Flash Marriage: In His Eyes Chapter 46: Attraction

–Damon–

Seeing a new face in the residence instantly piqued my curiosity—and maybe set off a few internal alarms. Who was this woman? She was tall, with a presence that commanded the room without trying. Sothing about her felt... sharp, like she knew more than she let on. And she looked oddly familiar, which only made my mind itch harder for answers.

Her hair was impossible to miss—curly, cascading waves dyed in a smoky gray that faded into a soft pink at the ends, like the sky just before dawn. It bounced with each step she took, too confidently for soone who didn’t live here. Near her collarbone, a tattoo teased my attention. Just a glimpse of dark ink against skin, but I couldn’t make out the design from this angle. Not that I was ogling—absolutely not. I was just being observant. Hyper-observant. The way a husband should be.

She didn’t even look at properly—just one uninterested glance, as if I were a piece of furniture. Rude. But fine. I clocked every detail anyway.

"Sophia?" Livana called.

"I’m here," the woman replied, reaching out her hand. "I have sothing to discuss with you."

"Okay."

I watched as Sophia led Livana toward her office, the guy she called Sparrow trailing behind them like so silent shadow.

We’d just had dinner, and Livana was still suffering through her period. I sighed and stayed by the door even though I didn’t have to. She was ho. She was safe. But still...

"I don’t think you need to wait there," Kai said, coming up beside . "Let’s head to the bar." He tilted his head slightly. "You should see the recording. Even though the device was broken, I made sure the footage was backed up via WiFi. We got everything."

"Good job." I slung my arm around his shoulder. "How’re Laura and Damien?"

"Like horny bunnies," Kai laughed.

We made our way to the bar, and Kai handed his phone. I watched the footage: a car pulled up beside Laura’s. Then, in smooth, practiced motions, they disabled the alarm using so kind of device and connected it to the wires. Fast, professional. Like they’d done it a dozen tis before.

Kai slid a glass of whiskey toward .

"No rocks this ti."

I usually liked it with ice, but it neat was fine.

"I hate leaving Laura alone in the bedroom," Damien muttered as he walked in. "But she’s gonna be the death of ."

"Wasn’t that the plan all along?" I smirked. "Satisfy your woman, cousin."

"Bro, I love Laura so much, but she needs to rest." He dropped into a seat. "Whiskey. Neat."

I pushed my untouched glass toward him. He grabbed it and knocked it back in one go.

"Easy," Kai said with a sigh. "Man, you’ve got more bruises on your back—and cuts on your face..."

"This?" Damien shrugged. "Nothing compared to the beatings I used to get."

I knew he ant from his brothers.

"Yeah," Kai and I said in unison.

"Damien!" Laura’s voice rang out from upstairs. "Where are you?"

He groaned and hauled himself to his feet.

As he disappeared up the stairs, I turned to Kai, who had grown noticeably serious. He leaned in slightly.

"You cool with Livana’s people being here?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "It’s her house, after all."

"Hmm." He tapped his fingers on the counter. "By the way, her father ca by earlier. With his wife."

"I heard." I rested my right elbow on the counter and leaned my cheek against my hand.

"Do you think he’s the one who sent people to kill her?"

I hesitated. "I have my doubts. Most of us think it could be the stepmother. But honestly? There are plenty of people who’d benefit from Livana’s death."

I rubbed my chin, the thought gnawing at .

Ever since Livana handed the company to Laura and made her the sole heir to everything, there’d been vultures circling. That inheritance might as well be a curse.

–Laura–

I read the reports with my fingers—each dot a language I mastered long ago. They learned braille for . They learned how to compile reports in braille—for . That’s how it’s always been.

Sophia—my right hand—is the strongest mber of the team I built from the ground up. She’s ruthless, precise, and always one step ahead of my stepmother’s sches. Logan—my tracker—is equally lethal. He can hunt anyone I na, and when he finds them, it’s rarely clean.

These two? They’ve been with since childhood. When they swore loyalty to , I gave them sothing in return—my protection, care and money. And my word that I would never betray them.

Now, with blood spilling left and right since I nad Laura my heir, the list of suspects grows. Everyone has a motive, but few have the guts to act.

Still, they’ll have to kill first to get to her. That part hasn’t changed.

What I find curious is that no one has dared to co after directly. Perhaps it’s because Damon Blackwell is always nearby—an inconvenient obstacle they don’t want to engage.

"I’ll be leaving now," Sophia said, her tone clipped and efficient. "I’m taking Logan with to track down these bastards."

"Hmm," I nodded.

"I should stay and keep an eye on Laura," Logan interjected.

"No," I replied calmly but firmly. "Laura is with Damien. He’ll protect her. That’s his job."

"So what, he’s on your payroll now? Do you pay him to fuck her too?" Logan’s words were sharp, but we’d known each other long enough to speak without pretense.

"You could put it that way," I said smoothly. "But no—I don’t pay Damien. He has his own money. His own Blackwell shares. Since he’s not exactly busy with company matters, I told him to focus on Laura. If you’re jealous because they’re finally making progress, then maybe it’s ti for you to move on."

I heard Sophia stifle a laugh.

"We’re done here. Also—Kai has the surveillance footage. Sophia, retrieve it from him."

"Sure."

I slid the docunts back into the drawer and stood, the chair legs scraping lightly against the floor. I walked to the door, and they followed out. Once the door closed, I paused. I sniffed the air—no trace of Damon’s scent. He was probably downstairs.

"Pack it up, Kai," Sophia barked in her usual commanding tone.

I chuckled softly and made my way toward the staircase, fingertips trailing along the wall until I found the handrail. Step by step, I descended.

"Damon?" I called, pausing midway. A beat of silence. I realized—I didn’t need him. I never have. So why was I looking for him?

Still, I kept walking.

"Baby, want to go for a walk outside?"

His voice ca from the right—soft, concerned. The bar. I turned toward it and caught the sound of low conversation, clinking glasses, footsteps.

"No. Can you take to bed? I think I might get leg cramps."

"Sure, baby."

I felt his strong arms wrap around . He kissed my cheek with a tenderness only he could pull off without seeming weak. Then he lifted effortlessly and carried like I was sothing delicate.

He laid on the bed and began showering my face with kisses. I closed my eyes, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck.

"Does it still hurt?" he asked.

"Just a little."

"Okay... let massage it."

I tugged on his nape, drawing him closer. I knew what I wanted—and I always get what I want.

He kissed my lips, and I opened up to him. Our tongues t—not just kissing, but speaking in a language made of heat and tension and want.

His hand slipped under my dress, pressing against my lower abdon. The friction, the warmth, the slow, grounding pressure—it eased the pain, just a little.

"Too bad we can’t make love," he murmured.

Too bad indeed.

But he doesn’t try to make love to . No, Damon tucks gently onto my side of the bed, makes sure I’m comfortable, and starts massaging my back, his fingers working carefully down to both legs. He doesn’t stop there—he brings out the hot pads, placing them gently over my stomach with practiced care, then leans over and starts massaging my head and face.

God—this is the best. The facial massage. He hits every pressure point like he morized the map of my stress. Maybe he did.

"Yeah?" he murmured near my ear. "Does that relieve the headache?"

"Hmm," I replied, eyes closed. "Keep going."

"Yes, boss."

I felt the brush of his lips against mine.

I don’t know what happened after that. I must’ve fallen asleep—his fingers still gliding over my temples.

But when I woke up, the bed felt too big. Cold. Empty. His arms weren’t around .

"Damon?" I called, my voice husky from sleep. "Damon?"

No answer at first—just the rush of wind, subtle but noticeable. Then—

"Sorry, love. Did I wake you?"

I heard the sliding door shut, his footsteps soft as he ca back to the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight.

"What’s going on?" I asked, sitting up slightly.

"Oh, nothing. Just checking on sothing," he said, chuckling, too casual.

"That better not be your mistress," I said as I carefully slipped out from under the sheets.

"Do you need help?"

"No. But I do need that facial massage again."

He laughed—low and adoring.

"God, I hope your red days end soon. I want to make love to you as soon as possible."

I scoffed. "As much as I’d love that... I have no choice but to suffer through this." I sighed. "Sex is better than red days."