Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 309: The Rook and the Pawns

–Livana–

My husband is not particularly skilled at cleaning, yet he leaves no trace of our chaos. That, at least, he has mastered.

I laughed softly as I dried myself with a fresh towel. The scent of clean linen and faint sandalwood lingered in the air. He was changing the sheets now—efficient, focused—since our son would be sleeping with us tonight. He had even placed a small bed topper beside ours, perfectly aligned for Sky.

"Mama!"

A knock. I approached the door and opened it just as Sky burst inside. Damien ensured he entered safely before Sky turned and waved enthusiastically.

"Wav you, Daddy!" he chirped, waving at his uncle.

"Love you too, Skyler!" Damien replied warmly.

I smiled at him before closing the door.

"Wow!" Sky exclaimed, eyes wide as he looked around.

I lifted him and placed him gently on the bed. He crawled immediately to his small topper and flopped down proudly.

"Watch some cartoons, baby."

I reached for the remote, turned on the television, and left whatever children’s program was playing. The soft hum of animated voices filled the room.

I moved to the vanity and began my routine, slow and deliberate. Damon was busy closing the curtains, sealing the night out, checking the tablet as the glow reflected faintly against his jaw.

"Oh, good. They’re checking around the manor," he muttered.

Security moving like chess pieces. Exactly where they should be.

I glanced down. Sky had climbed off the bed and was now staring up at me.

"Oh, darling. I forgot—you need a bath too."

"Mama." He pointed at my skincare bottles, then at his face.

I smiled.

I carried him into the bathroom. The bathtub was already prepared—warm water, steam curling softly upward, bubbles resting like clouds. I removed his SpongeBob outfit and diaper, placing him gently into the water. It reached just beneath his arms, enveloping him in warmth.

He giggled.

I switched on the little electronic duck that paddled across the surface, blowing tiny streams of bubbles.

"Bubuus," he said, pointing.

"Yes. Bubbles."

I used the hand shower to rinse his hair, massaging soap gently through the strands, washing his back with careful strokes.

"Babe," Damon called from behind us. "Let me handle that little rascal."

"Dada!" Sky squealed.

"Alright," I said lightly. "Dada will join you."

Damon stepped in, soaking into the tub and adjusting the water level. He placed Sky on the floater and began playing with him, both of them laughing.

I dried my hands and returned to the bedroom, switching the television channel as I reached for the tablet to check the manor’s perimeter.

A headline flashed across the screen.

Breaking News: The Princess of England has called off her engagement to her long-lost boyfriend, recently exposed as a gold digger. The scandal has spread rapidly across the internet.

I hummed softly.

Interesting for the public.

Old news for me.

The Queen herself had requested our services. Scandals are simply operations in different clothing. Hotel receipts across the country. Carefully orchestrated sightings. A mistress delivered to secluded villas at precisely the right time.

He had even rented a glass villa, believing privacy could be purchased.

It could not.

The paparazzi who "discovered" him were ours.

The footage circulating online was blurred, suggestive enough to destroy him without crossing legal lines. I dismissed the image with a flick of my thumb.

Desire makes men careless.

I changed the channel to CNN, letting the broadcast murmur in the background as I brushed my hair and checked the manor cameras once more. Everything appeared calm.

From the bathroom, Damon and Sky were now arguing—light, playful, dramatic.

I chuckled softly and waited.

Soon enough, Sky emerged wearing an adorable set of tiger pajamas. He climbed onto the bed with impressive determination and crawled straight into my arms, pressing himself against me.

"Hey," Damon warned lightly as he followed. "Those are mine now. There’s no milk for you."

Sky ignored him completely.

"Milkkk," he demanded.

Damon sighed, amused, and quickly prepared a bottle. He handed it to Sky and guided him to lie on his small topper.

He adjusted my dress gently, brushed his thumb over my shoulder, and kissed my forehead.

"These are mine now. Understood?"

I only laughed.

He changed into comfortable clothes, reminded me about his moisturizer with mock seriousness, then turned off the main lights and locked the door. He crawled over and rested his head on my chest with a heavy sigh.

"Dada," Sky suddenly sat up. "Sheeep!" He patted the other side of his bed.

"No, I’m fine here," Damon replied lazily.

Sky let out a sharp, high-pitched protest.

"Sheep, Dada."

Damon relented, tucking him in and patting him gently. Still, he kept one arm around me.

Then—

The red light by the bedside blinked.

I sat up instantly.

I scooped Sky into my arms as Damon grabbed the tablet.

"The manor is being surrounded."

The air shifted.

I turned off the television.

"Go."

I seized my phone and laptop and moved swiftly toward the bathroom. Behind the mirrored panel, the concealed door to the panic room slid open. I carried my son inside, his small hands clutching my shoulder, confusion clouding his face.

My heart pounded—but my mind was clear.

The panic room smelled dry, sterile. It held a table, secured communications, and a direct line to my Pawns.

A queen does not panic.

She prepares. 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

–Logan–

I was still wrapped around my wife, literally, my cock is inside her when the red alarm blared through our room.

For a split second, I considered ignoring it and thrust more.

She didn’t. She pushed my chest.

"Logan." Firm. Commanding.

I exhaled sharply and pulled away, frustration burning through me. The room lights dimmed automatically. Iron bars sealed the windows and entrances with a mechanical finality that killed the mood completely.

I grabbed the tablet.

Commander White—garage.

Damien—library, checking armour.

"Unbelievable," I muttered. "They really chose tonight."

She was already dressed. Efficient. Focused. No hesitation.

By the time I fastened my trousers, she had her briefcase open. Metal pieces clicked together with terrifying familiarity.

"Don’t tell me—"

"We need the rooftop. Now." She didn’t even look at me. "I studied the blueprint. There’s a faster route."

She loaded ammunition with steady hands.

"Lock me from the outside," she added.

"Absolutely not."

She rolled her eyes like I’d just suggested something foolish.

"There’s no time."

And just like that, she moved.

Stubborn. Brilliant. Infuriating.

I grabbed my shotgun and followed.

The rooftop air was sharp and cold.

Damon intercepted us halfway up, already wearing a vest lined with blades and ammunition.

"What are you two doing?" he hissed.

"High ground," Jane answered smoothly. "You secure the floors."

"Copy."

I sighed. There was no arguing when she used that tone. She wasn’t just my wife up here.

She was a commander.

Instead of locking her in, I sent a quick message to Livana to seal the rooftop access after us.

We positioned ourselves on opposite ends, lying flat against the cold surface. Wind brushed past us.

Before I even settled properly—

She fired.

Precise. Controlled.

I glanced at the tablet feed. One by one, the intruders dropped. Panic rippled through them as they tried to scatter.

A slow grin tugged at my lips.

I joined her.

It almost felt unreal—strategic, calculated. Efficient.

Through my night-vision scope, I scanned the perimeter. Nothing above us. No higher structures. No blind corners.

The manor stood perfectly placed atop the hill.

Then—

Rotor blades.

A white helicopter cut through the darkness.

"Jane!" I called.

We moved instantly. She grabbed her rifle; I secured the door behind us as our men flooded the rooftop in coordinated formation—white uniforms, controlled precision.

We descended.

Damon stood near the master’s wing, issuing orders to his Shadows like this was another Tuesday.

Which meant one thing.

Our location had been leaked.

And someone was about to regret it.

"Jane, go to the panic room," Damon ordered.

She didn’t argue. She set down her rifle, checked the magazines in her handguns, and gave a short nod before disappearing down the secured corridor.

Then Damon looked at me.

"You guard this area. I’ll handle the garage."

I nodded once.

The hallway fell into a controlled chaos—voices through comms, boots moving in formation, gunfire echoing at calculated intervals. I stayed in position, watching the feeds, tracking both our men and the intruders.

Honestly, we had the upper hand.

They deployed a small unit—bold, but foolish. Our people were trained for worse. Efficient. Ruthless when necessary. Within minutes, the numbers on my screen thinned.

Five injured on our side. Minor.

We were fine.

Or so I thought.

The floor shook.

Not heavy—just enough to feel wrong.

I turned toward the master’s wing.

Another tremor.

Bomb.

I sprinted down the corridor and slipped inside the master’s bedroom, moving toward the window. Carefully, I peeled back the curtain just enough to see below.

There.

Right beneath this floor.

They weren’t attacking randomly.

They were targeting a specific section—trying to break through the reinforced bars below the bedroom.

Precision.

Like they knew exactly where our Queen would be kept.

My jaw tightened.

This wasn’t a random assault.

Someone had told them where to strike.