Flash Marriage: In His Eyes Chapter 79: The Compass

–Sophia–

I really want to kill Livana. Really.

I exhaled slowly, then inhaled through my nose to steady myself. We had almost gotten ourselves killed because of that damned compass. They had it. And now, we were dragged into their temple-like lair—surrounded.

They were ard to the teeth. n in sand-colored kurtas carried massive firearms, and so had shamshir—those curved Persian blades—resting casually in jewel-studded scabbards at their sides. They looked ceremonial, but the danger in the room was anything but.

We could escape, sure. But this—this is exactly what Livana wanted. To find their lair.

The receiving hall was vast and reeked of wealth—old wealth. That rich Indian color palette washed everything in shades of saffron, ruby, erald, and gold. Gemstone inlays lined the mosaic floors. Indoor palms and sculpted bonsai dotted the room. Massive tapestries hung on stone-carved walls, depicting ancient gods and battles. Traditional paintings of royalty glared down at us, as if judging. Even the air felt perfud—sandalwood, mixed with sothing smoky. Spiced. Heady.

At the center of it all sat the so-called leader of this syndicate. They called him Maharaja—King. Dressed in stark white robes, neck draped in layers of heavy gold chains, his fingers glittering with chunky rings, he looked like a relic from a forgotten empire. Too old to fight, but sharp-eyed, suspicious, and deadly calm.

He sat cross-legged on an elevated cushion, inspecting the compass with such intensity it was almost reverent. His lips moved as he read the nas engraved around the edge.

"Interesting," he muttered, fingers flicking at the strange lighter attached. One of his n rushed forward, warning him not to ignite it.

They turned to , expecting answers.

I gave them none.

"It was only given to ! I don’t know anything about that damn thing," I snapped.

Kai stood and took it from my hands. Calmly, he flicked the lighter. It lit a simple fla. Nothing else. He raised a brow, unimpressed, and handed it back. But then their focus shifted to the compass again.

That’s when I noticed it—the needle. It wasn’t stopping. Just spinning endlessly, pointing nowhere. Or maybe pointing everywhere. Not north, that’s for sure.

I yawned.

Instead of kneeling like so weakling, I moved to the corner and sat gracefully on the edge of a bed—crossing my legs, ignoring the glare from the guards. I closed my eyes. I should have felt fear. We were in the heart of a deadly syndicate’s base, surrounded by killers. One wrong move and we’d be riddled with bullets in seconds.

But instead, I was bored.

Our backup? Most likely already inside, waiting for the signal.

"Did you send assassins to the White Queen?" I asked suddenly, without opening my eyes.

The Maharaja smirked, glancing down at the compass like it had just whispered a joke.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, raising it.

"I told you—I have no idea. She just told to keep it away," I said truthfully, brushing my hair off my shoulder.

"The White Queen, you say?" he mused. "I’ve heard the na... but is she related to the creator of this compass?"

"Maybe," I said with a lazy shrug. "What’s so special about it?"

He raised it like it was a divine relic.

"This," he said, voice low and reverent, "is a waiver to the Pentagon. A key to every secret governnt organization in the world."

My eyes widened. Seriously?

"Now that I have it," he continued, "they’ll give whatever I want."

He flicked the lighter.

The next second—boom.

It exploded in his hand. Flas surged, burning him and five others nearby. Screams erupted, followed by the sharp echo of gunshots.

I thought they were shooting at us.

But no—each of his n dropped to the ground. Headshots. Clean. One by one. Silent. Precise.

The Knights.

They walked in like ghosts from the smoke, unfazed. One of them knelt beside and unshackled the heavy chains wrapped around my wrists and ankles.

"The Queen commands you to move G5," he said flatly.

I blinked. Excuse ? Is she playing chess now? I’m just a piece on the board?

I let out a long breath, not even trying to hide my irritation.

"Oh, fuck," I muttered as they began escorting us out.

"What’s G5?" Francis asked, confused.

"A square on a chess board," I replied dryly, shaking my head. "Apparently, I’m a pawn now."

–Damon–

I downed the last of my water, my eyes fixed on my wife—my dangerous, beautiful wife—lounging casually on the sofa in the sunroom. Choco curled up next to her like the pampered prince he’s beco. She wore a thin strap top and those silk shorts that clung to her like they were made just for her. Not the usual lace or satin... cotton this ti. Soft, breathable, sinful cotton. And God, it hugged her hips in a way that made my blood churn.

She didn’t even try to be seductive. She never had to.

I set the glass down and made my way over, dropping to my knees in front of her like a fucking worshiper. My palms ran over her flawless legs—warm, smooth, mine. I pressed a kiss to her knee, inhaling the faint scent of her skin.

"What are you doing?" she asked, deadpan.

"Worshipping you," I said with a grin, my hands sliding slowly up her thighs.

She clicked her tongue. "Tsk. I’m not fucking you. Didn’t I make that clear two days ago?"

"Yeah, you did." I smirked, brushing my fingers along her jaw, cupping her face. "But it doesn’t hurt to admire what’s mine, right?"

"You’re supposed to be working," she reminded , ever the grounded queen.

"Yeah." I sighed, though I didn’t look away. "Just a quick stop at the mall. Wanna co with?"

"Fine," she said. "Prepare Choco’s diapers and everything else."

I blinked. Diapers? I looked at the dog—our so-called service dog—now flopped on his back like so pampered aristocrat. Spoiled beyond repair.

"Babe—" I started.

"Co on." Her voice was firm. And when she gave a command, I obeyed. That’s the hold she had on .

I chose a skort for her—flirty, comfortable, and youthful. Paired it with her favorite white top and a light white coat. For myself, I threw on khaki six-pocket shorts, just a bit past the knee, with a plain tee. Casual. Presentable. Still near her.

When we arrived at the mall, my little sister Alyssa was already waiting, flanked by her bodyguards. She waved excitedly and ran toward us. Without hesitation, she wrapped Livana in a tight hug and offered a distracted smile.

"You look gorgeous," she bead at Livana.

"Thank you," Livana said, squeezing her hand politely.

"And he’s adorable," Alyssa cooed as she bent down to Choco. He whined and wagged his tail like he owned the place. She ruffled his fur like he was a baby.

"Now, let’s shop!" Alyssa declared, imdiately grabbing Livana’s hand—my wife’s hand—from mine.

Seriously?

"Hey—" I muttered under my breath.

"Aren’t you supposed to be working?" Alyssa raised her brows, her tone too innocent to be innocent. Why the hell is every woman in my family obsessed with Livana? They act like she’s the prize they’ve all been waiting for—and maybe she is.

I rolled my eyes and gestured, giving in. "Alright, go."

But not without protection. I checked my phone and subtly signaled my n. Eyes on her. Always.

"Let’s buy more clothes for Choco!" Alyssa squealed.

"Yes, let’s do that," Livana replied smoothly, like she didn’t just kill all my plans to spend the afternoon with her.

I stood there, watching them walk away—two won and a prancing dog, disappearing into a sea of glass and luxury brands.

I sighed, jaw tightening, and headed toward the elevator that would take to the mall office.

Possessiveness throbbed in my chest like a curse.

She was mine—but the world kept trying to steal pieces of her. Her ti. Her touch. Her attention.

Let them try.

I’d claw it all back, piece by piece. Again and again.

Now I sounded absurd. Like so deranged lover in a bad novel.

But that didn’t stop the truth of it.

She was mine. And I’d make sure everyone rembered that.

–Livana–

The mall? A leisurely walk would do us good. I haven’t been spending much lately, and we’re required to use a portion of our monthly budget—sothing about appearance and circulation, as per the governnt’s charming little regulations.

Alyssa walked beside , giddy and talkative. I had just bought her a new handbag—simple, elegant, sothing for daily use. Not another Birkin. Sothing more... effortless. A woman should always have variety.

She needed to invest in sothing more enduring anyway. So I had several high-quality gold sets ordered for her—classic pieces that would hold their value over ti. They’d arrive soon. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve always believed in giving won their own kind of armor.

"I’ve been eyeing this electronic book reader," she said as we strolled. "You can scribble on it like a tablet, but the screen feels like real paper—so smooth and super lightweight."

"Hmm. How much is it?" I asked, not really because it mattered, but to let her talk more.

"Maybe two or three hundred dollars. But I’ve been thinking of saving that money for a Kelly bag instead."

"Let’s buy it now. It’s only 200 dollars anyway," I said with a smile.

"Really?!" Her face lit up like a child handed candy.

"Yes," I replied, lips curving upward.

She dragged toward the store with excitent. I turned my head slightly, taking in the sleek design of the device she was obsessing over. Interesting. Not exactly sothing I’d use—I still preferred the scent and texture of physical books. Braille copies had their own charm. But she ntioned there was one compatible with audiobooks. That might work.

We ended up buying two different types. One leaned more toward an e-reader, and the other was closer to a digital notebook—perfect for soone like her who liked scribbling thoughts and doodles on the go. I let her have them both. Her happiness cost less than $800. I’d spend ten tis more without blinking.

"I want to buy baby clothes," I told her as we left the electronics section.

She gasped, wide-eyed, her mouth forming an ’O’ as she grabbed my arm. "Wait—are you—?"

I smiled but offered no clarification. I wouldn’t go around shouting that my sister was pregnant, especially not here.

We walked together to the baby section. I picked unisex clothing—soft fabrics, neutral tones, small luxuries that twins could wear no matter the gender. Matching swaddles, tiny socks, plush blankets. Thoughtful, practical, but still beautiful. Only the best.

But just as we were about to head to the exit, Alyssa stopped.

She stiffened.

I followed her line of attention.

Tyrona.

Hand in hand with her new boyfriend.

Too loud. Too obvious. Too desperate to be seen.

"Livana!"

Alejandro’s thick xican accent scratched at my nerves like nails on porcelain.

"Ohhh, baby clothes? Are you pregnant?" Tyrona asked, her lips curled up.

Of course.

Exactly the kind of woman I didn’t want knowing about my sister’s pregnancy.

The type who devours gossip like it’s wine and blood, only to spit it out ssily in soone else’s misfortune.

I offered her a faint smile—

Refined. Unbothered. Perfectly pleasant.

Elegant. Controlled. Lethal.

Not today, darling.