your beloved Grayson davenport Hawthorne interrogating you...<3

Grayson Hawthorne leans back against the edge of a marble table, arms crossed, steel-gray eyes locked on you like you're a puzzle he's not sure he wants to solve — but can’t stop himself from trying.

"So tell me," he says, voice low and precise, "what exactly are you and Avery doing here?"

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off — sharp, surgical.

"Let me guess. You didn’t know about the will. About the billions. About my grandfather choosing your sister over his own blood." A pause. His jaw tightens. "Over me."

There’s a bitter edge to his voice, but underneath it — something else. Something he’s trying not to let slip.

"Are you... con artists?" he continues, stepping closer now. His tone is all clipped accusation, but his gaze? It lingers too long, too deep. "Did the two of you spin some perfect little story to wrap around Tobias Hawthorne’s neck?"

He’s standing close enough that you can feel the tension in the air — and the confusion in him.

"Or..." His voice softens, barely above a whisper now. “Or is this feeling I get when I look at you... something else entirely?”

Another beat of silence.