Chapter 2 – 2: The Morning After

Mailah’s eyes fluttered open to the soft morning light filtering through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the master bedroom. For a blissful moment, she forgot where she was, who she was supposed to be, and what had transpired the night before. Then reality crashed over her like a cold wave.

The bed beside her was empty, but the sheets were rumpled, still holding the faint impression of another body. She reached out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the cool fabric where warmth had been. Had it all been some alcohol-induced fever dream? But no—the masculine scent of cedar and something distinctly expensive lingered on the pillow, proof that her supposed husband had indeed been there.

Grayson. Even thinking his name sent an odd flutter through her stomach.

She sat up slowly, her silk nightgown sliding off one shoulder, and surveyed the opulent bedroom that still felt foreign. Everything screamed wealth and taste—from the imported Italian marble floors to the custom-made furniture that probably cost more than most people’s cars. Yet it felt cold, impersonal, like a beautiful hotel room rather than a home.

Where was he now? Probably off on another one of his mysterious business trips, she reasoned. In the weeks she’d been masquerading as Lailah, she’d grown accustomed to his frequent absences. It made the deception easier, but also left her with an odd sense of anticipation that she didn’t want to examine too closely.

Deciding not to overthink it, Mailah swung her legs over the side of the massive bed. She caught sight of herself in the antique mirror across the room and grimaced. Her hair was a tousled mess, her makeup from yesterday smudged beneath her eyes, and her nightgown was twisted around her body. She looked exactly like what she was—a woman who’d spent the night being manhandled by a drunk stranger who happened to be her dead sister’s husband.

Should probably shower and make myself presentable, she thought, then immediately dismissed the idea. If Grayson was already gone on another business trip, what was the point? She’d just grab breakfast and spend another day wandering around this ridiculously large estate, trying to piece together more clues about her sister’s life.

The marble floors were cool beneath her bare feet as she padded toward the kitchen, her silk nightgown swishing softly with each step. She’d grown to love these quiet morning moments when the house felt almost normal-sized instead of overwhelmingly vast. Mrs. Baker would have breakfast waiting—the woman was nothing if not punctual and professional.

Thinking of Mrs. Baker still puzzled her. According to Lailah’s letter, the older woman had been the head of household staff for years, yet she treated Mailah with a strange sort of distant politeness that felt more like wariness than respect. When Mailah had first attempted to make friendly conversation weeks ago, Mrs. Baker had looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“Mrs. Ashford,” she’d said slowly, emphasizing the formal title, “is there something you need me to arrange?”

The interaction had been so awkward that Mailah had quickly retreated, leaving Mrs. Baker looking confused and slightly suspicious. Since then, they’d maintained a cordial but careful distance, with Mrs. Baker performing her duties efficiently while clearly wondering what had gotten into her supposedly familiar employer.

Lost in these thoughts, Mailah rounded the corner into the dining room, expecting to find her usual solitary breakfast setting. Instead, she froze mid-step, her breath catching in her throat.

There, seated at the head of the long mahogany table like some sort of corporate king, was the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen in real life. His dark hair was perfectly styled despite the early hour, his strong jaw clean-shaven, and he wore a crisp white dress shirt that probably cost more than her old monthly rent. He held a sleek tablet in one hand, his long fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease, completely absorbed in whatever he was reading.

The wedding photo hadn’t done him justice. Not even close.

“Grayson,” she blurted out, her voice coming out as barely more than a squeak.

The moment his name left her lips, she realized her mistake. She was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a thin silk nightgown that left little to the imagination, no bra, her hair looking like she’d been attacked by a tornado, and she’d just announced herself like some sort of starstruck teenager.

Smooth, Mailah. Really smooth.

Grayson’s eyes flicked up from his tablet, and the intensity of his gaze hit her like a physical force. They were the deepest blue she’d ever seen, the color of storm clouds over the ocean, and right now they were taking in every detail of her disheveled appearance with what looked suspiciously like amusement.

She felt heat flood her cheeks as his gaze traveled slowly from her tangled hair down to her bare feet, lingering just long enough on certain areas to make her acutely aware of how little fabric separated her from complete nakedness. The silk suddenly felt thinner than tissue paper.

“Well,” he said finally, his voice carrying that same cold edge she remembered from the night before, though now there was something else underneath it—something that made her skin tingle. “How almost shocking to see you in such a state of undress at this time of day.”

His attention returned to his tablet as if she were merely a mildly interesting distraction, but she caught the slight curve of his lips that suggested he was far from displeased by the view.

“Didn’t you have some charity luncheon to attend today?” he continued conversationally, still not looking at her. “Or perhaps a gallery opening to organize? I seem to recall your assistant calling about something requiring your immediate attention.”

Mailah’s mind went completely blank. Charity luncheon? Assistant? Gallery opening? Lailah’s letter had mentioned that she was involved in various social activities, but she’d been frustratingly vague about the details.

“I…” she started, then realized she had no idea how to finish that sentence.

“Or maybe,” Grayson continued, finally setting down his tablet and giving her his full, undivided attention, “you’ve decided to embrace a more… casual approach to your daily routine?”

There was definitely amusement in his voice now, and something else that made her stomach do strange flips. The way he was looking at her—like a predator who’d just discovered that his prey was far more interesting than expected—made her want to simultaneously run away and step closer.

“I was just…” she began again, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen, “breakfast…”

“Ah yes, breakfast.” He leaned back in his chair, and the movement made his shirt pull slightly across his broad chest. “Mrs. Baker did mention that your eating habits have become rather… unpredictable lately.”

Oh god, what did that mean? Had she been doing something wrong? Eating the wrong foods? At the wrong times? Lailah’s letter hadn’t included a manual on proper billionaire wife breakfast etiquette.

“Would you like me to…” she started to turn toward the kitchen, desperate to escape his penetrating stare.

“Sit,” he said, and something in his tone made it impossible to disobey. It wasn’t quite a command, but it wasn’t a request either.

She found herself moving toward the table before she’d consciously decided to do so, hyper-aware of the way the silk nightgown clung to her body with each step. The dining room suddenly felt much smaller than its actual cathedral-like proportions, the air thick with a tension she didn’t quite understand but could definitely feel.

He gestured to the chair to his right—much closer than she would have preferred given her current state of undress and mental disarray. As she sat down, she caught another whiff of that intoxicating scent from the night before, mixed now with coffee and something that was purely, devastatingly male.

“You seem different this morning,” he observed, his blue eyes studying her face with an intensity that made her want to squirm. “More… present.”

Present? What did that mean? Had Lailah been absent? Distracted? She filed that information away for later analysis and tried to look like she knew what he was talking about.

“Do I?” she managed, proud that her voice came out relatively steady.

Mrs. Baker appeared as if summoned, setting a delicate china plate in front of her with perfectly arranged fresh fruit, yogurt, and what looked like some sort of artisanal pastry. The older woman’s eyes flickered between Mailah’s nightgown and Grayson’s amused expression, her disapproval practically radiating from her stiff posture.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Ashford?” she asked, pointedly avoiding looking at Mailah.

“That will be all, thank you,” Grayson replied smoothly.

The moment Mrs. Baker disappeared, the dining room felt charged with electricity. Mailah picked up her fork, grateful to have something to do with her hands, and took a small bite of the pastry. It was delicious—buttery and light with hints of vanilla and something exotic she couldn’t identify—but she barely tasted it.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Grayson said conversationally, lifting his coffee cup to his lips.

She looked up, confused. “What question?”

“About your plans for today.” His eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and she realized he was enjoying her obvious discomfort. “The charity luncheon? The gallery opening? Or have you decided to spend the day wandering around the house in your nightclothes?”

The teasing note in his voice made her bristle. He was clearly testing her, though she wasn’t sure what kind of test this was or how she was supposed to pass it.

“Maybe I have,” she said, lifting her chin defiantly. “Is there a problem with that?”

Something shifted in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or approval. “No problem at all,” he said slowly. “Though it is rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected how?”

He set down his coffee cup and leaned forward slightly, bringing him close enough that she could see the gray flecks in his irises. “You’re usually dressed and gone by the time I come down for breakfast. We haven’t shared a morning meal in…” he paused, as if calculating, ” years, actually.”

Years? What kind of marriage had Lailah been living? She tried to process this information while maintaining what she hoped was an appropriate expression.

“Well,” she said, attempting to sound casual, “maybe it’s time we started.”

The words hung in the air between them, loaded with implications she hadn’t intended. His eyebrows rose slightly, and that almost-smile played at the corners of his mouth again.

“Is it now?” he murmured. “How interesting.”

Before she could figure out how to respond to that, his phone buzzed against the table. He glanced at the screen, and his expression immediately shifted back to business mode.

“I have a conference call in ten minutes,” he said, standing and reaching for his suit jacket. “We’ll have to continue this… fascinating conversation later.”

He moved with fluid grace, shrugging into his jacket with practiced ease. As he passed behind her chair, she felt rather than saw him pause, and then—impossibly—she felt the whisper of his breath against her ear.

“Next time,” he said quietly, his voice sending shivers down her spine, “you might want to consider that silk becomes rather transparent in morning light.”

And then he was gone, leaving her sitting alone at the massive dining table, her face burning with embarrassment and something else entirely, wondering what the hell she’d gotten herself into and why her sister’s cold, distant husband suddenly seemed anything but cold.

The silk nightgown that had felt perfectly modest moments before now felt like she might as well be sitting there naked. She crossed her arms over her chest and tried to process what had just happened.

One thing was becoming increasingly clear: Lailah’s letter had left out some very important details about her marriage. And Mailah was beginning to suspect that living her sister’s life was going to be far more complicated—and dangerous—than she’d ever imagined.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep