas remove them immediately—"

"Grayson, no!" Mailah laughed through her tears, reaching out with both hands to cup his sharp cheeks. "I love it! I love it so much!"

Grayson stilled, his broad shoulders relaxing slightly. "You... you do?"

"It is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me," Mailah whispered softly, her thumb gently tracing his high cheekbone. "You brought summer into the middle of winter for me."

A slow, breathtaking smile began to spread across Grayson’s sharp face—an arrogant, incredibly handsome smile that lit up his dark features like a sudden beam of sunlight.

"Of course I did," Grayson rumbled softly, his voice full of pride. "I am your husband. Creating a summer paradise is well within my abilities."

He reached down and gently unlocked the footrests of her wheelchair. Then, moving with effortless strength, Grayson scooped her up into his broad arms, lifting her out of the chair as if she weighed nothing at all.

"Grayson, wait!" Mailah gasped softly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "My foot—"

"Will not touch anything unsafe," Grayson promised quietly.

He slowly carried her over to the huge plush velvet sofa, placing her down among the silk pillows with the tender care of a man handling priceless glass. Once she was settled, he carefully lifted her injured foot, placing it gently on a soft knitted pouf.

"Do you require anything else?" Grayson asked, standing over her like a attentive royal guard. "A warm drink? Fresh fruit from the trees? A symphony orchestra?"

"No orchestra," Mailah chuckled, pulling him down by the edge of his grey turtleneck until he was forced to sit beside her. "Just sit with me."

Grayson pretended to sigh as if granting a grand royal request, but he settled into the velvet cushions without a second thought. He pulled a heavy blanket over both of their legs, wrapping one long, powerful arm around her shoulders and tucking her close against his side.

Mailah leaned her head against his chest, listening to the steady, comforting beat of his heart. Outside the glass dome, the grey winter rain continued to slide down the panes, but inside, the scent of blooming jasmine filled the air.

"You know," Mailah murmured softly, playing with the fabric of his yellow apron, "for an ancient dark demon, you are terribly sweet."

Grayson’s body went completely rigid. "I am not sweet. I am a nightmare wrapped in wealth and shadow."

"You are wearing an apron with a duck on it," she pointed out smoothly.

"It is a battle apron," Grayson declared flatly. "It strikes fear into the hearts of my enemies."

Before Mailah could tease him further, the quiet tranquility of the garden was interrupted by the soft sliding sound of the glass double doors opening.

Silas stepped into the sunroom. He held a leather folder in one hand and a glowing tablet in the other. He stopped near the small indoor pond, adjusting his silver wire glasses as he looked at the scene before him: the ancient demon lord of the Ashford estate, wrapped in a blanket on a velvet couch, wearing a bright yellow duck apron while feeding a slice of sweet orange to his human wife.

Silas did not even blink. He had worked for Grayson long enough to accept any level of absurdity.

"My Lord," Silas said respectfully, bowing his head slightly. "I apologize for disrupting ’Project Winter Sun,’ but we have a critical situation."

Grayson did not turn his head, keeping his dark eyes fixed on Mailah as he wiped a tiny drop of orange juice from her bottom lip with his thumb. "Unless the sun is falling from the sky, Silas, it can wait."

"It is the board of directors, My Lord," Silas reported calmly. "The quarterly emergency meeting was scheduled for thirty minutes ago. One of the board members has already called three times. He claims that if you do not join the video conference immediately, he will motion to delay the vote on the international harbor acquisition."

Grayson’s jaw tightened. A dark, cold energy flickered briefly in his dark eyes—the terrifying aura of a business tyrant who ruled both human markets and dark realms.

"He dares to threaten my timeline?" Grayson murmured softly, his voice dropping into a dangerously low register. "Does that tiny human forget who controls his family’s trust fund?"

"He is simply being ambitious, My Lord," Silas noted smoothly. "He believes you are absent due to a minor personal matter."

"A minor matter?!" Grayson’s head snapped around, his dark charcoal eyes flashing with outrage. "My wife has suffered a tissue trauma! I am managing her recovery! That is not a minor matter, that is an issue of national importance!"

"I am aware, My Lord," Silas said, without a single hint of emotion. "However, the video link is connected on this tablet. They are waiting for your appearance."

Mailah patted Grayson’s chest gently. "Go ahead and take the call, Grayson. It will only take a few minutes."

Grayson looked down at Mailah, his harsh expression instantly softening into one of deep concern. "Are you certain? Will you not feel abandoned in this wilderness?"

"I am on a velvet couch surrounded by orange trees," Mailah said dryly, smiling up at him. "I think I will survive."

Grayson let out a dramatic sigh, as if he were being sent off to a dangerous war zone. He reached down, reached for his dark wool jacket hanging nearby, and threw it over his shoulders like a royal cape. However, he made no move to unfasten the yellow duck apron tied around his waist.

"My Lord," Silas gently pointed out, gesturing to his own chest. "The... protective garment."

"What of it?" Grayson demanded haughtily.

"You are still wearing the duck apron, sir," Silas stated flatly. "The Board Members will be watching on high-definition video."

Grayson stood up to his full, towering height, holding his chin high with supreme arrogance. "Let them see. If they have a problem with my attire, I shall double his interest rates by sunset. Give me the device, Silas."

Silas handed over the tablet without another word.

Grayson tapped the screen, instantly joining the high-stakes corporate video conference. On the screen, six wealthy board members in expensive tailored suits appeared, sitting around a massive glass conference table in downtown Manhattan.

"Ashford!" a Board Member’s sharp voice came through the tablet speaker. "Finally! Where on earth have you been? We have been waiting for half an hour! What is so important that you couldn’t—"

His voice cut off abruptly.

On the screen, all six board members froze, staring at the camera in utter, speechless shock.

Grayson Ashford—the ruthless, terrifying billionaire CEO who had crushed entire corporate empires without blinking—was standing in a sunlit indoor garden, wearing a dark turtleneck, a sweeping wool coat, and a bright yellow duck apron that said ’QUACK SQUAD’ across the front in big bold letters.

A heavy, painful silence filled the conference call.