Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 332: Miscalculations

–Lore–

I was in the middle of... taking care of my fiancée.

Let’s just say—she was enjoying herself with my face between her legs.

A lot.

Which was exactly when my robot decided to betray me.

"Red Alert! Red Alert. Intruders!"

The blinking red light cut through the dim room like a warning siren straight into my skull.

I lifted my head immediately.

Alyssa groaned in frustration behind me.

"We’ll finish that later," I muttered, already pulling away.

I grabbed my shirt and threw it on, not even bothering to fix anything else, and dropped straight into my swivel chair.

Still half-distracted. Still very much not calm.

But priorities.

Always priorities.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the live feeds.

And there they were.

Black tactical suits.

Heavy weapons.

Moving like they were inside some military simulation—clean formation, controlled breathing, zero hesitation.

Not amateurs.

Not random.

"What are they here for now?" Alyssa asked, her voice calmer than it should be.

"Remember when they surrounded the apartment?" I replied, already sending alerts through encrypted channels. "Knights. Bishops. Full mobilization."

"Yes—"

"They’re here for you," I cut in. "Hostage leverage. And..." I paused, jaw tightening. "They found part of my identity."

She walked up behind me and wrapped her arms around my neck, completely unbothered.

Dangerous woman.

"So they think you’re the Lancaster who built that system?" she asked.

"Yeah," I scoffed. "Which is funny, because—look at me. I’m just a kid."

A pause.

"Technically," I added. "I only helped develop it."

Her lips brushed the top of my head.

Calm.

Warm.

Completely messing with my focus.

"I think we should install machine guns around the house," she said casually.

"Hmm," I hummed, eyes still scanning data streams. "Already considered that."

Lines of code streamed across my screen—deployment protocols, fallback routes, defensive overrides.

"This place is already a fortress," I added. "I was actually surprised."

"I think Livana had it upgraded last year," Alyssa murmured.

Then—

She leaned closer.

Her lips brushed against my neck.

"Anyway..." she whispered. "You’ll make love to me later, right?"

"Babe," I said flatly, not even looking back, "that’s reserved for our honeymoon."

Priorities.

Again.

I continued transmitting commands—backup units, perimeter locks, surveillance sync.

Then I saw something on the external feed.

My eyes narrowed.

"...What the hell?"

Logan.

Standing near the bushes.

No tactical gear.

Just his usual home clothes.

And a gun.

I leaned closer to the screen.

"Is he trying to die?" I muttered.

Around him, the dogs were circling—low growls vibrating through the audio feed, sharp and territorial.

Good.

They sensed the threat.

But then—

A sharp whistle cut through the air.

The dogs immediately retreated.

I froze.

"...That’s not good."

That meant only one thing.

Whoever was out there?

They knew how to control the perimeter.

And that—

Was a problem.

–Livana–

"Mama..." Sky rubbed his eyes as I held his small hand, guiding him out of our bedroom. "I shweep," he mumbled, pointing at himself and then at me. "Okay?"

"I know, baby," I murmured gently, my voice soft as silk. I reached for a box of biscuits, placing it into his hands like a quiet promise. "Let’s go to the panic room, alright?"

My fingers found Zendaya’s hand just as Laura stepped out of the bedroom. The air had already shifted—thick, metallic, like the breath before a storm.

Damien stood ready, toys and milk bottles in his arms. Then the sharp echo of gunfire cracked through the halls, splintering the fragile calm.

We moved swiftly.

Down the stairs, toward the panic room—each step measured, deliberate, like pieces on a chessboard falling into place.

Laura entered first with the twins as I guided Sky forward.

"Mama!" he cried, his voice breaking, small and fragile against the violence outside.

"Go inside, baby," I told him, steady despite the chaos clawing at the walls.

Our elders arrived moments later. My father-in-law ushered Amiliee inside with firm urgency.

"Find Alyssa," my mother-in-law said, her tone quiet but commanding.

Father nodded.

I led him and Damien to the concealed armory—where steel and precision lived beneath polished elegance. They geared up swiftly. Mine, of course, was tailored—sleek, fitted, designed not just for protection but for control.

Damien checked the weapons with practiced eyes and gave a single approving nod.

We ascended to the rooftop.

One of the intruders raised his fist, signaling his men to halt. His voice came through, modulated and cold, cutting cleanly through the night.

"We want the hacker. Now. Or we blow this entire mansion."

"Hacker?" Damien frowned, glancing between Father and me. "We don’t know what you’re talking about, bro."

A pause.

Then—

"Where’s Alyssa Blackwell?"

My father-in-law turned to me, confusion laced with something sharper. "How did my daughter get involved?"

I gave a slight shrug, though my mind was already threading possibilities together. Social media, perhaps—but Alyssa had been careful. Faces hidden. Angles controlled.

Then it surfaced—like a shadow rising from still water.

That trip. Baguio. Sagada.

One of them must have been watching.

A spy, hidden in plain sight.

But why Alyssa?

She isn’t a hacker.

"Just kill them," I said lightly, as if commenting on the weather.

"My poor daughter," Hardin muttered under his breath. "Too much for marrying into a genius."

Without hesitation, he fired—precise, deliberate. Legs. Not fatal.

A message.

They retreated, dragging their wounded with them like broken marionettes.

Our men arrived just in time, cornering them—but Logan had already given the order.

No killing.

And then, something curious.

The intruders surrendered.

Voluntarily.

A strange move.

A dangerous one.

A trap, perhaps—or bait.

They wanted something.

Information... or access.

My thoughts drifted, cold and methodical.

Our dungeon.

Yes. That must be it.

Unfortunately for them, I no longer possessed the luxury of mercy.

"Care to find out why they’re looking for Aly?" I asked my father-in-law.

"Yes," he replied, voice edged with curiosity. "Very much."

We made our way to Lore’s room.

I knocked.

Locked.

Again.

The door opened to Alyssa, draped in a silk pajama dress, her expression soft but alert. Inside, Lore sat at his desk, oversized shirt hanging loosely as his fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Hey, what’s up?" he asked, spinning his chair toward us. His brows lifted, followed by a low whistle at our tactical attire.

"Care to explain why they’re looking for your fiancée?" I asked calmly, my gaze steady. "They mentioned your name specifically." I gestured toward Alyssa.

Lore scratched his head. "So... let me explain."

"We were on a trip," he began, "on our way home. I hacked their phones—just to be safe. One of our friends mentioned the trip to their family. Me. Alyssa."

"Lore..." Alyssa turned to me, unease flickering in her voice. "Who?"

He hesitated.

"Maris Young," he finally said. "Don’t worry. I’ve already sent a team to check on her. Her father’s a military commander. Her grandfather’s a general."

Alyssa gasped softly. "Really?"

"It was an accident," Lore added quickly. "I don’t think she meant to say anything."

"I’m sorry," Alyssa said, her voice small.

"Don’t be," I replied gently. "This isn’t your fault."

I let a pause settle—brief, controlled.

"For now, you both stay in. No outings. Not until this is resolved. If a military commander and a general are involved, we move quietly."

Lore nodded.

"Tell the Knights to release the intruders," I added. "Let them leave disappointed."

Lore immediately put on his headset, issuing commands.

We moved through the house afterward, ensuring everything had returned to order.

I checked on Deanne.

She slept peacefully.

Caine sat beside her, the crib drawn close, his tablet resting on his lap.

"Hey," he whispered.

I nodded and stepped closer, my gaze softening as it fell upon little Aelia. I took out a small box and handed it to him.

"Very thoughtful," he murmured, opening it.

Inside—a quilt.

Handmade.

Aelia’s name embroidered delicately into the fabric.

"She can use it," I said quietly. "I already washed it."

Caine pouted, almost childlike.

"It’s beautiful. She’ll love this."

I smiled faintly, then leaned down to caress Deanne’s hair. A kiss pressed gently to her forehead before I slipped away.

She needed rest.

And I needed certainty.

The panic room was secure when I returned. Logan entered shortly after, gun still in hand.

"Mama!" Sky ran toward me, clutching the unopened cookies.

I knelt instantly. "What’s wrong, baby?" I asked softly. "Why are you crying so much?"

He wrapped his arms around my neck, trembling.

A quiet hum came from my mother-in-law.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked.

I blinked, slightly taken aback. "I don’t think so, Mom."

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "Damon was like that before I realized I was pregnant with David. Very clingy."

My thoughts stilled.

Damon and I hadn’t been careful.

Not for months.

Still... it took me a year to conceive Sky.

My body had always been... selective.

But perhaps—

"You can check," Laura suggested.

I nodded, lifting Sky into my arms.

We moved upstairs again—Damien carrying Zendaya, holding Zayvier’s hand.

I laid Sky gently on the bed, wiping his tears.

"Why are you crying, baby?"

"We shweep, okay?" he murmured.

"Yes," I whispered. "Okay."

I prepared his water, pouring distilled liquid into his bottle. He sipped quietly, calming.

"Don’t cry anymore, alright?"

I kissed his forehead.

Then I secured the room—locks checked, curtains drawn. Still, I allowed myself a brief glance outside.

Even a fortress can feel fragile... when the wolves learn its doors.

I had already spoken to Father and David about reinforcing their mansion.

The Braxton estate. The Carringtons.

All fortified.

More knights. More pawns.

More layers to the game.

When Sky finally drifted to sleep, I slipped into the bathroom.

The test was simple.

Routine.

But the waiting—

That was the cruelest part.

Seconds stretched like threads pulled too tight.

Then—

Two bright red lines.

My breath caught.

And for the first time that night...

I did not feel in control.