Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 316: Silver Spoon

–Sophia–

"Please, don’t fuck in front of me," Francis said as he set paper bags on the table.

He began pulling out the food containers one by one, and my mouth instantly watered.

My husband gently took the gun away from my hand, switched the safety on, and nodded toward me.

"Put something on."

I rolled my eyes at the two of them.

"You better have brought my favourite."

"Yeah, I know it. I also got your husband’s favourite. I mean—it’s me. Your ex." He said it casually while Kai burst out laughing.

"Thank you, bro. I love you," Kai said, making me cringe.

I headed to the bathroom, took a quick shower, slipped on my underwear, and pulled on my husband’s shirt.

When I came out, the two of them were already sitting at the table, waiting for me while they started drinking their beers.

My husband immediately stood up and pulled out a chair for me.

I sat down, and he slid the takeaway box in front of me.

I gasped when I saw the fillet mignon from Chef Gordon’s Hell Kitchen.

I was practically screaming inside with excitement.

"It’s a whole mignon, love," Kai said proudly.

"Of course I’m sharing it," I replied, rolling my eyes as I sliced into it.

The meat was perfectly pink.

Perfect.

The two of them also pushed some of their food toward me while we ate together. But my husband didn’t even offer me one of their nice cold beers.

"I checked earlier today—I’m not pregnant," I said casually. "Besides, it’s only one can."

Francis looked at Kai.

Kai looked at Francis.

They exchanged a silent look.

"No. Totally not," they said at the same time.

I stared at the canned beer on the table.

But then Kai stood up, walked to the fridge, and pulled something out.

He returned with a bottle and set it in front of me.

Ginger ale.

The kind that tasted suspiciously close to beer.

"That’s thoughtful," I said, though honestly I still wanted the real alcohol.

Kai leaned down and kissed the top of my head.

We continued eating while watching whatever random show was playing on the television.

"I’m afraid to sleep in my room," Francis suddenly said. "Can I sleep here?"

"Sure, bro! Let’s have a slumber party!" Kai grinned.

I immediately kicked him under the table.

The two of them burst out laughing at my expression, even though they had sounded completely serious.

"Hey, I would never join you guys in bed," Francis added quickly. "That’s just gross."

"Here I thought you were serious," I said. "We’re trying to have a baby, okay?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"You’re the second dad," Kai said casually, his face lighting up with excitement.

"Sure thing!" Francis replied happily.

I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head.

I never would have imagined in my life that my ex-boyfriend and my husband would get along like this.

Sometimes it felt like they shared the same brain.

Like twins who had been separated at birth.

–Damon–

We woke up late. Even the kids woke up late.

I went to the kitchen to prepare brunch to serve to my wife in bed.

Andro was seated on the spare high chair, smiling as he enjoyed lunch with the kids. Chef Wally was present, of course. Our little Sky and Zayvier were enthusiastically telling Andro all about Chef Wally—how he prepares special meals just for them.

I glanced at the nanny, who insisted on feeding Andro. The boy stopped her, firmly saying, "No."

Jane gently told the nanny to let Andro eat on his own. The nanny insisted he would make a mess, but Jane only gave her a sharp side-eye.

That was enough.

The nanny retreated to a corner, watching Andro with visible anxiety.

Andro watched Zendaya closely as she ate with perfect little manners. He copied her, carefully using his spoon and fork just like the other kids.

"We don’t play with our food, okay?" Jane reminded them.

The kids nodded.

"Okay!"

Damien entered, kissing each child on the head—Andro included, making sure the boy wouldn’t feel left out.

I had noticed it before: Andro often looked up at Damien the way a child looks at a father figure.

Poor little guy.

But what’s done is done.

Yes, Alejandro died by the hands of my men. Tyrona shouldn’t be pushing that child into our den. If she ever reveals the truth about who orchestrated his father’s assassination, that boy will only end up hurt.

"Dada, we play, okay?" Sky asked me.

"Hmm. Daddy’s busy."

He pouted immediately.

"Sure thing," I said, taking the tray. I leaned down and kissed his head.

Andro looked at me expectantly. I hesitated for a second before kissing his head as well. Then I kissed the twins.

I carried the tray upstairs to my wife.

She looked up at me when I entered. She still looked tired—but blooming. Radiant in that quiet way that only she could manage.

I placed the meal on the table, opened the balcony doors, and let the fresh air seep into our bedroom.

She sat up, sliding gracefully out of bed before putting on her robe.

I took her hand and guided my queen to her chair.

She picked up her ginger tea and sipped it elegantly.

I pulled the scrunchie from my wrist and gently gathered her hair, tying it carefully.

"You are so fucking sexy, my goddess."

She giggled and looked up at me.

I leaned down and kissed her lips.

"How’s our baby boy?"

"He seemed to sleep well," she said softly.

"He and Andro sneaked into the pantry earlier," she added, giggling. "It was adorable."

"Little partners in crime?" I sat across from her. "It’s very ironic that Andro and Sky—and the twins—ended up becoming friends."

"Hmm." She nodded thoughtfully. "I wish they wouldn’t grow up so fast."

I watched her for a moment.

Neither do I.

Because the longer they stay small, the longer this fragile peace lasts.

–Tyrona–

I arrived home like I usually do—quietly, expecting the familiar sound of my son running toward the door.

But today, there was nothing. No cheerful footsteps. No tiny voice calling for me.

Then I heard a car engine outside.

I turned back toward the main door just as the van pulled away from the driveway. My little boy hopped down from the vehicle, waving enthusiastically at the maid and the butler who had brought him home.

"Thank youuu!" he chirped brightly.

He was dragging a stroller bag behind him—one clearly not his.

My brows creased.

"What’s that?" I asked.

He giggled mischievously and refused to let the nanny—or anyone else—touch it. Instead, he ran toward me, hugged me quickly around the waist, then hurried past me and dragged the stroller bag to the sofa set and coffee table.

He placed it carefully on the carpet.

Then he opened it.

"Look!"

He proudly showed me a small name tag attached to the bag. His name.

I approached him slowly.

Inside were neatly packed imported snacks—different kinds, expensive brands, beautifully wrapped treats.

"Sky!" he exclaimed proudly.

Food?

I tilted my head.

But there was more.

A distinctive box tied with a ribbon. Andro carefully untied it and opened the lid.

"Helicopter!" he declared proudly.

Inside was a miniature helicopter toy, slightly larger than his palm. My gaze sharpened when I saw the gold engraving.

Andro.

"Mommy!" he beamed, his excitement radiating through the room. "Look, Mommy!"

Then he showed me something else—tiny photo albums.

I took one.

Inside were printed photos.

Andro playing with Sky and the twins. Damien crouched beside them while they played. Another photo showed Damon lifting Andro onto his shoulder like he belonged there.

My heart clenched painfully.

Damon.

The only man I ever loved.

And the same man who killed Andro’s father.

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. Not in front of my son. Never in front of him.

Then another photo caught my eye.

A woman dressed in pink. An elaborate hat. Dark sunglasses hiding her eyes.

Her figure. Her posture.

It looked like Livana.

But the long black hair looked real.

It could be her.

In the photo, Andro was smiling up at her, pointing at something while she leaned slightly toward him. In another, he hugged her.

I slowly squatted beside him and pointed at the photo.

"Who is this, my love?"

"Sky, tep-Mama!" he answered proudly.

"Oh?" I asked softly. "What color are her eyes?"

He paused, thinking hard.

"Black," he said finally.

"Hm."

I sat down on the sofa and gently pulled him beside me. Then I opened my phone and showed him another picture.

Livana.

"Did you see this woman?"

"Sky’s Mama!" he exclaimed instantly.

I turned to the nanny. "Did you see her?"

"I didn’t see her," the nanny muttered nervously.

"Dead," Andro suddenly said.

I froze.

He had never said that word before.

"There were photos and paintings of her all over the mansion," the nanny added quickly.

"Are you sure you didn’t see her?" I asked again, my voice quiet but firm.

"Yes, ma’am."

There could be a trick. Something Livana orchestrated before her death. Or something Damon arranged.

But if she was alive...

Then she was staying in that very mansion.

The same mansion where Alejandro once sent assassins—through his contacts in a large Indian syndicate—to retrieve that compass... or whatever device they had been chasing.

"Mommy," Andro said.

He gently took the album from my hands and placed it back into his stroller bag. Then he showed me the rest of the items they gave him—treasures he clearly adored.

I looked at the nanny. She explained that the tea party had actually been Deanne’s gender reveal... or perhaps a baby shower.

Meanwhile, Andro carefully packed everything back into the bag, zipped it up neatly, and began pulling it toward the stairs himself.

The nanny tried to help, but he shook his head stubbornly. He wanted to do it on his own.

"Andro," I called gently. "Let your nanny take that upstairs. Just this once, my love."

I never expected him to be so independent.

At home, he is completely spoon-fed. His grandparents spoil him endlessly.

Later, I retreated to my room and soaked in the bathtub, letting the warm water ease the tension from my body.

By dinner time, I went downstairs.

Andro was already sitting in his high chair while our personal chef prepared his meal.

I used to see the nanny feed him—but tonight he shook his hand at her firmly.

The nanny looked defeated.

In just one day, my son had decided he would eat by himself.

It was messy. Food everywhere. But he was determined.

When the nanny tried to clean him up, I stopped her and told her to sit and eat instead.

"How did he become like this?" I asked quietly. "In just two days and one night?"

"The children there eat on their own," she said. "And... there’s this scary maid or nanny who kept glaring at me whenever I tried to help Andro." She looked slightly traumatized.

I understood immediately.

That’s how they raise their children.

They train them early. Discipline them to become independent—future heirs and heiresses to their growing empires.

It’s... intimidating.

In this house, my son is spoiled. I spoon-feed him. His grandparents spoil him even more.

But now that I think about it...

Perhaps I should let him stay there a few more days.