Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 248: Sync

–David–

The company isn’t doing well.

Sales are down—nose-diving, actually—thanks to a series of public stunts painting us in the worst possible light. Reputation damage. Brand erosion. A PR nightmare wrapped in bad timing. I rubbed my temple; my head was pounding. The PR team has been working overtime for this.

I’ve been working double overtime for this.

"Hey!"

I looked up toward the door, confused as hell as to why Lore was standing there. How did he even get in so easily? Then I noticed Alyssa behind him.

Oh. Right.

My sister.

"Come in!"

Lore walked straight to my desk and dropped a thermal bag in front of me like a peace offering.

"Chef Wally prepared that for you." He pointed at me, winked, then made a tiny heart using his forefinger and thumb.

"Oh, that’s sweet." I smiled, genuinely touched—despite having absolutely zero appetite.

"By the way," Lore leaned over my desk, casually scanning the files like he owned the place, "since my big boss said you might need my help, I came here with your sister."

"Uh-huh," Alyssa nodded enthusiastically. "So... how exactly are we helping David?" she asked.

Lore moved behind my chair and started kneading my shoulders, pressing just enough to be effective.

"So," he said calmly, bending down closer, "there’s a crisis going on. And we know exactly who’s behind it."

"Okay," I turned to him. "Then who?"

"You already know." Lore smirked. "Damon just called me. Tyrona will be visiting the mansion in a few days. That’s what my intel says."

Of course it is. Lore is sharp. Calculative. Borderline terrifying when focused.

Which is exactly why my sister absolutely cannot marry him.

Not that it matters—he’s the one who keeps saying he won’t marry because he’s "still young."

"Wanna bet on that?" he teased.

I sighed. "No. You know too much, which is frankly dangerous. What do you need?"

"Well," Lore straightened, all business now, "can we meet with your PR team?"

"Assistant," he added casually, "I need my laptop."

Alyssa frowned at him.

He pointed at his bag.

I stood up instantly and locked my arm around his neck—not tight enough to kill him, just enough to make a point—as he tapped my arm.

"Don’t you dare command my sister," I hissed.

"It’s fine," Alyssa laughed. I finally released him.

"I’m kidding," Lore chuckled, pulling me into a hug. "Aren’t we playing corporate?"

Such a nice, bubbly boy.

He’s still getting beaten up later.

Anyway, we headed to the PR department together. It felt good having my sister there. Lore sat beside me—too close—and even linked his arm with mine.

Alyssa frowned and gestured for him to stop it.

"Alright, everyone," I sighed, switching into CEO mode. "I know you’ve all been working extremely hard. I brought Lore—our family trainee—and my sister... also a family trainee. They might have come up with something useful."

"Hey! It’s not useful," Alyssa snapped. "It’s the solution."

They high-fived.

"So," I continued, rubbing my chin, "they’re kids. Still young. But unfortunately for us—geniuses."

The five team members smiled.

"Alright. Let’s begin. Lore?"

Lore opened his sleek laptop and connected it directly to the main screen.

Instantly.

I gaped.

This guy is a damn hacker.

"So," he began, "our stock decline over the past few days aligns with the circulation of false information about our products."

A clip played—people spreading lies, fake reviews, fake outrage.

"Our team personally contacted these individuals and traced the products they complained about. All of them originated from one warehouse."

He zoomed in.

"Which is not ours. And not affiliated with our partner couriers."

He’s fast. Alarmingly fast.

"We also traced the source further," Lore continued, flipping to photos of counterfeit goods being produced in bulk. "According to our investigators, this operation has been running quietly for months."

"We already reported everything to the bureau and the appropriate departments."

"We?" I raised a brow.

"Yeah," he said calmly, meeting my eyes.

Damon’s men. Definitely.

"Now," Alyssa jumped in, barely containing her excitement, "for our comeback—we release our official statement after launching the new marketing campaign."

The PR team looked either stunned or impressed. Possibly both.

Honestly, these two were so deep into it that I almost felt unnecessary.

After that, I immediately called a meeting with Marketing. They arrived within minutes.

Alyssa’s bedazzling ideas took shape, amplified by Lore’s tech wizardry, designs, and whatever else these two cooked up over the past day. Just yesterday, I saw them running around the compound like maniacs—today, they walked in with a full-blown emergency presentation.

And I’ll admit it—I liked it.

For this generation? This will work.

We listened to their pitch. The marketing manager and team leader immediately began restructuring their strategy around it. They even pulled in their creators mid-meeting.

Everything else was shelved. This was now priority one.

I also looped in our Security Asset Manager and handed him all the data—proofs, reports, everything. He went to work immediately.

The room buzzed with urgency.

Lore was locked into his laptop, building something impressive. Alyssa fired off ideas, and within minutes, Lore turned them into visuals.

I wanted to hire him on the spot.

College degree? Irrelevant.

What degree did he even take?

Honestly, my mind was blown.

These two weren’t just collaborating—they were perfectly in sync.

–Deanne–

The first trimester is brutal. Everything aches—my back, my legs—and nausea stalks me like a shadow. I eat constantly, exercise lightly when I can, yet I barely accomplish anything. Sleep. Eat. Repeat. Work has become an afterthought; survival is the priority.

My man? Busy, as always. Meetings, weapons, whatever it is he does that smells like danger. The venue is ready next week. Sophia already made it to Hawaii and, from what I heard, partied like she owned the island.

"Babe, I’m home!"

Caine burst into the penthouse, instantly closing the distance between us. He set bubble tea on the table along with a croissant and French garlic toast, then collapsed beside me, showering my face with kisses.

He smelled like gunpowder and himself—familiar, intoxicating.

"I’ll take a quick bath," he murmured, rubbing my lower back. "What do you want for dinner?"

"I’m fat," I muttered.

"It’s fine. We’ll get fat together."

"You can’t get fat," I protested, squeezing his cheeks. "I need that sexy body for inspiration."

He laughed loudly and buried himself against my chest.

"Yep. You smell like gunpowder," I added. "Go bathe. Then cook."

"Mmm." He kissed my lips one last time before finally leaving.

I sat up, claimed my bubble tea, and ate in peace. Every bite disappeared without guilt. When I finished, I wandered into the kitchen where he had already started dinner. I took a seat at the barstool and watched.

Topless. Just an apron. Dangerous and domestic—my favorite combination.

He steamed vegetables, prepared the shrimp paste I’d been craving, mixed the kare-kare sauce with practiced ease. The bagnet—perfectly boiled, then deep-fried pork belly—rested nearby, golden and sinful.

I exhaled, content. My mouth watered. I wanted to steal it right there.

"Babe," he said gently, "you just ate. Want to walk outside? Maybe the garden?"

I shook my head.

"Too lazy?" he teased with that wicked grin. "Alright." He set the sauces aside. "Come on. Let’s walk a little, my gorgeous wife."

I giggled.

"I’m not your wife yet."

"You will be soon enough." He removed his apron and took my hand.

My belly barely showed—just a small curve. We walked toward his showroom, where his collections gleamed under soft lighting.

"There’s something I haven’t shown you yet," he said.

I frowned.

"Don’t tell me you hid souvenirs from your exes."

"Babe," he scoffed, amused. "I don’t bring flings or exes here. I only brought my wife."

We entered another section, hidden behind a door-sized gala portrait. The image was daring—me in a dangerous dress, confident and sharp. He stood beside me in the photo, possessive and lethal.

"I remember how many times you took me in that dress," I mused.

He laughed, delighted. Taking my hand, he placed it against a hidden scanner behind the portrait. The wall opened silently.

I stepped aside as he revealed the space.

"This is your vault?" I whispered.

Gold. Rare auction pieces. Jewelry worth nations.

"Yes. Everything here is yours."

"No." I shook my head.

"Why not? I’m serious."

I sighed.

"Caine, I know my assets outweigh yours." I crossed my arms, brows raised. "What if this building collapses? Burns down?"

He chuckled and patted my head.

"This vault is reinforced with iron. If the building falls, this stays."

I hummed, then shrugged.

"Fine. But I’m not taking it."

He smiled knowingly.

"Everything that’s mine is yours. Now—pick something for our upcoming party."

I walked further in, examining rare jewelry.

"What party?"

"Family party."

I frowned.

"Your parents?"

"They’re dead," he said casually. "Wedding party."

I rolled my eyes.

"Our wedding party?"

"Yes." He continued showing me heavier, more extravagant pieces. "Who are we impressing?"

"Who exactly are we impressing?" I asked. "This is a secret wedding."

"Ourselves," he grinned. Then his gaze softened. "And for our baby." He lifted a gold bar. "I think I’ll have a small crown made for her."

"We don’t even know if it’s a girl," I laughed. "Caine..." I sighed. "What else is in here?"

He took my hand and led me into another compartment.

Weapons. Beautiful. Deadly. Perfectly organized.

"Ohhh," I breathed.

"Wow."