Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 265: Manipulation and Calculation

–Sophia–

I watched through the tinted glass as those brainless followers and wannabe vloggers clawed at the property line. Phones raised, mouths foaming, egos louder than the waves crashing below the cliffs. The dogs along the perimeter snarled, muscles coiled, teeth flashing white. The intruders screamed back at them, shoving cameras into muzzles like offerings to chaos. Even the town security had to step in, cuffing a few who refused to back down.

Great. Day one, and the circus had already arrived.

"Livana’s going to write a whole new law book for settlers and tourists," I muttered, lifting my camera and zooming in on every angle of the gate. No breach. No shadow out of place. "This place is about to become famous for all the wrong reasons."

The mayor arrived, red-faced, barking orders. The crowd thinned.

"Looks like we’ve got a mountain of cases coming," I told Kai. He sighed.

His phone vibrated. Unknown number—Lair frequency.

He answered and put it on speaker.

"Kai," Damon’s voice cut through, sharp and absolute. "I’ve deployed the Shadows. Exits and entrances are secured."

Of course they were.

This road was private. Always had been. The national highway curved around the other side of the mountain, far from here. A man in a fatigue uniform knocked on our window. Kai lowered it slightly. The officer saluted.

"Sir, entrances and exits are locked down."

Kai nodded and rolled the window up.

I watched the purge—tow trucks hauling their cars away, police shoving bodies into L300 patrol vans. They kicked, cursed, spat. Good. Let the system chew them raw.

"Fucking assholes," I sighed.

Kai’s hand slid over my thigh, warm and familiar.

I smirked and nudged it higher, closer to the spot that always makes him forget strategy. He chuckled, caught my hand, and pressed a kiss into my knuckles.

"First time here?" I asked.

"Yeah." He nodded, eyes sweeping the ridgeline. "I never imagined a place like this. High-end. Secluded."

"A refuge for people who want to vanish," I said softly. "Everything here? Bought by you-know-who. The mayor’s just a curtain. Technically, if something happened here... we could bury a body and plant orchids over it."

He stared.

I smiled sweetly. "Welcome home."

The road cleared. Kai drove toward the back entrance, the long driveway curling into the mountain. We parked in the garage. I keyed the door.

A tiny red bulb blinked.

Emergency.

I glanced at him. "Leave your phone. All devices. In the car."

He obeyed without argument.

"Move."

We ran. I mounted my big bike, engine roaring as he climbed on. Wind sliced against my skin while we tore through the tunnel toward the Lair.

Inside, Damien waved. "Hey—"

I shoved past him and slammed into the elevator.

Down.

The control room glowed like a digital war altar.

Damon stood before the monitors, headset on, rocking his son with one arm. Livana sat in the Command Chair, spine straight, eyes burning with calculation.

I slid into the adjacent swivel chair and rolled into position.

More intruders appeared on-screen. Multiple vectors.

We were close to being fucked—until military icons lit up.

"I’ll cut cellular access," I said. Fingers flying.

I cut into the cellular grid, slicing through their signals before a single clip could finish uploading. On one of the feeds, a man—our pawn, part of the staged chaos—shouted, "There’s no signal!"

Another Pawn part of our stunt lifted his phone. "Mine still works!"

They swarmed him like flies.

Perfect.

They latched onto that single Wi-Fi thread, desperate, greedy for views—and the moment they did, I snapped the trap shut.

Boom.

Every phone. Every account. Every cloud backup.

Mine.

We let them keep filming. The military advancing. Police forcing them back. Armed guards protecting what was never meant to be public. Their cameras became our narrative machines, broadcasting exactly what we wanted the world to see: order reclaiming chaos, authority restoring peace.

While they chased angles and outrage, I traced the breach.

One man. One anomaly.

We mapped his route, watched his footsteps rewind across the grid. I don’t know if Livana will fire anyone for this. According to protocol, someone had already flagged him. A warning was sent to Jorge—but it slipped past him while he was buried under three other crises.

It isn’t his fault.

I know how this system breathes. I know how fast it moves.

And sometimes, even the best soldiers blink.

Jorge rushed in, breathless. "Sorry I’m late."

"It’s alright, Jorge," Livana murmured.

Lore appeared on another screen, yawning. "Clean the mess. Media?"

"PR is weaving it," Livana replied. "Our outlets will control every version."

"Does that mean the location becomes public?" Lore asked.

"Yes," I said.

My gaze drifted to Damon, still rocking his child.

I imagined Kai like that.

One day. When Livana’s plans no longer need my body on standby.

–Logan–

I noticed there was a problem—an intruder in our town. But Livana seemed to be handling it, cleaning it up like she always did. I stayed on the balcony, smoking. I knew Jane hated it. Still, I’d already tried twice over the past few days.

I tried proposing.

She thought it was a prank.

She thought I was bored.

Maybe she sees me as someone who isn’t serious about life. About marriage.

Once, I thought of marrying Laura when I heard my grandparents had tried to arrange it with Aunt Ines. But I already knew Aunt Ines would never agree. She wanted Laura to choose freely.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

For a second, I imagined Jane sneaking up to hug me from behind. Instead, the door slid shut.

I turned.

She glared at me through the glass and raised her middle finger.

I stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray beside me and stepped inside. She grabbed her pillow and blanket and dragged them toward the door.

"Jane," I called. "Stop."

She didn’t.

She went downstairs. I followed her. She stopped at the big sofa in the cinema room and turned on the AC. Cold air flooded the space.

"Tsk." I crossed my arms. "Just stay in the room."

"I’m fine," she said casually.

It wasn’t fine for me.

If she wasn’t injured, I’d already have her in my arms. I’d make love to her until she forgot every reason she had to doubt me.

Instead, I went upstairs. Took a bath. Scrubbed my skin. Brushed my teeth. Gargled mouthwash until my breath tasted like mint and promise.

When I returned, Jane was sleeping peacefully.

I knelt beside her and kissed her forehead.

This woman deserved to be loved. Treated like a queen—not like a maid.

I scooped her up. She stirred and tapped my chest.

"Put me down."

I didn’t listen. I carried her to our room. The dehumidifier hummed softly. No trace of smoke remained.

I laid her gently on the bed and kissed her.

She tried to push me away—but soon we were kissing like reckless teenagers.

Even though my body ached for her, I didn’t move further.

If it were only her arm injured, I’d make love to her without hesitation. But it was her rib.

I broke the kiss as she caught her breath.

"Fuck," I murmured.

Weeks. No sex. Desire constantly burning.

I brushed my mouth over her lower lip and rested my hands on her hips.

"Painkillers are working," she said, pushing me. "I want to sleep."

"Okay."

I moved to her left, turned off the lights, and watched her breathe.

My heart fluttered.

So did everything else in me.

I never thought love could do this. That even desire could be patient.

I slipped into the bathroom and stood beneath the shower, letting water thunder against my skin while my mind filled with her—her face, her voice, the memory of her warmth.

It was impossible without her.

I had never needed this before. Never done this.

I’d seen entertainers bare themselves, watched them touch themselves—but I never once reached for myself.

Then I realized why.

There was always Jane.

She cursed me.

And I knew I had to marry her.

I cleaned up and returned to bed, curling beside her. I kissed her cheek.

"Lia," I murmured.

She turned, pressing her face against my chest. I supported her back and gently eased her onto her spine so she wouldn’t strain herself. She mumbled something in her sleep.

Emilia Grace.

That was her real name.

Not Jane.

It was beautiful. Elegant.

Tomorrow. While we party at some club.

I would make sure she’d marry me. No questions.

Sleep finally pulled me under.

Then an alarm chimed on the bedside table.

I sat up and answered it immediately.

"Sparrow," Livana’s altered voice said, "I’m sorry, but I need you to fix something for us."

"Got it. Send the details."

I glanced at Jane, still sleeping. I kissed her lips. She stirred.

"I’ll be back," I whispered.

She responded faintly and pushed me.

I went to the walk-in closet, prepared my outfit, checked my duffel bag, and headed downstairs.

I stopped at the door and glanced at the sofa.

"Deanne?"

"There’s quite a mess out there," she said softly. "Be careful on your mission."

"Sure. Good night."

Whatever this mission was, I prayed it wouldn’t ruin my plan.

I just hoped it wouldn’t take long.

Because tomorrow—

I was marrying Jane.