Chapter 392: The Wishlist
Grayson’s posture stiffened slightly. "Look closely."
Mailah looked down into the cup.
On top of the rich, dark coffee was a layer of fluffy white milk foam. But it was not a simple heart.
It was a remarkably detailed, chubby little cat face with two tiny pointy ears and small whiskered cheeks.
Mailah stared at it for three full seconds, her eyebrows rising. "Is this... a cat?"
"It is a cat," Grayson confirmed stiffly, pulling his shoulders back. "I decided that a heart was too simple. A cat requires a much higher level of skill and precise control over the steam. It took me four attempts."
Mailah bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing out loud. The image of a tall, dangerous, centuries-old incubus standing over a steaming coffee machine in a quiet kitchen at six in the morning, angrily throwing away three failed cups of coffee because the milk cat did not look cute enough, was almost too much to handle.
"Four tries, huh?" Mailah asked, peeking up at him through her eyelashes.
"Five, actually," Grayson muttered under his breath, a faint touch of red creeping up his sharp cheekbones. "The third attempt looked like a bear with a severe jaw deformity. It was completely unacceptable. Drink it before the foam collapses."
Mailah took a slow sip. The coffee was hot, rich, and perfectly balanced, blending smoothly with the sweet cream. It was, without a doubt, the best cup of coffee she had ever had in this giant house.
She set the mug back down on the silver tray and kept her face totally blank.
"Well?" Grayson asked, leaning forward slightly. His dark eyes searched her face with the dramatic intensity of a hero waiting to hear if he had saved the kingdom. "Is it acceptable?"
Mailah picked up a spoon and took a bite of the warm rice porridge. It was cooked to absolute perfection, comforting and gentle on her stomach.
She swallowed slowly, tapped her spoon against the bowl, and looked up at him.
"The porridge is good," Mailah said calmly. "However, the cat’s left ear is visibly bigger than the right ear."
Grayson blinked in utter shock. "What?"
"It’s uneven, Grayson," she said, pointing a finger at the mug. "The left ear is tilted."
"It is an artistic choice!" Grayson argued, looking deeply offended as he gestured toward the cup. "Cats tilt their ears when they are listening to things! It gives the foam personality!"
"Mmhmm," Mailah giggled, unable to hold back her smile any longer. "A very clever excuse, demon lord. I give you a seven out of ten."
"Seven?" Grayson repeated, his voice rising in disbelief. "I simmered rice for two whole hours! I studied human cooking blogs!"
"Keep complaining and it drops to a six," she warned, pointing her spoon straight at his nose.
Grayson closed his mouth instantly. He let out a long, quiet sigh, though a helpless, affectionate smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You are a very strict judge, Mailah."
"I am an injured woman setting high standards," she corrected him proudly. "Now sit down. You are standing over me like a giant wall."
Grayson didn’t argue. He sat down on the edge of the mattress near her hip—carefully keeping a respectful distance—and watched her finish her breakfast with quiet, steady devotion.
After finishing her breakfast, Mailah set the tray aside and stretched her arms above her head.
"Alright," Mailah announced. "I want to go downstairs later, but I feel like a mess. I need to brush my hair, and since my knee hurts whenever I twist around, you have to do it."
Grayson paused, his dark eyes widening slightly. "Me? Brush your hair?"
"Yes, you," Mailah said, swinging her good leg over the edge of the bed while keeping her bad leg straight. She picked up a heavy wooden hairbrush from the nightstand and tossed it to him. "Sit behind me."
Grayson caught the brush effortlessly. He looked at the wooden tool in his hand as if it were a delicate, dangerous artifact. He slowly climbed onto the bed, positioning himself behind her. His long legs stretched out on either side of her hips, giving her plenty of space without touching her bandaged knee.
"Do not pull my hair, Grayson," Mailah warned, leaning back against his broad chest. "If you yank it, your couch sentence gets extended."
"I know how to be gentle," Grayson grumbled softly, though his hands were moving with extreme caution.
He gathered her long, dark hair in one big hand. Holding the top of her hair so his pulls wouldn’t hurt her scalp, he began to brush out the knots with unbelievably light, slow strokes.
The feeling was incredibly relaxing. Mailah closed her eyes, resting her head back against his shoulder. His chest was warm, solid, and steady beneath her.
"You’re actually pretty good at this," Mailah whispered.
"I have fast hands," Grayson replied quietly, his warm breath tickling her ear. "And I am taking my probation very seriously."
"Good," she murmured.
For a few quiet minutes, the room was completely peaceful. The soft scrape of the brush through her hair was the only sound in the golden morning light.
Suddenly, the heavy bedroom door swung open without a single knock.
Soren stepped into the room, holding a medical clipboard and a dark glass bottle. "Grayson, I brought the new herbal mix for her leg—"
Soren froze in his tracks.
He stared at the scene before him: the ancient, feared demon prince sitting cross-legged on the bed, carefully brushing his human wife’s hair while she leaned back against his chest like a queen.
Grayson’s head snapped up instantly. The soft, sweet look on his face vanished in less than a second, replaced by a cold, deadly glare. His dark aura flared around him, making the air in the room feel suddenly heavy and cold.
"Soren," Grayson said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "What did I tell you yesterday about entering my wife’s room without knocking?"
Soren raised an eyebrow, completely unbothered by the terrifying demon glare. He looked down at his clipboard, then back up at Grayson. "I believe you said you would throw me off the balcony. However, as her primary medical provider, I must point out that her knee requires daily treatment."
"Get out," Grayson commanded, his eyes flashing with a faint, dark light.
Mailah popped her head up from Grayson’s shoulder, pointing an accusing finger at the doctor. "Yeah! Get out, Soren! Rule number three: no creepy doctors barging in!"
Soren let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. A thousand years of dark power, reduced to a personal hair stylist and a lapdog."
"I am giving you three seconds to leave before I throw this wooden brush straight through your forehead," Grayson said smoothly, his voice deceptively calm.
Soren didn’t push his luck any further. He raised his hands in surrender, placed the brown bottle on a small table near the door, and backed out into the hallway. "Drink the mix, Mailah. It reduces swelling. Try not to break your husband’s heart into any more pieces while I’m gone."
The door clicked shut.
Mailah huffed, settling back against Grayson’s chest. "I really dislike that guy."
"I can lock him in the cellar if you prefer," Grayson offered, going right back to his soft, gentle brushing.
"No, that’s fine," Mailah chuckled. "He brought the leg medicine, so he gets a pass for today."
Once her hair was brushed and her clothes were changed, Grayson lifted her into his arms again to carry her downstairs.
"Remember," Mailah reminded him, wrapping her arms around his neck as he walked down the grand hallway. "No sudden sports-car acceleration."
"I am walking at a human pace," Grayson said dryly, though he held her so securely that she barely felt a single bump.
He brought her to the sunroom at the back of the house. Inside, it felt cold and empty. The furniture was made of dark wood, the sofa had grey cushions, and there wasn’t a single green plant in sight.
Grayson carefully laid her down on a long sofa near the main window. He pulled over a small table and two soft pillows, carefully raising her injured leg so her knee wouldn’t throb.
Mailah looked around the empty room, shaking her head.
"Grayson," she said, tapping her chin.
"Yes, my love?" Grayson asked, sitting on the low edge of the sofa near her feet.
"This room is depressing," she stated clearly. "It looks like an old waiting room in a museum. Where are the colors? Where are the plants?"
Grayson looked around the sunroom, looking genuinely confused. "It has glass. It has sunlight. It has a couch."
"It has zero joy," Mailah countered. "Remember what I said? We need warm lights. We need green plants. We need life in this house."
Grayson stared at her for a moment. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black smartphone.
Mailah blinked in surprise. "Since when do you carry a phone?"
"Since I realized my wife enjoys online shopping," Grayson said calmly, tapping the screen with his long fingers. "Tell me what you want."
"Wait, really?" Mailah leaned forward, her bad leg resting comfortably on the pillows. "You’re just going to buy whatever I point at?"
"I am a very wealthy man, Mailah," Grayson said, a tiny, confident smirk touching his lips. "And my current approval score with you is dangerously low. If buying bright cushions and green leaves improves my standing, I will buy the entire inventory."
"They are called houseplants, demon lord," Mailah laughed. "Hand over the screen."
For the next hour, Mailah sat on the sofa with Grayson leaning right over her shoulder, scrolling through high-end home decor stores online. She decided to test just how far his guilt would make him go.
"I want that giant yellow rug," she said, pointing at the screen.
"Done," Grayson said, tapping ’Buy Now’.
"I want three tall monstera plants, two large fig trees, and a small lemon tree for that empty corner."
"Done."
"I want golden fairy lights to wrap around those cold stone pillars so this room doesn’t look like a dungeon when the sun goes down."
"Done."
"I want a giant, ridiculously fluffy pink blanket," she added, peeking at his face out of the corner of her eye.
Grayson paused. He looked at the bright, bubblegum-pink blanket on the screen. He looked down at his own dark, sharp shirt, then back at the screen.