Chapter 220: Chapter 220: The Second Ashford Party

GRAYSON stepped toward her, his presence instantly drowning out everyone else in the room.

He didn’t apologize for the night before. He didn’t ask if she was okay. He simply reached out and took her hand. His grip was firm, but this time, he didn’t squeeze.

“You look… acceptable,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

“You look like the villain from a very expensive movie,” she whispered back, her voice shaking only slightly.

A ghost of a smile—the first one she had seen on this ’new’ Grayson—flickered across his lips. “Good. It would be a shame to disappoint the guests.”

“Are we ready?” Lucson asked, checking his pocket watch. “The limo is waiting.”

“Limo?” Mailah asked. “I thought we were taking the car.”

“Duchess, please,” Carson laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder—a move that earned him a lethal glare from Grayson. Carson didn’t seem to care. “We’re going to the Ashford Gala. We don’t ’drive’ just any car. We arrive.”

A sleek, midnight-black limousine sat idling in the driveway, its engine a low, predatory hum that vibrated through the gravel.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive leather and chilled champagne, but no one was drinking.

Lucson and Carson sat opposite Mailah and Grayson, acting as a buffer—and a silent guard. They were there to ensure the “new” Grayson didn’t let his darker instincts take over before they even reached the gates.

Mailah sat close to the window, her “Moonlight Silk” gown shimmering softly in the dim light. It was a beautiful, captivating dress that made her feel elegant rather than armored, but the weight of the silver chain at her throat was a constant reminder of who held her leash.

Grayson sat beside her, his presence a heavy, silent pressure.

Yet, as the limo hit a bump in the road, his hand moved instinctively, his fingers brushing against hers on the seat. He didn’t look at her; he stared straight ahead, his jaw tight.

He was a man at war with himself, his mind telling him she was a liability, while his body leaned toward her like a plant toward the sun.

“You’re both very quiet,” Carson chirped, trying to break the tension. He was fidgeting with his cuffs, his eyes bright with the promise of the night’s chaos. “Usually, by this point in the evening, Grayson has already threatened to leave me on the side of the road. It’s unnervingly civil in here.”

“Focus, Carson,” Lucson said, his eyes fixed on a tablet displaying the guest list. “Mason and Ravenson have reported that the arrivals are… spirited.”

Grayson turned his head then, his dark eyes finally meeting Mailah’s. For a heartbeat, the coldness wavered, replaced by a flash of that bright, physical yearning she had felt on the sparring mat. He reached out, his thumb tracing the small, healing cut on her lip.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered, so low only she could hear, “do not leave my side. In that house, you are the only thing that is truly mine.”

When the limo finally pulled up to the grand entrance of the Ashford manor, Mailah felt a cold shiver of recognition. She had been here before—to the first Ashford party Grayson had brought her. That night had been a fairytale of soft lights, nervous introductions, and Grayson’s gentle protection at first, then it turned dark really quick.

She realized later that this was not that party.

As the door opened, the atmosphere hit her like a force.

The manor itself seemed to have changed. The lights were sharper, the shadows deeper, and the music drifting from the ballroom was a dissonant, haunting melody that set her nerves on fire.

The driveway was a sea of black vehicles and supernatural entities that didn’t bother with human disguises. She saw figures with eyes like burning coals, others whose skin shimmered like scales, all moving with a predatory grace that made the “businessmen” at Ashford Global look like sheep.

Mason and Ravenson stood at the top of the massive stone stairs, acting as the first line of defense. They weren’t smiling. They stood like gargoyles, their eyes scanning the crowd with lethal intent.

As Grayson stepped out of the car and offered his hand to Mailah, a hush fell over the immediate crowd. It wasn’t a silence of respect; it was a silence of calculation.

“This feels different,” Mailah whispered, her hand trembling as it rested in Grayson’s.

“It is different,” Grayson replied, his grip tightening protectively. “The first time, you were a guest. Tonight, you are a statement.”

The first wave of trouble arrived before they even reached the front doors.

A tall, impossibly thin man with skin the color of bruised plums stepped into their path. His eyes were entirely gold, and he smelled of rotting lilies.

“Grayson Ashford,” the man hissed, his voice like dry leaves skittering across a grave. He looked at Mailah, his gaze lingering on her throat. “And he brings a… snack to a gathering like this. How quaint. I thought you had developed a taste for something more substantial during your little ’vacation,’ Grayson.”

Grayson didn’t even slow down. He didn’t argue or trade barbs. He simply stepped forward, his eyes flaring with a light so bright it made the Lord flinch.

“She is not a snack, Valerius,” Grayson said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “She is the reason you will keep your distance. Unless you’d like to see if I’ve forgotten how to unmake your House.”

The man stepped back, his golden eyes wide with a mix of shock and genuine fear. Grayson was more volatile, more dangerous, and far less likely to show mercy than the man Mailah had loved.

As they crossed the threshold into the ballroom, Mailah looked up at Grayson’s profile. He was magnificent, yes, but he was a stranger. She was standing in the middle of a war zone with a man who valued power above all else, yet held her hand as if she were the only thing keeping him grounded.

The night was just beginning, and Mailah realized with a sinking heart that the fairytale was officially over.

The ballroom of the Ashford Manor was no longer the place of soft music and gentle lights that Mailah remembered. That first party, months ago, had felt like a debutante ball for a human girl entering a high-society circle. This? This was a gathering of sharks in a tank made of gold and glass.

The air shimmered with the heat of a thousand supernatural auras. It felt like walking into a room full of static electricity that made the fine hairs on Mailah’s arms stand up. The music was a haunting, rhythmic thrum—less like a waltz and more like a heartbeat.

Grayson’s hand was a heavy, warm weight on the small of her back. He didn’t guide her with the gentle touch of a lover; he held her with the territorial grip of a king displaying his most prized, and perhaps most dangerous, possession.

Every time a rival demon’s eyes lingered too long on her “Moonlight Silk” gown or the silver at her throat, Grayson’s own eyes would flash a lethal, icy silver, and the temperature around them would drop ten degrees.

He was in his element. He was the pre-exile Prince, the one who lived for the subtle war of glances and the heavy weight of power. But every few minutes, he would lean just a fraction closer to her, his shoulder brushing hers, as if he needed to remind his own body that she was still there.

“The Lords of the Seventh Circle are watching,” Grayson murmured into her ear, his breath hot and sending a shiver down her spine. “Smile. Show them that you aren’t afraid of the dark.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” she whispered back, her voice remarkably steady. “I’m afraid of the man who invited me into it.”

Grayson’s grip tightened, his fingers digging slightly into the soft fabric of her dress. He didn’t look at her, but his jaw worked as if he were fighting back a retort—or a kiss.

Before he could respond, a group intercepted them. They were draped in silks and their smiles were far too sharp. Mailah felt the immediate pressure of political talk—names, dates, and territories she didn’t know.

“A moment, Grayson,” the lead official drawled. “We have matters to discuss.”

Grayson stiffened. He didn’t want to leave her side, but in this world, power demanded attention. He looked at Mailah, his eyes searching hers for a moment. He looked conflicted, torn between his hunger for dominance and a deep, biological urge to stay and shield her.

“I’ll be right here,” Mailah said, trying to give him an out.

“Don’t move,” Grayson commanded, his voice dark and possessive. “If anyone touches you, I will burn this room to the ground.”

As Grayson was pulled away into the circle, Mailah felt a sudden, sharp tug on her elbow. She gasped, turning to see Carson.

He looked as chaotic as ever in his midnight-blue silk, his hair slightly tousled. He gave her a bright, mischievous grin, but as he pulled her toward a secluded alcove behind a massive marble pillar, Mailah reminded herself of what she had seen him do. This was the man who could probably inhale car crashes like they were appetizers.

“Quickly, Duchess! Before the big, grumpy demon realizes I’ve kidnapped his favorite human,” Carson whispered, checking over his shoulder.

“Carson, what are you doing? Grayson told me to stay put,” Mailah said, her heart hammering.

“Grayson thinks he can protect you with just a scary look and a bad attitude,” Carson said, rolling his eyes. “But this party is volatile. Half the people in that room want to use you to get to him. And since I’m the brother who actually likes you—mostly because you’re the only one who laughs at my jokes—I brought you a little something.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, ornate ring. It was made of dull, hammered iron with a single, tiny red stone that looked like a drop of blood.

“What is this?” Mailah asked, looking at the tiny, ugly thing.

“It’s an Ashford heirloom. Well, it was,” Carson chirped. “I stole it from Lucson’s private vault this morning. Don’t tell him.”

He took her hand and slid the ring onto her right index finger. It was surprisingly heavy, and as it touched her skin, she felt a sudden, sharp pinch, as if the ring were biting her.

“Ow! Carson!”

“Shh! It needs a taste of your blood to bond,” Carson explained, his voice turning uncharacteristically serious. “Listen to me, Mailah. Grayson is… he’s not the man he was. Right now, he’s a demon prince. He values power. He values the Ashford name. If things get ugly, he might choose the anything else over you.”

Mailah stared at him for a long moment and felt a cold pit in her stomach.

“He wouldn’t.”

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