Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 346: Eyes

–Livana–

After the panic room inspection, I sent my son to his room, Andro and the twins trailing after him like quiet satellites orbiting their own small world. Order, once again, restored.

I turned to Damon and pointed toward the carpet at the edge of the bed.

"Kneel."

My voice was cold—clean, precise, leaving no room for defiance.

"Don’t stand until I say so."

"Baby..."

"Don’t speak."

I didn’t look back, but I didn’t need to. I knew him well enough to feel it—the shift, the surrender. The moment his pride bent to my will.

I prepared for a bath as if nothing had happened.

"My love," he called softly.

I ignored him.

I stepped into the shower, letting the water cascade over me, warm and unhurried. I took my time—long enough for silence to settle into punishment. Long enough for his knees to ache.

When I stepped out, I wrapped my hair in a towel and slipped into my robe.

I passed him.

"Straighten your back."

A glance—sharp, commanding—and he obeyed instantly.

My gaze flickered downward briefly. The tension in his body was evident, restrained, uncomfortable.

I felt it.

I ignored it.

At my vanity, I moved through my routine—serum, moisturizer—each step slow, deliberate, as if time itself answered only to me. When I finished, I unwrapped my hair and tossed the towel into the laundry basket.

Then I stood before him. Arms crossed. Looking down.

He moved first.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer as he pressed his face against my navel—an act of apology more than desire.

"I’m sorry, Livy," he murmured. "I won’t curse at you anymore."

His hands parted my robe slowly, reverently, his lips following—soft, pleading.

"You know what?" I said quietly, my voice steady despite the warmth building between us. "I can’t risk my men. I can’t stay here, Damon. This is to protect our family."

"I know," he sighed, his voice heavier now. "But think about our babies too."

His lips brushed against my bare skin again—lingering over the faint curve of my forming bump.

"Please... don’t do this."

"Stand."

He obeyed. Slowly.

The moment he was upright, he wrapped his arms around me, burying his face into the crook of my neck like he belonged there.

"Do your knees hurt?" I asked coolly.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

"Baby, I’ve been on my knees for you since our honeymoon," he murmured. "Don’t you remember? You at the edge of the bed while I worshipped you?"

I scoffed softly, shaking my head.

"Dry my hair."

"Gladly."

He guided me to the dresser. I sat, and he turned on the blower, brushing through my hair first—careful, attentive—before drying it with practiced ease.

I continued my routine, using the massager across my face, watching him through the mirror.

Controlled. Devoted. Mine.

He applied oil to my hair, smoothing it until it gleamed.

"I’ll take a bath now, baby," he said, leaning in to kiss me.

I stopped him with a small gesture.

He chuckled. "Right. Got it."

Instead, he pressed a kiss against my shoulder, over the robe, before stepping away.

I took my time applying lotion, slow and indulgent.

When he returned, he didn’t speak—just helped, his hands moving over my back and legs with quiet familiarity.

Of course... the night did not end there.

My husband has always known how to apologize properly.

Later, I dressed again—composed, untouched by the intimacy we had just unraveled. We never used the bed. We had... other places. Other arrangements. Now hidden once more.

A knock came.

Damon opened the door just as Andro and Sky burst in, followed closely by the twins.

Damien was standing behind them. He pressed his lips together, shaking his head faintly.

"I’m tired, guys," he muttered. "It’s a king bed. You’ll all fit."

Sky climbed first, using the sofa as leverage to hoist himself up. Andro followed, then the twins, filling the bed with laughter and shifting limbs.

Damon glanced at them, then at me.

"So this is what it feels like," he said dryly, "having triplets and Sky."

I chuckled softly.

"You’re finally noticing, my love."

He leaned down and kissed me before moving to arrange pillows along the edge, creating a barrier so no one would fall. Careful. Methodical.

"Sky, Mama!" Sky pointed proudly at himself.

"Dada," Zendaya countered, pointing at Damon.

I sighed lightly.

"Babe, I need the very corner. I’ll be getting up a lot."

And so it settled—our little chaos.

Damon in the middle.

Sky curled against me.

Zayvier claiming his own space by the left.

Zendaya tucked under Damon’s left arm.

Andro beneath his right.

"I wav you, Mama... I wav you, Dada... I wav Zen-Zen... I wav Zay-Zay... I wav Ando..." Sky murmured, as if reciting a prayer.

Damon exhaled, the tension finally easing.

"Let’s sleep," he said softly.

—

I woke abruptly.

Not in the bed.

On the wide sofa.

I was draped over Damon, a blanket covering us, his arms wrapped tightly around me even in sleep—protective, instinctive.

Possessive.

I almost laughed.

Carefully, I sat up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips before slipping away. A bathroom break... but I didn’t return.

Instead, I made my way to the Nest.

I stopped at the doorway.

Alyssa was perched on Lore’s lap, their lips locked together with a familiarity that spoke of practice rather than hesitation.

I raised a brow.

"Did I not say no fucking until the wedding?"

They jolted apart instantly. Alyssa stood up, flustered.

Lore only laughed, reaching for her hand again.

Of course he did.

I stepped inside, unbothered.

"Lore," I said calmly, shifting the air back into something sharper, colder, purposeful. "Let’s check Kenzo’s location."

A pause.

"I have a feeling we need to relocate the lab." I approached them closer.

*********

Another day. Another preparation.

We moved like a quiet operation disguised as something ordinary—grocery shopping with children, as if we were not preparing for siege.

Damon had Sky perched over his shoulders as we entered the largest wholesale supermarket, towering shelves stretching endlessly like a labyrinth of excess. Our supplies at home wouldn’t last for days inside the panic room. That would not do.

Not under my watch.

Pawns were already in place. Snipers positioned. Eyes everywhere.

And yet—here I was.

In my stepmother’s dress. Composed. Untouchable. Pushing a cart while Andro sat inside it like a prince surveying his kingdom.

"Tep-Mama," he chirped, pointing toward a shelf of cereal.

I followed his finger, then looked down at him.

"Is that your favorite?"

His face lit up—pure, unfiltered delight—as he nodded eagerly.

"Alright."

I reached for the box, checking the expiration date with quiet precision before placing it into the cart. One. Then another. Then ten more.

Preparedness is not excess. It is survival.

Andro clapped his hands, delighted by the growing stack.

"Dada!" Sky called out from his high perch.

I turned slightly.

"What?" Damon asked.

"Just follow where he’s pointing, my love," I murmured.

Damon adjusted his stance, indulging the boy as he traced Sky’s tiny finger toward something only he seemed to understand.

We continued.

More supplies. More stacking. More silent calculations.

The twins, however, had no regard for strategy. They were already darting through the aisles like loose threads threatening to unravel everything.

"Zay-Zay!" Damien called out, his voice tight.

I exhaled softly and tilted my head toward one of the bodyguards.

He moved instantly.

It took us nearly three hours to navigate the entire store. Carts filled and were sent ahead, lined neatly by our men while we continued gathering more. A system within chaos.

"Dada..." Zendaya reached for Damon’s hand, her small fingers curling around his as if claiming him. She must not have gotten what she wanted. Children always find alternatives.

"Anything else, Andro?" I asked.

"I call Mommy."

Of course.

I tapped his tablet, initiating the call. Tyrona answered quickly.

"Mommy, look!" Andro beamed, spinning the camera around to show the towering stacks of food and supplies.

"Wow," her voice softened. "That’s a great baby."

I continued scanning items, ordering boxes in bulk—formula, sanitary pads, maternity essentials, wet wipes, tissues. Necessities layered upon necessities.

"Wow..." Andro whispered, awed as he looked at the line of carts waiting ahead. "Bye-bye, Mommy."

"Can I speak to your stepmama?" Tyrona asked.

Andro turned the tablet toward me obediently.

"I’ll pay for the expenses."

"No need, Tyrona," I replied smoothly. "He’s enjoying this. That’s enough."

A pause. Then a quiet hum.

"Alright. Bye, baby."

"Bye, Mommy!"

His voice—sweet enough to fracture even the coldest edges of the world.

I lined up the cart as Damon approached, lifting Andro out with ease.

"Hold Zendaya’s hand," he instructed.

Andro obeyed, gripping her small hand while Damon held the other. Sky remained draped over his shoulder, content and observant.

I scanned the area, searching.

Damien appeared moments later, Zayvier slung over his back. He looked exhausted—disheveled in a way that spoke of relentless pursuit.

Expected.

"Food court," I said simply, handing the cards to Kelly.

She took them without question, already managing the logistics. Jane would have handled this flawlessly—but she was injured. For now, Kelly would suffice. David had other matters to attend to.

I stepped into line, waiting.

"Mama..."

Sky tugged at my dress. I bent slightly, ready to lift him.

"Love," Damon warned under his breath.

"What?" I murmured. "He’s barely two."

"Don’t."

Sky’s lips trembled, eyes glossing with unshed tears.

I picked him up anyway.

Damon exhaled sharply and took him from me almost immediately, settling him back against his shoulder, murmuring distractions—choices, options, anything to redirect him.

Overprotective.

Relentlessly so.

Andro slipped his hand into mine. I looked down at him and smiled faintly.

Clingy.

Adorable.

Useful.

My gaze lifted.

People were watching.

Of course they were. A family like ours doesn’t go unnoticed.

But it wasn’t curiosity alone.

There was something else in their stares. Something quieter. Sharper.

Recognition? Suspicion?

I adjusted my sunglasses slightly, even beneath the artificial glare, tapping the frame once—activating the silent scan. Faces flickered across my vision, profiles dissected, cross-referenced against the list etched into my memory.

We all knew this was inevitable.

Spies didn’t wait outside forever. They learned. Adapted. Followed. And when patience ripened into opportunity—

They struck.

My gaze drifted lazily across the crowd, betraying nothing of the precision unfolding behind the lenses. A mother in line. A couple arguing over brands. A teenager glued to his phone.

And then—

There it was.

A pattern.

Five of them.

Not together. Never obvious. But the tells were there—too still, too aware, eyes that swept instead of wandered. Predators pretending to be prey.

Assassins.

Lingering. Watching us.

I didn’t stiffen. Didn’t pause.

Instead, I shifted my weight slightly, my hand brushing against the cart as if absentmindedly.

Five.

Positions mapped. Distances calculated. Exit points evaluated.

My lips curved—subtle, almost amused.

How... disappointing.

They thought they were hunting.

I tilted my head just enough, my voice soft as silk when I spoke, meant only for Damon.

"My love..."

A pause, delicate.

"We have guests."

My fingers tapped lightly against the cart—once, twice—an unspoken signal already echoing through the unseen network surrounding us.

Snipers would have adjusted by now. Pawns repositioning.

The trap...

Was no longer theirs.