Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 81: For Laura

–Livana–

I could sense Tyrona’s envious glare as we dined in the five-star restaurant—one owned by Damien himself. Despite the upscale venue, we were dressed in casual attire. No expensive suits or elaborate dresses. Tyrona looked perfectly matched with the elegance of the place, but we strolled in as if we owned it—like we were just at home.

Damon had moved his chair so close to mine that his arm now wrapped protectively around me, shielding me from Alejandro’s intrusive gaze.

Alyssa was grinning, holding up her phone and snapping photos of us.

"Remove your sunglasses," she said. I complied. Damon reached over to gently fix my hair and dab my lipstick before pulling me into a half-embrace, his arm firmly circling my waist.

"Perfect!" Alyssa giggled.

"I should look good in that," I murmured.

"You are," she affirmed.

I turned my head slightly toward my husband.

"Darling, can you scoot your chair back where it belongs?"

"No," he sighed. "I can’t let that bastard undress you with his eyes."

"Hmm. I can’t control whatever lives in other people’s minds, can I?"

"Maybe I should just put a bullet through his brain. What do you think?" he said while rubbing slow circles along my side.

"Hmm. Up to you."

"Sir," a manager approached us with a respectful nod, "your private room is ready—with a view of the city."

"Thank you." Damon stood at once, took my purse and sunglasses, and addressed the man again. "Has our service dog’s main course been prepared?"

I adjusted the leash handle on my wrist.

"Certainly, sir."

"Perfect." Damon gently took the leash from my wrist and handed it to Alyssa.

I turned my head slightly, noting the hushed conversation and clinking utensils from our bodyguards seated at a nearby table, blending in like any other guests.

We were then guided upstairs to a private room, more like a luxurious extension of the restaurant. It seemed the space had been cleared solely for us.

Damon pulled out my chair, then draped a coat over my lap. He must have noticed I felt cold.

"Wow," Alyssa whispered in awe. "The view really is beautiful."

It was. I sighed softly as our food arrived.

"Where’s Choco?"

"To your right, down. He has this adorable table with a fine ceramic bowl," Alyssa replied.

I leaned forward slightly and tilted my face downward. Alyssa crouched beside Choco, snapping photos as he waited patiently and looked up at me.

"Okay, eat," I told him. He dove in like a starving wolf, growling slightly as he ate.

"Stop."

He froze.

"Eat. Slowly."

Obediently, he slowed down. I reached a hand downward, deliberately brushing in the wrong direction until I found his soft fur. I patted him gently.

"That’s a good boy."

"Love," Damon called softly, "let’s eat now."

I took the hand towel and carefully wiped my fingers. Then I caressed the table with my palm, locating my utensils. Damon explained the portions on my plate, describing it like a clock divided into four.

I brought a piece of tuna to my mouth. Just then, my phone vibrated.

Casually, I unrolled the wire from my pocket and inserted the earpiece into my right ear.

"Speak," I said.

"You mentioned an agent from the Pentagon," Sophia’s voice came through. "I caught one."

"Hmm?" I set my utensils down.

"He’s been following us—asking questions about the compass that exploded. He suspects it’s fake."

"Did you verify his ID?"

"Yes."

"Hmm..." I leaned back in my seat, mind spinning.

Why would the Pentagon start tracking us right after I opened the parcel they sent?

Strange.

And now—I was very curious. About what they truly wanted. And why.

–Laura–

Sweet Jesus, save me.

There he was—Damien. Walking on the treadmill during a meeting like it was no big deal. Topless. Gloriously topless. His sweat glistened under the light, rolling down his neck and sliding over every carved inch of his back like it was on a mission to make me combust.

I swear, if watching your man workout half-naked wasn’t considered medicine, it should be.

I was supposed to be in a meeting myself, but I called in sick. A woman needs rest, I told them. And apparently, my personal recovery plan included thirsting over Damien while he powered through business talk and cardio. Win-win.

He glanced at me once, then returned his gaze to the screen like the disciplined man he was. Meanwhile, I was fanning myself like some Victorian lady trying not to pass out from lust. My recovery? Swift. My hormones? Wrecked.

Thirty painfully sexy minutes later, the meeting ended. Damien stepped off the treadmill, wiping his face with a towel. Still glistening. Still hot. Still making me feel like a very happy little pervert.

I grinned and met him with another towel, patting his face and running it through his damp hair like the devoted, horny housewife I apparently was. He leaned down, and our lips met. Sparks, obviously.

"I want to fuck you badly," I purred against his mouth.

He grinned like the devil and kissed me again. Hotter. Deeper.

And then—

"Laura!" Logan’s voice boomed from down the hall, totally ruining the moment. "Did you order decorations or whatnots?"

Ugh. Buzzkill.

"Yeah, I did. I’ll let Jane organize it," I called back casually, still high off Damien’s mouth.

"You sure?" Logan asked, appearing with a frown so tight I wanted to smack it off.

"What? Why?"

"It’s just... suspicious," he said, rubbing the back of his neck like something felt off. "I only ordered materials, not, like, actual décor."

"Hm." I shrugged, filing it under Definitely Should Ask About Later, but honestly? I was more interested in what Damien was planning to do with that towel and my body.

"Don’t come out of the house," Logan added, turning on his heel and leaving like a man with secrets.

That made me curious. And when I’m curious? It’s dangerous.

"Let’s go," Damien said smoothly, grabbing my tablet and walking with me to our bedroom like he was about to give me very specific instructions. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

He nudged me gently toward the edge of the bed. I looked down, biting my lip—half innocent, half impatient.

Then he knelt. Right there. Between my legs. Like a prayer answered.

"Come on," he said, voice low and delicious.

"Woah," I smirked. "Are you serious? Can we make love?"

"Yes, of course." He wiggled his eyebrows. "But let’s start with you making love... with your mouth, okay?"

I pouted dramatically. "I miss your fullness."

But who was I kidding? I could never say no to that face—or oral.

One hour later. (And yes, I earned every minute.)

We finally came downstairs, looking like two people who’d just escaped a very satisfying storm.

Damon and Livana were already on the sofa, surrounded by what looked like half a boutique’s inventory.

I blinked. "Did she go shopping?"

I gaped harder when I saw a baby stroller—and more gear than an entire baby store.

A gunshot echoed outside. Just casually. Damon barely looked up.

"Is there chaos outside?" I asked, peeking through the nearest window.

"Yeah. Don’t mind them," he said with a shrug, as if bullets were just distant fireworks.

Livana gestured elegantly to the mountain of bags. "These are for our babies."

"Our?" Damon scoffed. "Seriously, love? You have to stop claiming their babies. We will make one soon."

She turned her face toward him, slow and dramatic. If she had vision, that glare would’ve set him on fire.

Another gunshot rang out. Logan turned off the main lights, switching to wall sconces like we were prepping for a romantic dinner with background violence.

Outside, I saw them capturing a group of men—one of whom was firing like a maniac. But the whole house was wrapped in tech and bulletproof glass, so really, it was like watching a violent movie with surround sound and snacks.

"Oh, by the way," Livana said suddenly, turning toward me, "you can’t show them yet that you’re pregnant. Tyrona already thinks I am."

She laughed—sweet, smug, unbothered.

"Have you checked it?" Damon asked her gently, his thumb rubbing her shoulder in those soothing little circles.

She didn’t answer.

But the smile on her lips?

Yeah. She liked the mystery.

And me? I had questions, cravings, and zero regrets about my sick leave.

I wonder what kind of strict aunt she’ll be.

My babies? Oh, they’re already spoiled by her and they haven’t even popped out yet. I can already see it—Livana with that perfectly composed face, acting all regal while secretly slipping them candy behind my back and teaching them how to manipulate their dad.

I can’t wait to share everything with her. The clothes, the cravings, the nursery plans, the midnight baby cries.

If only she were fertile... God, she might’ve already beaten me to it. That woman would’ve been pregnant before me if her body allowed it. She’s that determined.

It’s just—sad. Really sad.

Livana doesn’t talk much about it, but I know. The chances of her conceiving are so slim, it’s cruel. And Damon? He doesn’t say it out loud either, but sometimes I catch that look in his eyes when she mentions babies. Like he’s holding back hope just to protect her.

Still... medicine has come a long way. There are good doctors. Advanced treatments. Big technology. Miracles happen every day.

I’m not giving up hope for her.

Then Logan walked into the room, interrupting my thoughts.

He held an envelope.

"I had this checked," he said simply.

Inside, there was something round, almost flat.

My mind immediately flashed back to that strange device—the one that looked like a compass.

My heart picked up.

"This is for you," Logan added, extending it to me.

I took it slowly, fingers brushing the edge of the envelope as I pulled it out. It felt cool and oddly heavy.

Beside me, Livana tilted her head slightly, waiting. She didn’t say anything, but her focus was sharp. I could tell. She was tuned in. Curious. Alert.

She always knew when something important was happening.

And somehow, I had a feeling—this wasn’t just a trinket.

This was something... else.

Something big.

Th𝗲 most uptodate novels are published on free(w)ebnov(e)l.𝒄𝒐𝙢