Chapter 81: Chapter 81: The Date 2

“WHAT IS IT?” Mailah asked, starting to turn around.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, his hand tightening slightly under hers. “Just… stay calm.”

But it was too late. She’d already caught sight of the figure approaching their table, and her breath caught in her throat.

The woman walking toward them moved with the kind of polished confidence that spoke of boardrooms and high-stakes negotiations.

She was impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that emphasized her slim figure, her silver hair pulled back in a severe chignon that accentuated her sharp cheekbones.

Everything about her screamed professional competence, from her designer heels to the leather portfolio clutched in her manicured hands.

But it was the barely concealed anxiety in her pale blue eyes that made Mailah’s chest tighten with recognition.

“Evelyn,” she whispered, remembering the countless meetings they’d had over the past few weeks as Mailah had tried to navigate Lailah’s role in managing Grayson’s public image.

Evelyn Matthews, Grayson’s head of public relations, had been instrumental in helping Mailah understand the complex web of social obligations and media appearances that came with being married to one of the city’s most influential businessmen.

She was brilliant at her job, capable of spinning any scandal into a positive narrative, but right now she looked decidedly off-balance.

“Mr. Ashford,” Evelyn said as she reached their table, her voice carrying the professional warmth that had made her so successful in her field. “Mrs. Ashford. I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening, but—”

“Evelyn,” Grayson’s voice carried a note of warning that made the other woman pause mid-sentence. “I wasn’t aware we had any scheduled meetings tonight.”

The temperature around their table seemed to drop several degrees, and Mailah could see other patrons instinctively giving their booth a wider berth as Grayson’s mood shifted to something colder, more controlled.

“No, sir, we don’t,” Evelyn said quickly, her professional composure beginning to crack under the weight of his attention. “But everyone at the office has been trying to reach you for days. Your assistant, the board members, several key investors—they’re all asking questions no one has answers for.”

She clutched her portfolio tighter, her knuckles white against the black leather. “When your security team spotted you here tonight, I thought perhaps I could just quickly update you on—”

“Take a seat,” Grayson interrupted, his tone carrying enough authority to make it clear this wasn’t a request. “Before we draw even more attention to ourselves.”

Evelyn’s eyes darted around the restaurant, taking in the curious stares and straining ears of the other diners.

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized how many people were watching their exchange.

“Of course, sir,” she murmured, sliding into the booth with obvious reluctance. She positioned herself carefully between them, though her body language remained rigidly formal despite the casual setting.

Mailah watched the interaction with growing fascination.

This was a side of Grayson she’d only glimpsed in passing—the cold, calculating businessman who commanded empires with nothing more than the weight of his presence.

It was a stark contrast to the vulnerable man who’d been nervously cutting his chicken parmesan just moments before.

“You know very well why I instructed the staff not to visit my home,” Grayson said, his voice carrying undertones that made the nearby glassware seem to vibrate softly. “I required privacy for personal matters. That instruction extended to interrupting my private time in public as well.”

The rebuke was delivered with surgical precision, and Evelyn visibly flinched at the implication.

Her pale complexion grew even more ashen, and she began to rise from the booth as though she’d been scalded.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir,” she stammered, her usual professional eloquence abandoning her completely. “I didn’t realize—I mean, I should have known better than to disturb—”

“Evelyn,” Mailah interjected gently, unable to watch the other woman’s discomfort any longer. “Please, don’t feel like you need to leave. We were just having dinner.”

But Evelyn’s attention remained fixed on Grayson, waiting for his permission like a chastised employee seeking forgiveness from an intimidating superior.

The dynamic made Mailah deeply uncomfortable, especially considering how capable Grayson was of being warm and collaborative based on their previous interactions.

She caught Grayson’s eye across the table and gave him a meaningful look, tilting her head slightly toward Evelyn with an expression that clearly communicated her disapproval of his cold treatment.

Grayson raised an eyebrow at her silent intervention, and for a moment she wondered if he was going to ignore her plea entirely.

But then something shifted in his expression—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even mild amusement at her boldness in challenging his authority.

He sighed, the sound carrying just enough resignation to make it clear he was conceding to her wishes rather than his own inclinations.

“I’ll be in the office tomorrow morning,” he told Evelyn, his tone marginally warmer though still carrying an unmistakable edge of command. “We can discuss whatever urgent matters require my attention then. During business hours. In the appropriate setting.”

The relief that washed over Evelyn’s features was almost palpable. “Yes, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

She gathered her portfolio with hands that trembled slightly, clearly eager to escape the uncomfortable situation. “I’ll have all the relevant briefings prepared by nine AM. And again, I apologize for the interruption.”

Mailah offered her a gentle nod of acknowledgment, trying to inject some warmth into an interaction that had been dominated by Grayson’s arctic professionalism.

Grayson gave an almost imperceptible nod in return, the gesture so subtle it might have been dismissed as mere politeness by anyone who wasn’t looking for it.

Evelyn hurried away from their table with obvious relief, her heels clicking against the restaurant’s tile floor in a rapid staccato that spoke of her desire to put as much distance as possible between herself and her intimidating employer.

The silence that followed her departure was heavy with unspoken tension.

Mailah could feel the weight of curious stares from other diners who had witnessed the exchange, their whispered conversations creating a buzz of speculation that made her skin crawl.

But it was Grayson’s return to his meal—cutting his chicken with the same mechanical precision as before, as though nothing had happened—that truly unsettled her.

“Are all your employees terrified of you like that?” she asked quietly, unable to keep the concern from creeping into her voice.

Grayson paused mid-chew, his storm-blue-gray eyes meeting hers across the table with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“Yes,” he said simply, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “It’s more advantageous that way.”

The offhand confession struck her with.

This wasn’t the man who had kissed her knuckles with such tenderness just minutes before, who had confessed his fears about not knowing how to date a human.

This was someone else entirely—someone who wielded fear as a tool of control without apparent remorse.

“Advantageous,” she repeated slowly, testing the word like something foreign and distasteful. “You think it’s better for people to be afraid of you?”

“Fear ensures efficiency,” Grayson replied, his tone matter-of-fact in a way that made her chest tighten with disappointment. “It prevents the kind of casual interruptions we just experienced from becoming a regular occurrence. It maintains clear boundaries between my personal life and my professional obligations.”

He took another bite of his chicken, seemingly unaware of the way his words were affecting her.

“Evelyn overstepped tonight because she’s grown too comfortable in her position. The reminder of proper hierarchy was necessary.”

Mailah stared at him, searching his face for some sign of the vulnerable man who had been so concerned about doing everything wrong, who had worried about accidentally influencing her with his supernatural abilities.

“She looked genuinely frightened,” she said softly. “Not just professionally concerned, but actually scared of disappointing you.”

“Good,” Grayson said without hesitation. “Fear of consequences motivates humans to perform at their highest level. It’s a management philosophy that has served me well for centuries.”

The clinical way he discussed using intimidation as a business strategy made something cold settle in Mailah’s stomach.

She found herself thinking of all the times she’d interacted with his staff members, the way they’d seemed to walk on eggshells whenever his name was mentioned, the relief that had flooded their faces when they’d realized he wouldn’t be joining their meetings.

“Is that how you see me too?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. “As someone who needs to be managed through fear?”

The fork in Grayson’s hand went very still.

When he looked up at her, she could see something shift in his transformed eyes—a flicker of surprise, perhaps even hurt, at the implication.

“No,” he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the cold authority he’d used with Evelyn. “You’re not an employee, Mailah. You’re…”

He trailed off, seemingly struggling to find the right words to define what she was to him.

The vulnerability that had been absent during his interaction with Evelyn returned to his features, making him look younger and far less certain.

“Then why does it feel like you have two completely different personalities?” she asked, leaning forward slightly. “The man who was worried about ordering dessert without causing a scene, and the one who just reduced his head of public relations to a terrified subordinate?”

Grayson set down his fork entirely, his hands clasping together on the table with enough force to make his knuckles stand out in sharp relief.

“Because they are different,” he admitted, his voice barely audible above the restaurant’s ambient noise. “The man who worries about dessert orders is new. He’s only existed since you came into my life. The other one—the one who uses fear as a tool—he’s kept me alive and in control for three centuries.”

The honesty in his confession made her heart ache, even as it illuminated the depth of the internal struggle he was facing.

She could see the war being waged in his expression—centuries of practiced emotional distance battling against something newer, more vulnerable, that her presence seemed to inspire.

“Which one is real?” she asked softly.

Grayson’s smile was bitter, tinged with a self-awareness that spoke of deep internal conflict. “I’m not sure I know anymore.”

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