Chapter 414: The Butler

Grayson tapped the tablet screen, ending the video call before any of the Board Members could speak another word. He tossed the device onto a nearby table as if it were a dirty toy, completely unbothered by the corporate chaos he had just caused.

"Boring," Grayson declared flatly. "Human business can wait. My wife’s comfort cannot."

By nine o’clock the following morning, the quiet rhythm of the Ashford estate was completely shattered by Mrs. Baker.

She had returned.

The estate’s veteran head housekeeper and head butler had spent two weeks on a sunny island vacation granted by Grayson himself. She was one of the very few humans on earth who was completely immune to Grayson’s terrifying dark aura. To the rest of the world, Grayson Ashford was an ancient, dangerous demon prince wrapped in billions of dollars. To Mrs. Baker, he was simply a dramatic boy who needed to be reminded to eat his vegetables and stop leaving expensive things in the hallway.

Mrs. Baker pushed open the heavy oak doors of the main living room, holding a tray of fresh morning tea. She stopped dead in her tracks.

The scene before her was pure madness.

Grayson was standing near the foot of the velvet sofa in a tailored grey suit jacket, black trousers, and his bright yellow duck apron. He was holding Mailah in a full bridal carry, his face set in intense, serious concentration. Mailah was laughing so hard she had to bury her face in his neck, her small hands clutching his dark lapels.

"Grayson, please put me down!" Mailah giggled, her cheeks glowing red. "I can sit up by myself!"

"Nonsense," Grayson rumbled in a low, authoritative voice. "The angle of your back must be kept at a precise sixty-degree tilt to prevent lower body stress. Move one inch and I shall lock this entire room."

Mrs. Baker set the tea tray down on a side table with a loud, sharp clack.

"Mr. Grayson," Mrs. Baker said smoothly, folding her hands over her stomach. "May I ask why you are carrying the young mistress like a bag of flour, and why you are wearing a cartoon bird on your chest?"

Grayson froze. His eyes snapped toward the doorway. For a split second, a look of pure, panic-stricken embarrassment flashed across his sharp face before his aristocratic pride instantly took over. He straightened his back, holding Mailah even higher in his arms as if demonstrating a prize trophy.

"Mrs. Baker," Grayson acknowledged haughtily, chin tilted high. "You have returned from your human leave. You are just in time to witness my superior medical care."

Mrs. Baker walked over, her sharp eyes taking in Mailah’s wrapped foot, the yellow apron, and the absurd amount of silk pillows stacked on the sofa. She reached out, unclipped the apron strap from behind Grayson’s neck, and pulled the yellow fabric right off him in one swift movement.

"Hey!" Grayson barked, offended to his very core. "That is my official caretaker uniform!"

"That is an eye sore, sir," Mrs. Baker said calmly, folding the duck apron neatly over her arm. "And you are suffocating the poor girl. Put her down before you ruin her back."

Mailah burst into a fresh wave of laughter as Grayson stared at Mrs. Baker in utter disbelief. He slowly, carefully lowered Mailah onto the velvet couch, making sure her leg was rested gently on a soft cushion.

"I do not suffocate her," Grayson muttered defensively, standing up and smoothing his dark suit jacket. "I protect her. I have managed this estate and her recovery with absolute perfection in your absence."

"Is that why there are five empty tea cups in the sink and the kitchen smells like burned toast?" Mrs. Baker asked with a sharp eyebrow raised.

Grayson went completely still. A faint, dark blush touched his sharp cheekbones. "The toast was... an experiment."

Mailah reached out and grabbed Grayson’s hand, gently pulling him down until he was sitting on the edge of the sofa beside her. "Mrs. Baker, please don’t tease him. He built a whole tropical garden in the sunroom for me yesterday."

Mrs. Baker’s strict expression softened instantly as she looked at Mailah. She stepped closer, reaching down to gently pat Mailah’s hand with warm, maternal care. "I saw it on my way in, dear. It is very beautiful. I am glad to see he is using his wealth for something useful for once. Now, how is the pain in your leg?"

"It feels much better today," Mailah smiled warmly. "I really missed your herb tea, though. Nobody makes it like you."

That single sentence hit the room like a lightning bolt.

Grayson’s head snapped up. His dark eyes widened in total shock as he looked at Mailah. "You... you missed her tea?"

Mailah blinked, confused by the sudden drama in his voice. "Well, yes. Mrs. Baker’s chamomile blend is amazing."

Grayson stood up so fast his dark coat swept around his legs. He stared down at Mailah with a look of heart-wrenching betrayal, like a moody ancient god who had just been cast out of paradise.

"I imported white tea leaves from a hidden mountain peak in Asia," Grayson said, his deep voice trembling with dramatic hurt. "I hand-boiled the water to the exact boiling point yesterday morning! I poured it into your favorite cup! And yet... you crave her herb tea?!"

Mrs. Baker let out a quiet, amused sigh. "Mr. Grayson, please do not start your dramatic lingering in the doorway."

"I am not lingering!" Grayson declared flatly, though he was literally backing up toward the door with an injured, moody scowl. "I am assessing the depth of human disloyalty! I see how it is. My dark devotion means nothing compared to standard house tea!"

Mailah covered her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement. He looked so absurdly handsome when he was being petty—like a giant, sulky incubus pouting because he didn’t get a gold star.

"Grayson, come back here," Mailah called out softly, holding her hand out to him. "Your tea was wonderful too."

"No," Grayson grumbled, holding his chin high as he reached the doorway. "I shall not be placated by cheap words. I am leaving to conduct important, high-level estate business."

"You’re going to go sulk in your study, aren’t you?" Mrs. Baker noted dryly.

"I am going to rule my empire!" Grayson barked, giving Mrs. Baker a sharp glare before turning around and marching down the hallway with long, sweeping strides.

Mailah leaned her head back against the silk pillows, laughing until her stomach hurt. "He is unbelievable."

"He has been like that for years, my dear," Mrs. Baker chuckled softly, pouring a cup of steaming tea and handing it to Mailah. "Whenever he feels like he isn’t the absolute center of your world, he acts like the sky is falling. Just wait. He’ll be back in an hour with something ridiculous to prove he is better."

Mrs. Baker was wrong. Grayson didn’t wait an hour.

He waited exactly forty-five minutes.

Mailah was sitting on the sofa, comfortably reading a book while the soft sound of rain tapped against the high windows, when the grand double doors swung open with a dramatic bang.

Grayson stood in the doorway. He had removed his suit jacket and rolled his crisp white shirt sleeves up to his elbows, revealing his broad, powerful forearms. Over his dark trousers, he was wearing a fresh, spotless white chef’s apron. In his hands, he held a massive silver tray covered by a high silver dome.

Behind him, two young kitchen staff members stood in total terror, holding their breath as if they were watching a bomb about to go off.

Grayson marched into the room with complete, military focus. He paid zero attention to Mrs. Baker, who was quietly dusting a bookshelf nearby. He walked straight up to Mailah, dropping down onto one knee right beside her sofa with total dramatic flair.

He set the silver tray on the low coffee table.

"Grayson?" Mailah asked, setting her book down with a sweet, curious smile. "What is all this?"

Grayson adjusted his rolled sleeves, his dark charcoal eyes burning with intense, serious pride. "I have just spent forty-five minutes in the master kitchen. I dismissed the head chef. I banned the assistants from touching the stove. I have personally crafted a culinary masterpiece to prove my absolute mastery over human comfort."

Mrs. Baker paused her dusting, watching him with an amused, warning look. "Mr. Grayson... you didn’t burn the kitchen down, did you?"

"The kitchen remains intact!" Grayson declared haughtily, refusing to look at the housekeeper. "Though your oven lacks modern temperature control for dark magic users."

He turned back to Mailah, his posture straightening as he reached for the handle of the silver dome. He looked like a king about to present a stolen diamond to his queen.

"Observe, Mailah," Grayson murmured, his deep voice dropping into a swoon-worthy, velvety rumble. "I present to you... traditional dark-style sweet soufflé."

With a grand flourish, Grayson lifted the silver dome.

Mailah looked down at the plate.

In the center of a beautiful porcelain dish sat a small, round pastry. It was burnt completely black on one side, strangely sunken in the middle, and lightly dusted with what looked like an entire tub of powdered sugar to hide the damage. A single, tiny mint leaf was placed right on top, looking very sad and defeated.

Mailah stared at it.

Mrs. Baker bit the inside of her cheek so hard her face turned slightly pink. One of the young staff members near the door let out a tiny, stifled squeak before quickly clapping his hands over his mouth.

Grayson, completely blind to the obvious failure, leaned closer to Mailah. His handsome face was full of supreme confidence, his dark eyes glowing with quiet expectation.

"It required complex physical balance," Grayson explained smoothly, holding his head high. "Notice the delicate dusting of sweet sugar. It is far superior to any herb tea."

Mailah looked from the burnt, sunken pastry up to Grayson’s face. She saw the tiny, hopeful spark deep in his dark eyes—the quiet, hidden eagerness of an ancient demon lord who just wanted his human wife to tell him he did a good job.

Her heart melted into a warm puddle right then and there.

"Grayson..." Mailah whispered, her voice full of sweet affection. "You baked this for me?"

"I did not merely ’bake’ it," Grayson corrected haughtily, though his jaw tightened slightly with nervous tension. "I conquered the recipe. Now... taste it and admit my total victory."

Mailah didn’t hesitate. She picked up the small silver fork on the tray and broke off a small piece from the side that was slightly less black.

Mrs. Baker stepped forward quickly. "Young mistress, you really don’t have to—"

"It’s okay, Mrs. Baker," Mailah smiled gently.

She put the piece in her mouth.

It was... extremely crunchy. It tasted like pure vanilla, extreme heat, and a concerning amount of salt instead of sugar. But Mailah chewed slowly, swallowed it down, and let out a soft, happy sigh.

Grayson held his breath. His broad shoulders went totally rigid, his dark eyes watching her every movement like a hawk. "Well?" he asked, his deep voice laced with a tiny, rare trace of vulnerability. "Is it... acceptable?"

"It is..." Mailah started, looking straight into his intense dark eyes. "The best thing I have ever tasted."

Grayson froze.