Chapter 260: Chapter 260: The Stalker 1

“THE KEY TO DECEPTION, Grayson, is not the grand lie,” Lucson explained the next morning, his voice smooth and clinical as he adjusted the silk tie around Grayson’s neck. “It is the boring, repetitive truth. Valerius is looking for something elaborate and dramatic. He is not looking for a man who is annoyed about a morning commute.”

Lucson didn’t just suggest the plan; he choreographed it like a high-stakes ballet where the dancers were all wearing invisible explosives.

Grayson stood like a statue, his jaw set in a line of pure granite. He was dressed in a three-piece suit that fit him with predatory precision.

“I hate this,” Grayson rumbled. “This tie feels like a ritualistic noose.”

“It’s a Windsor knot, not a death sentence,” Lucson countered, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

He then reached down and picked up a heavy, leather office bag—a classic, professional briefcase that looked entirely ordinary. “And this. This is your new shadow. You take it to the car. You take it into the office. You bring it back. Every day. It must become as much a part of your silhouette as your arrogance.”

Grayson took the bag, his fingers gripping the handle with enough force to dent the leather. “And the Sigil? How long must it stay in that safe while I play-act for the masses?”

“Until the routine is invisible,” Lucson said, his eyes flashing with a cold, hidden intelligence. “Valerius will watch you. He will track your car and count the seconds you spend in every place. When he is bored of your ’human’ life, that is when we move. Not a moment before.”

Mailah stood by the stairs, already dressed in her own professional attire—a sleek emerald blouse and black trousers that made her feel more like a lawyer than a graduate student.

Shadow sat at her feet, looking up at the briefcase with a long, low meow that sounded suspiciously like a warning.

“Ready?” Grayson asked, turning toward her. The silver in his eyes had retreated, replaced by that hauntingly deep gray, but the intensity of his gaze still made Mailah’s breath catch in her throat.

“I’m ready to make sure you don’t fire anyone for breathing too loudly,” Mailah replied, stepping forward to smooth a non-existent wrinkle on his lapel.

“Then let us go and get this madness over with,” he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.

The drive to the city was a masterclass in silent tension.

Outside, the world was waking up—ordinary people in ordinary cars, drinking coffee and worrying about the weather.

But Mailah could feel the eyes. Every black crow perched on a telephone wire felt like a camera lens. Every car that lingered a second too long in their rearview mirror felt like a threat.

“They’re everywhere,” Mailah whispered, glancing at a crow that was watching them from a streetlamp, wondering if that was also stalking them.

“Let them watch,” Grayson said, his hand resting on the leather briefcase sitting on the seat between them. He didn’t look at the birds. He looked straight ahead, his profile as sharp as a blade. “Let them see me trapped in a cage of glass and steel. It will please Valerius to think I am tamed.”

When they arrived at the headquarters of Grayson’s company, the atmosphere changed from supernatural dread to corporate bustle.

The building was a spire of glass that seemed to pierce the very clouds, a monument to the life Grayson had built while his brothers were nothing but shadows.

James was waiting in the lobby, looking suspiciously energetic for eight in the morning.

He was back in his casual-cool attire—a soft grey sweater and dark jeans—holding two cups of coffee.

“There he is! The man, the myth, the amnesiac legend!” James chirped, sliding a coffee into Grayson’s hand. He turned to Mailah with a bright grin. “And the lovely Mailah. Seriously, if you weren’t here, I’m pretty sure the elevator would have refused to open for him out of sheer fear.”

“I am here,” Grayson reminded him, his voice like rolling thunder.

“And we’re thrilled!” James led them toward the private express elevator. “The board is already in the conference room. They’re nervous, Gray. The rumors about your ’health retreat’ in Italy have been flying. I told them you were just recovering from a very aggressive case of… pasta exhaustion.”

Mailah pulled James aside as they stepped into the elevator, lowering her voice while Grayson stared daggers at the digital floor counter.

“James, listen,” she whispered. “This wasn’t the first time he came here after the…accident, but he really doesn’t remember the specifics of the company. Or the people. Or the projects. You have to handle the heavy lifting. If someone asks him something he doesn’t know, distract them.”

James winked, a gesture that was both comforting and slightly annoying. “Don’t worry, Mailah. Grayson has been ’checked out’ of meetings for years. Usually, he just stares at people until they get so uncomfortable they agree with whatever I say. His current state? It’s basically his brand. Grumpy, silent, and potentially lethal. It’s perfect.”

“I can hear you,” Grayson said, not turning around.

“See?” James whispered to Mailah. “Sharp as a tack. We’ll be fine.”

The elevator doors opened onto the penthouse floor, revealing a sprawling office that looked like it belonged in a movie. She had not stepped into the part of the building.

It was all minimalist furniture, white orchids, and a view of the city that was almost dizzying.

“I’ll stay out here,” Mailah said, stopping at the glass doors of the massive conference room. “It would look weird if your…’wife’ sat in on a confidential annual meeting.”

Grayson stopped and turned to her. For a moment, the CEO mask slipped. He looked at her with a raw, silent plea—the look of a man being sent into a lions’ den without a shield, but it was gone so fast that it seemed like she imagined it.

“Think of it as a dream, Grayson. Just a very boring, very loud dream about buildings.”

He took a deep breath, the scent of her citrus perfume seemingly giving him the strength to face the room. He tightened his grip on the leather briefcase and stepped inside.

Mailah watched through the glass.

James was a whirlwind of motion, shaking hands, opening laptops, and steering the conversation. Grayson sat at the head of the long marble table, the briefcase placed precisely on the floor by his feet.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t smile.

He simply watched as holographic models of a new downtown plaza are displayed. When one of the men pointed toward a specific structural beam and used the word “holistic integration,” Mailah saw Grayson’s eye twitch.

She could almost feel the temperature in the room rising.

A small wisp of frost began to form on the outside of the glass door—the inverse of the fire in the library, a sign of Grayson’s power reacting to his irritation.

Breathe, Grayson, she thought, leaning her forehead against the cool glass.

Think of the lemons. Think of the sun.

Inside, Grayson seemed to settle as if he heard her thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from “about to murder everyone” to “deeply bored,” which, according to James, was his natural state.

James glanced at the door and saw Mailah.

He gave her a subtle thumbs-up and launched into a passionate defense of a design choice Grayson had apparently made months ago.

Mailah finally let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She sat down in one of the plush waiting chairs, her mind drifting back to the estate.

As she looked at the briefcase through the glass, she felt a shiver of suspense.

She didn’t know what was in that bag today. She didn’t know if it was empty, or if it was a decoy, or if the plan was already further along than Lucson had let on.

“A bit of a climb from the library, isn’t it?”

The voice was soft, like silk being dragged over gravel.

Mailah jumped, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Standing near the elevators was a man she hadn’t seen come up.

He was dressed in a slate-grey suit that seemed to absorb the light around it. He held a tablet in one hand and a small, silver coin in the other, which he flipped between his knuckles with hypnotic rhythm.

“Who are you?” Mailah asked, her hand instinctively going to the small pocket where she kept the silver letter opener.

The man stepped closer. His eyes were a flat, matte black—no iris, no pupil, just a void.

“Valerius sends his regards. He was quite impressed with your performance. It’s rare for a human to survive a demon’s hunger.”

Mailah stood her ground, though her knees felt like water. “What are you doing here?”

The man smiled, revealing teeth that were just a little too white, a little too straight. “Just…looking around.”

He walked toward the conference room glass, peering in at Grayson. “He looks well. Tame. Almost human.”

Before Mailah could respond, the conference room doors swung open.

The meeting was over.

Grayson stepped out first, his face a mask of cold indifference. But the moment he saw the man in the grey suit, his posture changed. He didn’t growl; he didn’t attack. He simply walked over to Mailah and placed a protective arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side.

“Caspian,” Grayson said, his voice a low, vibrating hum of power.

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