–Livana–
I arrived just in ti. After a warm bath, I slipped into my usual ho satin dress—soft as a whisper—and adorned my head with the Tahitian pearl headband Damon had given . For years, I thought it was from my mother. It’s been ages since I last wore it. After she died, I couldn’t bear to touch the gifts she once gave . They felt like relics of a life I’d lost—tiny fragnts of warmth wrapped in ribbons of grief.
I still pretended to be blind around my in-laws and grandparents, a habit that kept invisible in plain sight. But with my husband and my sister, I could finally breathe. I headed downstairs to et Damon, perhaps to show him the headband that once belonged to the girl who played both love and deceit like a lody.
"Liva!" Laura quickly stood. "The twins are busy playing and crawling in the crib. Do you want to take your baby?"
"No. I think Sky is getting cozy with you."
She smiled and sat down again, her gaze soft as she admired my child. I turned toward the front door, where my husband had just stepped out of the car, surrounded by maids carrying boxes.
"Liva?" Damon called out. The mont his eyes found , he hurried over, scooping up into his arms. He kissed —full, unrestrained—and twirled around until I laughed. I tapped his shoulder, half in protest, half in delight, and he finally set down. His hand drifted to my hair, fingers grazing the pearls.
"It’s been a while since I last saw you wearing this," he murmured.
"Yeah," I said softly, my tone casual but my heart quietly aching.
"Let’s make love!" he grinned boyishly.
My mother-in-law, overhearing, gave him a resounding slap on the back. "I’ll cut your manhood off if you even try!"
I winced, suppressing a laugh as Damon straightened, rubbing his back.
"Okay, Mom! I won’t. I’ll wait three months."
"Six months—no, nine."
I chuckled under my breath. Truth be told, I couldn’t wait to heal... to once again feel his body against mine, his lips exploring like a secret only he could decipher. My hand brushed his arm, tracing the firmness beneath his shirt.
"Now, let Laura take care of Sky, and let’s talk in our bedroom," Damon said with a mischievous grin. I saw the quick flick of his gaze toward his mother before he hid behind . "We’re not doing anything! I’m not forcing her, Mom!"
He kicked off his shoes and slipped into ho slippers.
"Take a bath," I instructed, but he only caught my hand and led upstairs.
Once in our bedroom, he closed the door and pulled gently toward the bathroom. As he began undressing, I leaned on the doorfra, my eyes tracing the water that kissed his skin.
"Why are you suddenly in a hurry?" I asked.
"Because you look irresistible," he winked. "Your curves, your breasts—they look even more perfect in that satin dress. And that headband—those black pearls—they make you look like temptation itself."
I rolled my eyes, but my lips curved faintly. "Separate your clothes before you bathe. You know the rules."
He obeyed with exaggerated care, grinning all the while, then stepped into the shower. I walked closer, watching as droplets slid down his shoulders.
"Need help?" I teased.
"No. I can manage. Besides, you just recovered. I can wait... even a year, if I must." He winked again.
"Or do you need my hand?"
"Your precious hand?" He gasped theatrically. "Those hands were made to play the cello, not... ."
"Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop being poetic."
He laughed, stepped out, and kissed —quick, wet, and soft. Water dripped onto my skin as he reached for a towel, gently wiping the droplets away.
"But I can suck those beauties, right?" he murmured with a sly grin.
"Milk is for Sky, not for you." I rolled my eyes.
At the end, I helped him relieve himself—because I loved seeing that flicker of release on his face—and he got to play with my breasts a little. Afterwards, I washed my chest carefully; my son deserved nothing but purity from .
When Damon left to fetch Sky and bring food, I sat on the sofa, picking up the tablet to check on Kei’s current dical situation.
He was still in a hospital bed, monitored by veteran nurses and doctors. His attending physician—young, bright, and oddly serene—was none other than a Bishop. Dr. White. The daughter of Commander White, who now protects my mother.
My genius scientist lives. To protect his family, he must remain dead to the world. His "body" was nothing but a lifeless clone—a masterpiece of deception. Jane had carved and stitched the imitation herself, perfectly mirroring Kei’s old injuries. If any assassin or spy ca to inspect, they would find nothing but the truth they wanted to see. The DNA matched, the scars aligned. Perfection, born of necessity.
"Love," Damon’s voice pulled back. I looked up to see him entering the room with a tray of food, while Laura gently laid Sky into the crib.
"He’s asleep," Laura whispered. "Please keep quiet. It took forever to get him down."
"You can do it again next ti," Damon teased.
Laura shot him a glare. I hid a smile as I joined him at the table. Damon brushed his fingers through my short hair and sighed softly.
"Hairpins would look gorgeous on you, too."
"Hmm, I’ll save them for special occasions."
I reached for his face, pulling him closer until our lips t. He seed surprised at first but lted into the kiss. His hand slid instinctively toward my breast, and I swatted it away with a glare.
He chuckled. "Sorry—reflex. You used to guide my hand there."
"That was because I needed you to massage them when milk was forming during pregnancy."
"Ah." He nodded solemnly. "Good to know."
I pulled him in again, kissing him deeper this ti—our tongues dancing, breaths tangled. He knelt before , his mouth stealing my breath as though he wished to consu my soul entirely.
In that mont, I almost believed he could.
–Jane–
Days of doing nothing but sleeping, eating, stretching, and sleeping again. I should be worried about wasting ti, about not working, not doing anything. But honestly? Playing with the cats sohow erased my worries. Their purrs were better therapy than any sedative.
Then there’s Logan—the self-appointed court jester of my recovery arc—who seems to visit solely to annoy .
I still couldn’t bring myself to attend Kei’s burial. The thought alone felt heavier than I could carry.
"Wanna go to the hospital?" Logan asked suddenly. "I an, Kei’s condition actually progressed. He woke up last night."
"That’s good to hear." I nodded. "But I can’t face Kei yet."
"It’s not really your fault," he repeated for what felt like the hundredth ti. But no matter how many tis he said it, I still couldn’t believe it. Deep down, it felt like it was my fault.
"Also," he continued, "Kenzo plotted the whole thing. Keiko got tangled up with him."
"What happened to Keiko?"
"She’s been confined sowhere safe and comfortable."
"Did you visit her?" I asked, arching a brow.
"No." He shrugged like it was no big deal.
I gasped dramatically. "Bro, that girl is in love with you! She’s an entertainer, and Kenzo was her boss. So, if Kenzo wanted to—well, you know—" I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively.
"It’s not about that." He crossed his arms.
"Then what?"
He gave that look—the one that said You really don’t rember, do you?
"You forgot?"
"Forgot what?" I asked, tilting my head, curious.
"She tried to kill you."
"Pfft!" I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach. "Do you really think Keiko could kill ? Please. She’s got those—" I cupped my hands in front of my chest, miming massive lons. "—and gravity clearly betrayed her. I heard her clumsy footsteps before she even reached ! Sure, I didn’t expect the hairpin, but that woman couldn’t kill a mosquito."
"You don’t know what’s going on in people’s minds," he countered. "And her big lons... yeah, they’re wonderful."
"Her boobs would probably bounce right off ," I shot back.
He just stared at , clearly wondering if I’d lost my mind.
"What I ant," I clarified, rolling my eyes, "is that Moon saved . Keiko didn’t get to harm . I think she’s waiting for you, so maybe visit her."
"Why are you insisting?" he asked, standing from the window seat and crossing his arms. "Seriously?"
"Think of her ntal health, Logan. Look at —I’m abnormal! I’ve murdered at least three pillows in my sleep this week."
He walked over, placed a hand on my forehead, and frowned.
"You’re flushed. And you don’t sound like yourself. I thought you were just being dramatic, but you’re burning up."
"Ha?" I blinked. "I don’t feel hot. Just a bit chilly."
Without warning, he pushed gently down onto the bed, tucked the duvet around , and then—casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world—lay down beside , staring at the ceiling.
"What are you doing?" I asked flatly.
"I’ll visit her tomorrow," he said simply.
"Whatever." I turned away. "Leave my room."
Instead, he reached into his pocket and handed sothing.
"Here, your dicine. Dr. White said your temperature earlier was a little high."
"Thanks." I sat up, grabbed an electrolyte drink from the mini-fridge, and swallowed the dicine. Then I tried—emphasis on tried—to kick him off my bed, but apparently, my strength had abandoned halfway through.
"I just wanted to chat," he said, watching pull the duvet up to my chin.
"Jane," he muttered after a mont.
"Hmm?"
"That’s not your real na, is it?"
"Nope." I closed my eyes, the cats curling up beside like warm clouds.
There was a pause. Then, with zero sha, he said, "Do you want to go out on a date after all this ss?"
"Hmm?" I half-mumbled, half-snorted. I was too tired to dignify that with a response. Probably just his way of teasing again.
But then he added, far too casually, "Like a date. Netflix, chill... and fuck?"
My eyes snapped open.
And just like that, I discovered the miraculous return of my strength.
I kicked him—hard—off the bed.
He landed on the floor with a thud.
"See? Not dead yet," I muttered, pulling the duvet over my head.
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