Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 208: The Sparrow and the Mocking Bird

–Damon–

I sighed, staring into the distance, waiting for my wife to come home. She just vanished—gone without a trace. I don’t know how long she plans to stay away, but she said she won’t be home. Damn it. She just gave birth, and yes, it’s been over a month now, but still... she should be here. With me. With us.

"It’s just you and me," I muttered, cradling my son against my chest. His tiny hand clutched the fabric of my shirt, and his faint coo melted whatever remained of my composure. "Should we eat something and just get lazy, huh?"

"Damon!" My mother’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade.

I turned my head. "What?"

"He needs to be changed," she said.

"Huh?"

"It’s time for his diaper and clothes," she clarified, exasperated.

"Oh." I blinked, looking down at my boy. "Wow."

Mom sighed as if she was watching a lost cause. "You need to change your baby’s clothes at least three times a day—and especially if he spits up on them."

Before I could reply, she swooped in, taking him from my arms with the precision of someone who’s done this her whole life. I just stood there and watched as she changed him effortlessly, my helplessness growing by the second.

"Go change your top while I handle this," she ordered without looking at me.

Since my son was in her care, I decided it was my so-called free time. Instead of changing, I went downstairs, my mind half-empty, my chest hollow. I opened the fridge and started rummaging like a starving animal.

"What are you doing?"

A voice came from behind me—Alyssa. I didn’t even notice she was here. I turned and found her leaning by the counter, arms crossed, a cake sitting beside her.

"You’re not the one pumping milk," she said dryly. "So why are you raiding the fridge like some hungry caveman?"

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair. "Because I’m hungry, and my wife’s not here. So call it stress eating." 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

She made a face. "You don’t stress eat, Damon. You’re the Damon. You don’t even stress." Then she approached me, shaking my arm dramatically. "Brother, are you alright? Is this—what do they call it—postpartum?"

"Huh? Only pregnant women have that."

"Exactly." She smacked my arm. "Which is why I’m concerned." Then she tapped the cake box. "I brought cake. I’ll take care of my nephew later." She grinned like she’d done me the biggest favor in the world.

"Wow. Thank you," I muttered, half amused.

I went to the table and eyed the cake—different slices, different flavors. My dear, gracious sister. I took the pistachio one and grabbed a frozen ramen from the freezer. After heating it, I arranged everything on a tray and headed back upstairs.

The bedroom was empty. No sign of my son. I placed the tray on the table and wandered into the nursery. Mom and Alyssa were there, playing with him, their laughter soft and domestic.

I should’ve felt content. But instead, a weight pressed down on my chest. I looked at my food, untouched. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry anymore.

I wanted her.

I wanted my wife back.

I wanted to know where she was, to see her face, to hear her voice scold me for eating instant noodles again. But she made sure to disappear cleanly—no phone, no tracker, no trail.

It’s maddening... not knowing.

For a man who controls entire empires, it’s pathetic that I can’t even find the one person who holds my whole damn world together.

–Livana–

My mother chuckled. "Hello, Logan. You look handsome."

Logan blinked, then turned to Jane. "Jane, we’re in a paradox. Hit me."

Without hesitation, Jane punched him squarely in the jaw. Logan stumbled back, grimacing as he cupped his face.

"Are you alright?" Jane asked nonchalantly, expression unreadable.

I couldn’t help it—I giggled and nudged my mother’s arm. "They’re fine to be around," I murmured.

Mom laughed softly and nodded. "Hi, Jane," she said kindly, extending the tray again. Jane took a glass and sipped.

"Mmm, freshly squeezed pineapple," Jane murmured approvingly.

"Yes," Mom said, flashing her perfect smile. "I’m glad to see you and Logan getting along well."

"Hmm," Jane replied dryly, glancing toward Logan, who was still rubbing his jaw.

"Now, now," Mom said lightly. "Just how did you manage to make such a perfect clone, Auntie?" Logan asked as he circled her suspiciously.

She handed him the tray. "Here, hold this," she said gently. He obeyed without question. Then she leaned in, kissed his forehead, and patted his head like a child. "I’ll explain later. For now, let’s eat."

I watched Logan carefully. He still looked dazed—unsure whether to process the shock of seeing my mother alive or the pain of Jane’s rather unrestrained punch.

When we reached the dining room, Jane immediately asked permission to look for ice. My mother smiled knowingly and gestured to the kitchen. Jane rummaged through the freezer and tossed a bag of frozen peas to Logan, who caught it with a grunt.

I took my seat and began arranging the utensils neatly in front of me, a small habit I couldn’t let go of. My mother soon brought out the food, the rich aroma of her cooking spreading through the air. Commander White had disappeared—most likely to resume surveillance duties.

Logan stretched his jaw, testing its mobility. "Why did you hit me so hard?" he asked, glaring at Jane.

"Well, you told me to," she replied nonchalantly. "I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity."

I pressed my lips together, trying to hold back my laughter.

"Wow," Logan muttered. "You didn’t even hesitate."

That did it—Mother and I burst into laughter, unable to keep straight faces.

I sighed when the laughter subsided. "Well, shall we eat?" I turned to my mother with a smile. "Thank you for cooking for us, Mom."

"Anything for you, dear," she said warmly.

"Thank you for making my favorite, Auntie!" Logan grinned, already digging into the spare ribs.

"Help yourself, dear. I made extra—I know your appetite."

"You’re the best!" Logan winked, earning another amused look from Jane.

"Jane," I called softly. "You’ve lost weight. Eat."

She nodded, though her brows furrowed. "This is making me anxious, honestly—being here with you and your not-so-dead mom."

My mother chuckled. "Don’t worry, dear. I was dead once—it’s true. I nearly died. But I had to fake my death to protect my daughters."

Jane’s tone cooled slightly. "Like Livana is going to do?"

"Yes," my mother said, her voice steady and clear. "But now that you’re all here, we can finally end this. And perhaps... put a stop to all these fake deaths."

The table fell silent for a moment, the weight of her words settling between us. The air smelled of pineapple, cookies, and revelation.

****

After the meal—and after Mother’s thorough, if slightly unsettling, explanation to Jane and Logan—we descended into the lower levels of her lair. The air grew cooler with every step, and a faint hum echoed through the hallway—the familiar sound of servers and hidden systems working tirelessly beneath the surface.

Mother, ever the gracious host, carried a basket of snacks for the Lancaster team stationed below. Her ability to balance domestic warmth with strategic brilliance never ceased to amaze me.

When we reached the main chamber, Logan and Jane froze. The place was massive—walls lined with monitors, cables snaking across the polished floor, and large screens displaying live feeds, encrypted codes, and facial recognition data.

"What the hell?" Logan muttered, jaw slack. "Super-duper computers?"

He wandered forward, eyes wide like a child in a candy store. "Wow!" He turned toward Jane, pointing wildly. "Jane, look at this!"

I waved him off and leaned closer to see whatever had caught his attention. He zoomed in on one of the screens.

"That’s your ex," he said teasingly.

"Ex?" Jane echoed, walking up beside me. "That’s Kenzo, idiot."

"Isn’t he your ex?" Logan pressed, wearing that ridiculous grin of his.

I sighed and sank into the nearest swivel chair. "Focus, Sparrow."

"Yes, that’s Kenzo," came a new voice. Lore turned his chair around, standing to greet us. His sharp eyes glinted with exhaustion but also with humor.

"Hi, I’m Lore," he said, extending his hand.

"Logan," the idiot replied, shaking it.

"I know, Sparrow." Lore grinned, then turned to Jane. "And you must be the Devil’s assistant."

"Hmm. Devil?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "Oh—you mean Damon. Yeah, he’s a dark lord, all right." She shook his hand. "I’m Jane."

"I know," Lore said with a laugh, clapping his hands together. "It’s nice to finally have new people around." He sighed dramatically.

"Why? Haven’t you left this place?" Jane asked.

"Oh, I do—once or twice a week. But lately, we’ve been here for over a month. The spies are everywhere." He grimaced. "So, we could use replacements."

Jane folded her arms. "I’m sorry. I’ll decline."

"Same," Logan added quickly. "I can’t stay here for long."

"Wait—" Jane lifted her hand, feigning thoughtfulness. "I changed my mind. I am willing to stay here."

Logan froze, crossing his arms. "Huh? Then that makes me—"

"You are not staying," Jane cut him off coldly. "The reason I agreed was because you didn’t."

Logan squinted at her like a child denied candy. I sighed, glancing at my mother, who seemed quietly amused by their bickering.

"Wow," Logan said finally, feigning indignation. "Isn’t that right, Livana? Wherever she is, I’ll be there—to make sure she doesn’t mess up."

"Hmm." I pretended to consider, then smirked. "Too late. I’ve already arranged it. Both of you will be stationed here starting next week."

"What?" Jane deadpanned.

"So," I continued sweetly, "enjoy your time in the mansion. Get to know the twins—and little Sky."

Jane stared at me with an expression that could have frozen hell itself. "How long should I plead, Liva?"

I chuckled. "Not long. Resistance is futile."

"Hey, you’re not alone here with Logan!" someone called from across the room.

We turned toward the voice. Jorge and Yolanda Lancaster stepped out of another corridor, hands still dusted with what looked like graphite powder from their last operation.

"I know you!" Logan blurted out instantly.

"Jane," I said smoothly, "this is Jorge and Yolanda Lancaster—Louie’s parents."

Jane’s demeanor shifted in an instant. Gone was the sarcasm; in its place stood the poised, calculating professional Damon had molded. She extended her hand politely.

"Pleasure to finally meet you both," she said.

"We’ve heard a lot about you," Jorge replied as he shook her hand. "You’re General Fernando’s granddaughter, aren’t you?"

Jane froze, eyes widening slightly.

"A direct descendant," Yolanda added with a knowing smile. "That’s why Damon took you in."

Logan glanced at me, confused. I only shrugged, keeping my expression neutral.

It was true. I’d heard the whispers—the legacy Jane carried, the bloodline she came from. General Fernando, the man who once served both the Blackwell and Braxton families for over a decade.

No wonder Damon had taken interest in her. Power recognizes its own.