–Livana–
I retreated to my room the mont Dr. Green arrived.
I gathered my boy into my arms, letting him snuggle close to , while the twins curled beside their mother on the sofa. Quietly, I checked the corridor cara feed—the vacant room that had been transford into a delivery suite.
I could already imagine Deanne inside...
cursing her husband between breaths.
Laura giggled at sothing, and the twins followed her laughter like echoes of sunlight.
"Dada..." Sky muttered softly. "Where’s Dada?"
My son always looks for first.
But when Damon is away, he searches for his father instead—as if love, once divided, must still remain whole.
It amuses , how alike they are.
The sa temperant. The sa dramatic soul.
"Dada is abroad," I told him gently. "He’s taking care of Uncle Kai."
"Tito? What happened?"
"He got shot," I said calmly.
His little eyes widened.
"Oh... no."
"Oh no!" the twins echoed in unison.
"But don’t worry," I added smoothly, like a balm over fear. "He’s recovering."
Their expressions mirrored each other—concern softening into acceptance—before they returned to their quiet play, as children often do, unburdened by the weight adults carry.
"Tito Lore?" Sky asked again. "Tito wiv Tita Pretty?"
"Yes," I said, kissing his forehead.
"Mommy wiv Daddy?" he asked, pointing at Laura, who only grinned.
"Of course, baby."
His questions flowed endlessly, like a gentle stream—until my attention shifted.
On the screen, the delivery room door opened.
Caine stepped out.
In his arms... a newborn.
A baby girl.
He even lifted her slightly toward the cara, as if presenting a fragile miracle to the world.
I turned on the audio.
Her cry filled the room—sharp, raw, and alive.
"Waz dat?" Sky pushed himself up, pointing at the tablet.
"That’s a baby girl," I told him softly.
"Yay!" Zendaya clapped her hands.
"Go!" Sky tugged at my hand.
But I pulled him back gently.
"We can’t go there yet," I murmured. "We mustn’t overwhelm the baby. Later."
He obeyed—quietly, without protest.
Then he snuggled back into , instinctively reaching for my breast to comfort himself. I let him. There was no milk, but he sought warmth, familiarity—sothing only a mother can offer.
And tonight... there was no Damon to scold him.
So I allowed it.
We waited.
Ti stretched into quiet hours until the twins and Sky fell asleep beside . Laura had drifted off on the sofa, surrounded by pillows like a soft fortress.
We had to wait until both mother and child were fully examined—until Dr. Green and the pediatrician gave their quiet approval.
I continued to monitor everything.
Carefully. Precisely.
Yet even in vigilance, I noticed—
Lore and Alyssa were nowhere to be seen.
Missing.
Most likely locked away in their room... indulging in each other’s presence. Though their parents had made it very clear—they were not to cross certain lines before marriage.
Still... youth rarely listens to restraint.
I gently caressed Sky’s hair, watching the twins sleep peacefully beside us.
"Dada..." Sky murmured in his sleep. "Foddie..."
A soft smile touched my lips.
Sky, Zendaya, and Zayvier...
they are my sun.
My quiet constellation.
And sohow, in their little world, Alyssa has beco a piece of that light as well.
"Dada..." Sky stirred again, rolling onto his stomach before lifting his head groggily. "Mama..."
He crawled toward , half-asleep, reaching for the tablet.
"Call Dada."
I did.
The line rang for a mont before Damon answered.
"Hello, babe—" He stopped.
"Dada," Sky called.
"Oh... hi, Skyler," Damon said, his tone shifting. "What’s up, buddy?"
"Foodie, okay?"
Damon froze.
I watched, amused, as my son—who had just woken—chose to remind his father about food.
As if that were the most urgent matter in the world.
"Don’t you miss ?" Damon asked, sounding offended. "Really? Food? Is there anything else besides food?"
It was all theatrics, of course.
A performance between father and son.
"Oh..." Sky glanced at . "Mama... Zen-Zen and Zay-Zay," he said, handing the tablet back before collapsing into his spot again, hugging Zendaya.
"Hello, beautiful," Damon’s voice softened—lower, warr—as he shifted sowhere on his end. "By the way, Kai started moving."
My attention sharpened.
"He was paralyzed when he woke up," Damon continued, "but he’s starting to regain movent. He can even talk now."
"It’s a miracle," I whispered.
"Yes... and also mindset," he added. "He knows Sophia is pregnant—and she’s gaslighting him."
I let out a soft laugh at his choice of words.
But he wasn’t wrong.
It was one way to keep Kai fighting.
Sophia is clever.
Very clever.
And sotis...
love, when sharpened by desperation,
becos its own kind of strategy.
–Caine–
The look on her face when she finally fed Aelia... satisfying. Mission accomplished.
But recovery—that’s the real battlefield now.
I stayed with her through everything. Clean-up, stabilization, support. I saw our daughter co out of her—and yeah, that image is burned into my brain. Horrifying. Brutal. I hated every second of her pain.
So I stayed. I helped. I didn’t leave.
I don’t leave my wife.
Quick shower—no perfu, no strong scents. Neutral. Clean. Safe for the baby.
Then I held my daughter.
My daughter.
My Aelia.
Beautiful. Fragile. And those eyes—exactly like her mother’s. Sharp, alive, already scanning like she knows the world isn’t soft.
Deanne was already in deep sleep. Exhausted. Drained from bringing life into this world.
I crashed on the sofa—half-alert, half-dead—with Aelia in the crib beside .
Then—
Aelia cried.
Not random. Not noise.
Signal.
"Caine..." Deanne’s voice—low, weak.
I was up instantly. Scooped the baby with precision—head supported, spine aligned—and handed her over carefully.
The door opened.
"Here’s your al," Aunt Ines walked in with Jane. "Caine, go downstairs and eat. We’ll take care of them from here."
I hesitated.
Deanne smiled at .
"Go. Eat. You’ll need strength to take care of and our baby."
Orders from the wife.
"Yes, I will."
I kissed her forehead and moved out.
Downstairs—the table was already set. Kids eating independently. Efficient. Grandparents deep in discussion—gifts, plans, future spoiling operations for Aelia.
"How’s Deanne?" Grandma Isabella asked.
"She’s doing great, Nana. Don’t worry—I’ve got them," I answered, confident.
Laura laughed.
"Wait until you reach that stage," she said, cryptic as hell.
Noted. Possible future threat.
I ate. Fast. Efficient. Refueled. Then raided the pantry—snacks secured—and headed back upstairs.
And then—
I walked into the room.
Paused.
Analyzed.
My wife—sitting there, eating slowly... while two pumps were attached to her chest.
Processing...
"It’s amazing you have a lot of milk," Jane said, carefully labeling and storing it.
"Wait—those ca from my wife?" I asked, still calibrating.
"Yes, she’s like a cow," Ines teased.
"Yeah, I have big boobs, Mom," Deanne rolled her eyes.
"Don’t be silly, dear. It’s a blessing. Aelia won’t go hungry."
Fair point.
I leaned toward my daughter—cooing softly, her eyes wandering, observing everything like a tiny strategist.
"Hello, beautiful," I murmured in full baby-talk mode.
She cooed back.
Confird—responsive.
I headed to the bathroom. Washed hands—thoroughly. Brushed teeth—quick, clean. Back to position.
"Caine, can you help to the bathroom?"
"Always."
I helped her up—careful, controlled. She was still struggling.
"I’m sorry, Deanne," I kissed her head.
"It’s over now. I’ll recover."
"I love you, baby."
"I love you too."
I kissed her lips. Helped her wash her face while she brushed her teeth. Brushed her hair. Cleaned her gently. She was in maternity diapers—recovery phase, no judgnt, only care.
I kissed her neck.
"You sll good," I muttered.
She smacked .
"I just gave birth. Stop seducing ."
I laughed.
God, I love this woman.
I helped her dress and guided her back out. The milk stock was already secured in the freezer—labeled, organized. Efficient system.
I settled her in bed, pillows supporting her back so she could sit comfortably. Handed her the remote.
Then I picked up Aelia again.
Aunt Ines had already trained —how to hold her, how to position her after feeding. Proper support. No mistakes.
Then—my phone blinked red.
Alert.
I reached for it.
Damon’s ssage: Handled.
I hesitated.
Work like that doesn’t just disappear. It usually explodes.
But I looked at my wife.
My daughter.
My priority.
I stepped back.
I trust Damon.
"Sothing’s not right," Jane muttered, peeking through the window.
Her tone shifted—sharp, alert.
She closed the curtains. Instantly activated fortress mode.
Locks. Systems. Defense protocols.
"Where is Lore?" she asked quickly.
"He was in the dining room a while ago," I answered.
My hand moved on instinct.
Gun—secured, loaded, ready.
I positioned myself between the door and my family.
Whatever’s coming—
Let it co.
But then, I froze.
No. We can’t let it co.
I have a newborn here. My wife just gave birth hours ago. The trio are probably sowhere in the mansion, playing. We can’t risk that at all.
"Should we go to the panic room?" I asked Jane, who signaled .
I peeked outside. Logan was already in position with a big gun. But he’d have a better view if he were on the rooftop.
But then—
Where’s Lore?
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