Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 277: Wishing for A Little One

–Jane–

I stretched slowly, carefully, listening to my body before trusting it. A small breath in, a pause—no sharp pain. My lungs didn’t scream this time. Good. The fracture, too, had behaved itself lately; the X-ray said it was healing fast, helped along by medication and by Logan hovering like a very attentive shadow.

Even now.

I watched him from where I sat as he prepared a foot massage, sleeves rolled up, movements practiced from repetition. I’d been on my feet for hours—errands, instructions, hovering over the staff in the kitchen because my brain refused to rest. The smell of food still clung to the air, warm and heavy, mixing with whatever oil he was warming between his palms.

"I think we also need to send someone to massage Chef Wally," I said, half serious, half distracted by the relief already creeping up my legs.

"Who?" He grinned without looking up. "Francis?"

I snorted. "Francis is quite handsome."

"Exactly."

"Come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "He’s not gay. We’ve seen him—and heard him—with girls before."

His hands pressed into the exact right spot on my left foot, and the argument dissolved into a relieved sigh I couldn’t stop. Tension leaked out of me in quiet waves. He moved to my calves, thumbs firm, grounding. Then he leaned down and kissed my knee, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing to me—physically and otherwise.

Maybe being married to him isn’t that bad at all, I thought, the idea slipping in too easily.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I noticed was his breathing beside me—steady, familiar. I focused on sleeping again, but then his body pressed gently against my back. Warmth. Weight. His mouth brushed my shoulder, soft and habitual. His nightly ritual.

Every night felt like déjà vu, and I didn’t know whether that comforted me or unsettled me.

A soft knock. Then scratching.

"Tata!" a small voice called. "Jay-jay!"

I groaned quietly and tapped Logan. "Hmm."

He pulled away at once as I slid out of bed, groggy and disoriented. When I opened the door, Sky stood there clutching his baby blanket, bottle tucked under his arm. Choco was beside him, pillow clenched between his teeth like a prize.

I glanced down the corridor just in time to see Damon disappearing around the corner.

Damn it. Did that asshole really just drop his son at my doorstep?

Behind me, Logan muttered a curse, low and heartfelt. I let them in anyway. Choco hopped onto the edge of the bed, circling before settling. I tucked him in automatically, muscle memory taking over. Sky climbed up next, all soft limbs and sleepy insistence.

Logan slipped off the bed to give us space, and I bit back a laugh at the timing of everything. Sky tilted his head at me, puzzled.

"All right," I said softly, patting the middle of the bed.

I helped him lie down, pulled the blanket up, smoothed it over his small chest.

"Tata," he said, looking up at me with those unmistakable amethyst eyes.

He pointed at the curtains. I drew them closed around the four-poster bed, and he clapped, delighted. Logan came back and sat behind me in the narrow space. I shifted Sky slightly to the left, wedged pillows along the edge without thinking—safety first, always.

Logan settled behind me at last. I patted Sky’s back in slow, steady rhythms, coaxing him toward sleep. The lights went off. When he finished his bottle, I took it and set it on the side table. He murmured something half-formed about his dad leaving him behind, and my chest tightened.

"My poor Sky," I whispered, kissing his forehead.

He smiled at me, like he always did.

I’d watched him grow. I took care of him. He was attached to me in a way that felt earned, fragile, precious. He was a wonderful baby—just like the twins.

"I wav yooo," he said, planting a sloppy kiss on my nose.

I smiled and returned it. "I love you too, baby."

"And I love you as well," Logan murmured, arms wrapping around me from behind, lips brushing my shoulder.

I let his hand rest there, over my abdomen. I noticed it. I always noticed it.

"I wav yooo, Toto!" Sky announced brightly, blowing Logan a flying kiss.

Logan laughed under his breath.

I’d never thought he’d grow this sweet. He always had been, but I imagined that once Livana and Damon truly settled, Sky would become even more unbearable in the best way.

"Let’s have a baby soon too," Logan whispered.

I kept patting Sky, focusing on his breathing instead of my thoughts.

A loud meow from the balcony—almost like someone calling Mama—made Sky jolt upright.

"Kitty!"

Choco growled.

"Get the cats in here," I told Logan.

He sighed but obeyed. We watched as Choco froze, sniffing the two cats Livana had rescued in Japan. Logan closed the balcony doors and wiped each of them down, methodical, careful.

"Choco, stay still," I instructed.

"Coco~ no~ no..." Sky whispered, peeking at him.

Choco huffed, grabbed his pillow, and relocated to Sky’s side. Only then did he relax. Logan ushered the cats back out, and calm finally settled over the room.

The three of us were almost asleep when Sky spoke again.

"Foodieee." He pointed at his stomach.

"Hey," Logan groaned, sitting up. "You just had your milk."

I laughed quietly and slid off the bed. At the mini pantry, I grabbed biscuits from the small fridge and fed Sky one piece. He finished it quickly. I glanced at Logan, who was visibly losing patience.

"Do you still want a baby?" I asked dryly. "You’re very impatient right now."

"Of course I want a baby with you," he said. "But Sky is different. Food is his top priority. He’s never really full."

"Whatever, Logan." I wiped Sky’s mouth.

"Once he’s asleep," Logan nodded toward the sofa, "we’ll take the sofa."

I rolled my eyes. Sky lifted his arms toward Logan, who tucked him in again. Sky pointed at the lights, satisfied when they dimmed.

"I think," Logan murmured, far too calmly, "we can execute our main plan in the bathroom."

I sighed, shaking my head, torn between exhaustion, affection, and the relentless noise of my own thoughts.

–Lore–

I really hate dismissing Alyssa or pushing her away. I do. But the moment I woke up, her scent hit me—clean, familiar, warm—and my brain immediately short-circuited. It always happens. So, naturally, I had to push her away. Self-preservation. Also, not helping my sanity was the very inappropriate, very vivid dream I had about her after that kiss. My subconscious clearly hates me.

I packed my things and headed downstairs. Morning light spilled through the windows, bright and judgmental. I planned on waking Alyssa myself—yes, personally—because avoiding things has never been my strong suit. It was going to be chaotic and awkward, but I needed to break the tension before it strangled me.

I went to her room.

She was still asleep. The air inside was cool, her curtains half-drawn, her breathing faint and steady like she belonged exactly there. Too peaceful. Dangerous.

"Aly," I called softly.

"Hmm." Her eyes opened, red and swollen.

"Whoa." I leaned in before I could stop myself.

"What?" She pushed me away, instantly defensive.

"Why are your eyes red?"

She sat up and slid off the bed, marching straight to the bathroom. I followed, stopping just outside the door like a guilty ghost.

"Aly," I said. "I’m sorry about yesterday. And—uh—thanks for the food."

Silence.

Yep. She’s mad.

She came out with those white patches under her eyes, and didn’t even look at me.

"Hey," I tried again. "Are you still mad at me?"

Nothing. Not even a glare. That hurt more than yelling.

I sighed and backed toward the door. "Hurry up. We need to get to the apartment before afternoon. I’ve got things to do."

I shut the door and escaped downstairs before she could throw something at my head.

Sky zoomed past with three tiny croissants wrapped in paper, crumbs already betraying him. That smile—pure, victorious. He handed them to his cousins like a generous little king.

...And now I was imagining Alyssa having a baby girl just as sweet.

Nope. Stop that. Focus.

Diploma. Freedom. Happiness. Bad decisions later.

"So, I packed everything that’s ready to cook," Chef Wally said as I sat.

"Got it," I yawned.

Alyssa skipped breakfast entirely. She emerged wearing sunglasses, backpack slung over her shoulder, kissed the babies, kissed Choco, and walked right past me. Damon took her bag without a word.

"Come on, Sky."

"Me goo!" Zayvier declared.

"No, you’re not going." Damon told him straightforwardly which made the boy pout.

"Hmm, we can all go," Livana said casually.

I gaped at her outfit today.

All black. Mesh turtleneck. Wig with bangs. Makeup is completely wrong for her face. She didn’t look like Livana at all—and that was the point.

"Mama?" Sky waddled over. "Pretty, pretty!"

"Thank you," she laughed, kissing his forehead and smudging maroon lipstick before wiping it off.

I grabbed the cooler. We settled the kids, exchanged waves. Sophia, Kai, Francis—everyone was in motion. Too smooth. Too coordinated.

I slid into the executive van and—of course—ended up beside Alyssa.

"I’ll take the window," I offered.

"No," she said flatly.

I leaned in anyway. She shoved me. Hard. Then gave up and turned sideways, her back to me like a brick wall.

"Ow," I muttered internally.

Zayvier waved enthusiastically as we pulled away. I glanced at Livana.

"So, where are you headed, Liva?"

"I’m spending money," she replied. "Want anything?"

"Hmmm." I rubbed my chin. "Maybe a—"

"S-toy?" she teased.

I burst out laughing. "You’re terrible."

Everyone laughed.

Everyone except Alyssa.

I nudged her. She hissed and smacked my arm.

"Ow," I whispered, rubbing it dramatically.

I behaved after that. Mostly.

But the moment we left the secluded area, I noticed it—a big bike trailing us. Too steady. Too deliberate.

I stayed quiet, eyes alert, heart beating a little faster.

Please let us get there safely.