Chapter 265: Chapter 265: The Prize

GRAYSON SAT BEHIND HIS DESK, his fingers steepled, watching the door as if he expected David and his band of corporate wraiths to dematerialize through the wood.

The silence was absolute, save for the frantic, rhythmic ticking of Mailah’s heart. She stayed frozen against the window, her gaze fixed on the leather bag. It sat there, slumped and pathetic, its secret already revealed.

Mailah let out a long, shaky exhale. “It’s done? Really done? The Sigil is safe?”

Grayson rose from his chair.

He rounded the desk, his gaze locked on Mailah with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

“’It’ is beyond Valerius’s and my reach,” Grayson said, his voice a low, dangerous hum. “He spent the day chasing a bag of paperweights and monitoring my espresso intake while it was being transported.”

Mailah started to laugh—a bubbly, relieved sound. “He really thought… he really thought you’d carry it in your work bag. He thinks you’re that arrogant.”

“I am that arrogant,” Grayson murmured, stopping just inches from her. “But I am also smarter than he is. And right now, I am incredibly… energized.”

He reached out, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of her neck. His skin was scorching—not the clinical, human warmth of a man who’d had too much coffee, but the radiating heat of a furnace.

“Grayson,” she breathed, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. “We’re still in the office. The walls are glass. James might be literally twenty feet away documenting an HR violation.”

“The glass is tinted,” Grayson countered, his thumb tracing the line of her lower lip. “And James is currently deep in a spreadsheet. He won’t be back for a while.”

“But—”

“I can hear him, Mailah,” Grayson whispered, leaning down so his lips were brushing the shell of her ear. “I can hear his footsteps from a mile away. If he even thinks about walking toward this door, I’ll know before he makes his next move.”

Mailah blinked, her brain momentarily short-circuiting. A mile? Was that a demon hyperbole, or was he literally tracking the entire floor’s heartbeats? She looked at him, searching for a wink, a tell—but his eyes were solid silver, swirling with a triumphal light.

“You’re exaggerating,” she squeaked, though her body was already betraying her, leaning into his heat.

“Try me,” he challenged.

With one swift, fluid motion, Grayson swept his hand across the desk. The ” Henderson Merger” files, the expensive fountain pens, and the tiny, screaming businessman stress ball went flying, clattering onto the carpet in a heap of corporate debris.

He lifted Mailah effortlessly, seating her on the edge of the cleared mahogany.

“Grayson! That desk!”

“It should be sturdy enough for this,” he growled.

He stepped between her knees, his hands framing her face as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that tasted like victory. It wasn’t the restrained, “socially acceptable” kiss of a fiancé; it was a hungry, desperate collision.

The adrenaline of the heist, the relief of the Sigil’s safety, and the days of forced “boredom” all came pouring out at once.

Mailah wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer until there was no air left between them.

The cool, hard surface of the desk beneath her was a sharp contrast to the furnace of his body. She felt the power rolling off him in waves—a static charge that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

“You… were… so… convincing,” she gasped between kisses, her fingers tugging at his silk tie, finally loosening the knot he’d struggled with that morning.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Grayson muttered, his lips moving to the sensitive skin of her throat. “I had to listen to a man talk about sustainable bamboo for forty-five minutes without setting his shoes on fire.”

Mailah giggled, her head falling back as his hands slid up her thighs, bunching the fabric of her skirt. “You’ve learned patience.”

“I deserve a reward,” he whispered, his teeth grazing her collarbone.

The office, once a temple of spreadsheets and quarterly goals, felt like a sanctuary.

Outside, the sun was sinking behind the skyscrapers, casting the room in deep violets and glowing ambers. The shadows in the corners seemed to dance, lengthening and shortening in rhythm with Grayson’s mood.

Mailah’s heart was hammering from the sheer, overwhelming presence of the man in front of her.

She reached out, her palms flat against his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the suit.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. The darkness and the silver were receding, leaving behind that bright blue she loved. “Do you trust me, Mailah?”

The question caught her off guard. It was the question that had been haunting her since she met the Ashford brothers. And after he lost his memories.

Who was to be trusted in his world now?

“With my life,” she said, and it was the most honest thing she had ever spoken.

Grayson’s expression softened, a look of such raw, unshielded tenderness crossing his face that it made Mailah’s chest ache.

He didn’t say anything; he just leaned in and kissed her again, slower this time, a promise rather than a claim.

Suddenly, a muffled thud came from the hallway.

Mailah stiffened, her eyes flying open. “James?”

Grayson didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch. He remained perfectly still, his forehead resting against hers. “He just dropped his stapler. He’s cursing under his breath. Now he’s reaching for a tissue. He’s fine.”

Mailah stared at him. “How do you know it was a stapler?”

“The sound of metal on carpet has a specific resonance,” Grayson said, his eyes twinkling. “And James has a very distinct way of swearing in Swedish when he’s annoyed.”

“You are a freak,” she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips.

“I am a Prince,” he corrected, his hands sliding down to her hips. “And I believe we were interrupted.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He pulled her back into the heat, the desk groaning under the shift in weight.

For the next hour, the “Routine” was a distant memory.

There were no emails, no audits, and no crows.

There was only the scent of cedar, the touch of calloused fingers on silk, and the quiet, triumphant hum of a secret well-kept.

By the time they left the tower, the moon was high, a silver sliver hanging over the city like a curved blade.

The lobby was empty, the night janitors moving like ghosts through the marble halls.

Grayson walked with a newfound lightness in his step. He still carried the leather bag, but he swung it carelessly now, like a man carrying nothing but old lunch.

“So,” Mailah said as they climbed into the SUV. “The bag really was just papers?”

“And a very heavy paperweight,” Grayson said, starting the engine. “I wanted to make sure that if anyone tried to snatch it, they’d feel the weight and assume it carried something important.”

“And you planned all of it?”

“Lucson’s masterpiece,” Grayson said, pulling out into the quiet street. “He realized that while Valerius’s spies are trained to look for magic, they aren’t trained to look for bureaucracy. A truck with a ’Toxic Chemicals’ permit is invisible to a demon. They don’t want to get their suits dirty, and they certainly don’t want to explain to the human authorities why they’re hijacking a waste disposal vehicle.”

Mailah leaned her head back against the seat, watching the city lights blur past. “I still don’t understand how you got it into the truck without anyone seeing.”

“That,” Grayson said, a mysterious smile playing on his lips, “is something Lucson wants to explain himself. He’s quite proud of the logistics.”

The drive back to the estate was silent, but it wasn’t the tense, suffocating silence of the morning. It was the comfortable quiet of two people who had survived a storm together.

As they pulled through the iron gates, the estate looked different. The shadows didn’t seem to be lurking anymore; they felt like sentries, standing guard over a victory.

Lucson was waiting for them in the foyer, a glass of dark amber liquid in his hand. He looked remarkably refreshed for a man who had spent the day managing a supernatural heist.

“The children have returned,” Lucson said, his voice smooth and untroubled. “And I assume the ’paperwork’ at the office was completed to everyone’s satisfaction?”

Mailah flushed, thinking of the mahogany desk and the scattered files.

Grayson ignored the jab, stepping into the hall and dropping the leather bag onto the floor with a satisfying thud. “The Sigil is secure, Lucson. Tell us how you did it. How did you get it out of the house under the eyes of the crows?”

Lucson smiled—a thin, sharp expression that didn’t reach his eyes. He gestured toward the drawing room, where a fire was already roaring in the hearth.

“It’s quite simple, really,” Lucson began.

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