Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 204: Jealous of His Son

–Logan–

I left Jane’s bedroom feeling more beaten than I’ve ever been in my life. And no, before you even think it—we didn’t fuck. She literally kicked me. Hard. With every ounce of strength her feverish little body had left. Honestly, I’m still wondering how wild she’ll get when we do fuck—if that ever happens. But yeah, that’s just me being me. Teasing. Besides, I doubt she’ll ever see me as a man anyway.

"So, how’s Jane?" Sophia asked, casually cleaning her gun collection like she was polishing jewelry.

"She had a fever. I tried to cuddle her, but she kicked me out." I pulled at my shirt, grimacing. "Do I have an injury? I swear, I’ll sue that woman."

"Pfft! No visible injury. You can’t sue her. Besides, you look perfectly fine." She burst out laughing—like, really laughing—as if she owned the entire penthouse.

I rolled my eyes at her and trudged back to my room. A quick change, leather coat on, and I grabbed my bike keys. Time to do what Jane asked.

The place where they confined Keiko was underground—again. What’s with these people and dungeons? When I entered her room, she was lying on the bed. It wasn’t a cell, though—it looked like a cozy studio apartment. She had everything she needed. Even a fancy butterfly lampshade that kind of made the place look less... terrifying.

As soon as she saw me, she shot up and rushed into my arms.

"Master," she cried, clinging to me.

I gently pushed her back down to sit on the bed. She sniffled, wiped her tears, and then—of course—opened her robe.

Just like Jane said, her melons were... well, impressive. Yeah, I’ve seen them before. Played with them too. But this time, I just sighed and closed her robe again.

"No," I said with a soft smile.

"I’m sorry," she hiccuped, trembling.

"You tried to harm Jane?" I asked quietly.

She froze. Tears spilled down her cheeks.

"She didn’t really mind," I said. "She’s an assassin, after all. But tell me..." I wiped her tears away. "Did Kenzo make you do it?"

Her eyes widened—pupils blown out, hands trembling. The fear in her face said everything.

"You’re safe here," I said gently.

She suddenly clung to me again, her grip desperate. "Please stay," she whispered, voice breaking.

But Jane flashed in my mind—strong, lethal, a total badass—and I remembered what she said: mental health matters. Yeah... Keiko wasn’t stable. Depressed, anxious. Maybe broken.

"Keiko," I murmured, brushing her hair back. "I told you about our boundaries. I’m not the man for you."

"I know..." she said softly, her Japanese accent wrapping around her words. "But I want to please you. I want to forget everything. Even just once."

Before she was brought here, she went through a full check-up—no STDs, no illnesses. Just anxiety, heavy and raw.

I sighed. "Alright," I said finally. "Just once." Then I leaned in and kissed her forehead.

She smiled, eyes lighting up like a kid getting candy. She wiped her tears and rummaged through her drawer, proudly pulling out a set of toys.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Right, right. You’re bored."

Her little giggle filled the room—and for a second, it almost didn’t feel like a prison.

–Livana–

Staying outside at six in the morning to watch the sunrise always brings me a strange kind of peace. Perhaps it’s the freshness of dawn—the way the light kisses the earth awake—or maybe it’s simply because my baby needs his early morning sunbath. The twins are also enjoying the cool air in their outdoor crib, their baby talks blending with the chirping of birds. I watch over them quietly; their parents deserve a little time alone.

But the most captivating sight wasn’t the sky painted in gold and pink hues—it was my husband, running laps around the wide expanse of the lawn. Every time he passed by, he would wipe the sweat off his face, lean in to steal a kiss on my lips or cheek, and then continue his run like an obedient child caught between play and discipline.

He’s been doing cardio religiously lately. The irony? It’s because he can’t do his preferred version of "cardio" in bed. I glanced at the twins over my sunglasses—they were perfectly content, crawling in their oversized crib surrounded by plush toys.

I yawned, and my baby mirrored me—a tiny, adorable yawn. His eyelids drooped shut, and I felt that familiar pull of sleep as well.

"Breakfast?"

I turned to the voice of my mother-in-law.

"Ma?"

"Oh, dear, you need to eat now."

The maids came out carrying trays of breakfast fit for a banquet. Shortly after, the nannies arrived to check on the twins.

"I think you need to change their diapers. Zayvier probably pooped," Mom said with a chuckle.

"It’s always Zayvier," she added, and I laughed softly. The noise didn’t even startle my baby—he slept like someone who already understood the art of ignoring the world.

Then there he was again—my husband. Damon. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and kissed me there, too.

"I’m going to bathe and join you for breakfast," he said.

"Hmm," I replied simply, my tone calm, as always.

The table was set beautifully, and I waited for him. I sat down, still holding my baby despite Mom’s gentle insistence that I should start eating. But I wanted to dine with him. Always with him.

"Liva," Laura called softly.

"Hmm?"

"Well, Damien and I have to take care of a few things."

"Okay," I said, sipping my tea. "I’ll stay with the twins."

"Oh, dear, I’m here," Mom chimed in.

"It’s fine, Mom," I reassured her.

"If you need anything from outside, I can buy you whatever you want," Laura added.

"Hmm, I can’t think of anything at the moment." I paused, feeling my stomach rumble. "Anyway, where’s my husband?"

"He’s probably jack—" Damien abruptly stopped, no doubt silenced by Mom’s glare.

"Do you have time to do that?" I asked, tilting my head slightly, a hint of amusement in my tone.

"For now, no," Damien sighed. "The twins are... really something. When one cries, the other joins in."

"It’s good you’re getting used to it," My mother-in-law said smoothly. "You won’t be surprised if Laura delivers another set of twins."

"Mom, please." Laura knocked on wood. "Don’t say such things. I can’t handle two more at once."

"It’s fine, Laura. At least you have two now—and then Damien can have a vasectomy," Mom teased.

"Does vasectomy lower libido?" Damien asked. Laura gasped dramatically, and I decided that was my cue to mentally check out of this conversation.

My husband—what’s taking him so long?

"Sorry for the wait," Damon’s voice broke through, rich and deep, as he sat beside me. He prepared a plate and immediately started feeding me, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Give me my grandson," Mom insisted, and I gently handed her my baby.

I picked up my utensils as Damon divided my plate into neat, four perfect portions. Orderly, just like him.

"Please take the twins inside," Laura instructed the nannies, who nodded and carefully carried the crib away. The butler followed, and soon it was just the four of us.

Silence lingered until Damien finally broke it.

"We haven’t tracked your evil stepmother yet," he began.

"Hmm, let her be," I said simply.

"Also, Dad wanted to visit," Laura added.

"Dad?" I raised a brow.

He rarely visits. Twice, perhaps. Once, when I came home after giving birth, and again a few days later with gifts and apologies that weighed more than gold.

"Let him visit," I said lightly. "He’s probably lonely."

"I’ll be here," Damon murmured, rubbing my back gently.

"I thought you’d be working," I asked.

"I’m still on paternity leave."

I nodded. I would play the role of the blind woman again. Every time my father visited, he would apologize. Again and again. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him. Perhaps I’ve outgrown the need to. He’s trying to make amends—helping track down his wife, cooperating with us. I only hope he keeps that honesty if he truly wishes to save the Carrington Empire.

They’re already in my grasp anyway. My grandparents from my father’s side dare not face my maternal grandparents. Grandfather Reagan still wishes my father dead.

I can’t let them meet yet. Death isn’t always justice. Sometimes, life itself—lived in guilt and regret—is a far more exquisite punishment.

After breakfast, Damon guided me back to our room. I flossed, brushed my teeth, and gently wiped my face before applying sunscreen.

Outside, I returned to my rocking chair, cradling my baby from the crib Mom had left near the twins. Pulling at the string of my dress, I freed my breast to feed him. He latched on immediately, frowning—almost scolding me for taking so long. I giggled softly, kissing his tiny forehead.

"So impatient, my love," I murmured. "I love you, Sky."

He paused, his furrowed brow smoothing as if soothed by the sound of my voice.

"Traitor."

Damon’s voice came from the doorway—dark, deep, tinged with possessiveness. I looked up, unbothered, and met his furious gaze.

"You told him you love him?" He strode closer, his tone sharp. "And you’ve never told me you love me?" His voice was a storm contained within a man. He was meant to be intimidating—but I’ve faced worse storms.

"You just betrayed me, Livana," he said, equal parts anger and wounded pride.

"Stop this nonsense, Damon," I replied coolly, meeting his eyes without flinching.

"How can you tell that little rascal you love him, but not me?" he scoffed, shaking his head.

And there he goes again—childish, jealous, and utterly insane. My husband. My chaos. My storm dressed in devotion.