Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 213: Stubborness

–Deanne–

The moment I saw his message, something cold and sharp settled in my chest. I knew exactly what I needed to do. The love of my life was out there, possibly running into danger again, and I refused—absolutely refused—to sit here and let anxiety eat me alive.

I rushed back to the bedroom, flipped open my laptop, and tried to track his location. But that asshole had the nerve to turn it off. Of all times, Caine.

I was still trying to trace him through different channels when the doorbell rang.

The doorbell.

No one ever uses our doorbell. And we never listed our address for any deliveries. Not even private ones. My heartbeat spiked as I switched on the camera feed.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw a man standing there—a stranger at first glance—until he tilted his head up.

Logan. Wearing a bull cap like some undercover delinquent.

This bastard. What the hell is he doing here?

I grabbed my laptop and phone, rushed out of the room, and unlocked the front door. Logan didn’t waste a second; he pushed in and turned the lock behind him.

"What?" I snapped as he scanned the penthouse with sharp eyes.

"They’re not after Caine," Logan muttered as he checked every corner. "They’re after you."

"...Ha?" My brows shot up.

"An intel. One of the Pawns told Caine they plan to secure you." He turned toward me with a hard look. "Meaning—they want you confined."

My jaw clenched.

"Get your things. We need to leave. Now."

"Where is Caine?" I demanded.

"He’s safe. I promise you that. Now move."

I sprinted to the bedroom, hauling open drawers and cabinets. I gathered documents, essentials, weapons—everything—and shoved them into my duffel bag. Logan appeared at my shoulder, taking the bag from me.

"We’re not using the front door," I said.

I led him to Caine’s showroom—filled with his ridiculous collection of action figures, models, and that massive Iron Man and Hulk display. Behind those two giants was a hidden door. I pressed the round glowing arc reactor on Iron Man’s chest, and a passage camera slid open.

I leaned in as it scanned my face. A soft chime, a mechanical whir, and the hidden passage opened.

We slipped inside. I locked the door behind us.

"Woah. Panic room?" Logan asked, impressed.

"Yup. Not in the blueprint of the penthouse."

I pulled out a specific car key—one Caine told me to use only in emergencies. A shabby white Honda Civic. Painfully normal. Insultingly normal.

Perfect for disappearing.

We took the hidden elevator straight to the VIP garage. Logan slowed his steps, his gaze sweeping every inch of the place like a seasoned watchdog. I did the same. The garage was a temple of vehicles—sleek beasts, classic monsters, limited-editions. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of these cars crossed borders through creative methods. But Caine always drove the legally-bought ones. Of course.

Underworld business meant collecting sins the way others collected hobbies.

"Can we drive that classic Lamborghini?" Logan whispered, tugging lightly at my arm like a child.

I yanked my arm free. "Damn it, Logan! Focus. We’re supposed to escape."

"Oh. Right," he chuckled before following me to the white Civic waiting innocently in the last bay.

We got in. I turned the engine on, revving it gently to warm it up.

"Sounds good," he commented, like a man evaluating wine instead of our getaway car.

I drove out, weaving through the underground lanes until we reached the exit. There were unfamiliar faces waiting outside. The unit’s security was speaking politely with them, but the strangers’ eyes were sharp. Predatory.

But they wouldn’t get far. Our building’s guards were former military—retired early, but only because they were hired into Blackwell’s shadow empire. Some were even secretly on Livana’s payroll. Nobody—and I mean nobody—gets in without clearance.

"I’m curious," I said as we stopped at a safe distance. "They dared come here without a warrant?"

"The warrant is fake." Logan smirked. "I had someone intercept it."

I couldn’t help it—I grinned. "Good job."

I raised my fist and he bumped it. Then I put both hands back on the wheel and sped us into the nearest tunnel exit.

"Now, tell me—how’s your relationship with Jane?" I asked with a wicked grin as I made another sharp left.

"Oh," he shrugged, avoiding my stare. "It’s fine."

I groaned. "You are so slow."

He huffed.

"By the way," I continued, "where’s my boyfriend? Tell me where he is."

"I can’t tell you," Logan sighed.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Turn right," he said quickly.

I turned the wheel, but my patience was hanging by a thread.

And Caine... wherever he was... he was going to answer for this silence.

–Livana–

My husband brought me the cheesecake—but I wasn’t in the mood to eat it. He kept pacing back and forth, tension rolling off him in waves. I sat still with my baby in my arms. Sky was clingy this morning, refusing to stay in his crib even after feeding. Just like his father.

Damon finally settled after a series of phone calls. When his eyes landed on me, that look—worry mixed with frustration—stabbed deeper than any accusation.

"I’m sorry," I said quietly.

I was the one who made a mistake. I apologized. Some women would never admit fault, but this... this one was massive.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked, voice firm but tight.

I exhaled. "They’re after me." The words tasted bitter. "I think we should divorce."

His brows snapped together.

"Fuck, no." He shot up and walked away.

I sighed. He was stubborn—painfully stubborn. But divorce didn’t mean breaking up. It meant protecting him.

He returned moments later with documents and dropped them in front of me.

"Here—our marriage certificate." He tapped it. "And here’s the contract. We can’t simply divorce. You signed it."

I frowned. "Wow. You really took advantage of me being blind."

"Yes." He closed the folder with a decisive snap.

"Lawyers and judges won’t accept it either. Don’t talk to me again if you’re going to mention divorce."

My mouth fell open as I watched him leave. He’d probably lock those papers away and wave them in my face later. His obsession really was on another level.

"Wow. Just wow," I muttered. "Your father deceived me, Sky."

I skimmed the highlighted lines. No divorce. Bound for life. If one of us dies early, the survivor can’t remarry. I wanted to tear the whole thing apart.

What if I die early? He deserves a second chance. That asshole.

My son cooed, almost like he agreed. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. I kissed his little head—he smelled heavenly.

I glanced at the closed door and whispered into Sky’s tiny ear.

"My little love... make sure your dad takes care of himself while I’m away."

He cooed again as I kissed his forehead.

"Alright, let’s go check on your cousins. They must be excited to see you."

I walked to the twins’ nursery, where Grandmother Olivia was watching them. She looked stronger, livelier than before, letting the twins crawl to her and offer whatever treasures they found on the floor.

"Grandma," I greeted her with a smile as I held Sky against my shoulder.

"Liva," she frowned. "Why are you walking alone?"

Right. She still didn’t know I could see.

"It’s fine. I know my way here."

She immediately stood, gently taking Sky from my arms and placing him in the crib before guiding me to the sofa, as if I might trip any second.

"I’m perfectly fine, Grandma."

"You just gave birth."

"That was months ago."

Sky began crying, but Grandma scooped him up with ease.

"Oh, what a dramatic little prince," she chuckled, and he quieted instantly.

"Grandma..." I said, my voice softer than I intended.

Her eyes met mine. Sharp. Knowing.

She tilted her head, looking at me again—closer, squinting slightly.

"Liva..." she called gently.

Then again, firmer.

"Liva."

I swallowed.

I think... I think it’s time to stop pretending to be blind.

"Grandma, I’ll be leaving tonight. Damon has a problem with the company, and I need to make a few arrangements."

She sat beside me, Sky resting on her left arm. Her free hand cupped my cheek, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself look directly at her face. The wrinkles had deepened, shadows clung under her eyes. She looked... older. Far older than the last time I allowed myself to see her properly. My Nana.

She nodded as tears slipped down her cheeks. I reached up and brushed them away with my thumb.

"Nana, please watch over my husband too. He’s... really stressed right now. I’m not sure he’ll be able to take care of Sky properly while everything is happening."

"Where are you going?" she asked softly. "Shouldn’t you stay? Let them handle it, dear?"

"No. This is partially my fault." I pressed my fingertips to my forehead, exhaling. "And you—Grandma, you look so old."

She let out a small laugh, weak but warm.

"I’m better now, my dear."

"I want to see Grandpa. Where is he?"

"He’s in Damon’s office. They’re probably discussing whatever is happening in Damon’s empire."

"I’ll take care of it." I squeezed her hand gently. "Please stay for the night—rest."

"Of course, my dear."

I breathed out slowly. By now, Deanne and Logan should’ve already reached the Main Server. And our fruit truck... it should be arriving right about now.

Time to move.

Time to fix the mess I created.