CHAPTER 137: COMEDY DOESN’T SUIT HIM

–Deanne–

The afternoon nap hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute I was sprawled on my couch like a queen of procrastination, the next I was yanked back to reality by the ever-so-annoying ring of duty. Mission time. Because apparently, when chaos calls, I don’t get to hit snooze.

Dragging myself out of bed, I dressed casually—my kind of casually, which means decent enough not to look homeless but not enough effort to impress anyone. Caine drove me to the hospital where Sophia and Kai were being held hostage—by their injuries, not kidnappers, unfortunately.

I wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted me: Damon, of all people, standing in the middle of the hospital lobby, juggling shopping bags like some overworked househusband. I raised an eyebrow as I caught sight of the labels—lingerie paper bags. Classy. Probably for his wife. But why parade them like trophies? Ever heard of car trunks, Damon? Or is this his way of announcing, "Look world, I have a healthy marital life!"

"Okay, he won’t be able to walk for days," Sophia said, gesturing at Kai, who sat there with a leg cast like some war hero. Probably just tripped over his ego.

"Good thing my favorite part isn’t injured," she added with a wink that made Kai grin like a hyena.

"Oh, baby. My other leg will always be preserved for you," he replied, oozing cringe.

"Gross." The word left my mouth before my brain could stop it.

Damon clapped his hands together like a demon possessed by dark humor. "Okay! I’ll tell the doctor to remove those legs. Nurse! Can we get a doctor here to amputate my friend’s leg... the other one, I mean."

I snorted, unable to stop the laugh. Caine just shook his head, mumbling, "Bro, that was a dark joke."

Kai, ever the dramatic one, clicked his tongue and pulled Sophia closer. "Can you shut him up? He’s ruining our romantic moment." And then they kissed. Right there. In front of us.

I cringed so hard my soul left my body. "Ugh. Spare us the National Geographic mating documentary."

Moments later, Francis showed up, looking like the only responsible adult in this circus.

"Sophia? Are you alright?" he asked, scanning her from head to toe like a concerned father. "Kai?"

"All good, bro." Kai threw a thumbs up like he was endorsing a toothpaste brand.

"Okay, take them away before they get kicked out," Damon ordered, sounding every bit the mafia king pretending to be a daycare manager. "Deanne, let’s go to the office."

"What about me?" Caine pointed at himself, sounding like a kid left out of the playground team.

"You can tag along with those two if you want," Damon replied dryly.

"No way," Caine scoffed, reaching for my hand like I was his emotional support animal. I slid my hand away and smacked his arm. He chuckled. Of course he did. Clingy bastard.

We sent Sophia and Kai off with Francis, watching them waddle to the parking lot like a pair of romantic penguins. Then, we headed to the company. Damon sat in the backseat like a true passenger princess, surrounded by his shopping bags that practically screamed husband of the year.

"Wait, let’s buy some snacks first." Damon suddenly fished out a coin purse. A coin purse. I blinked. Did this man just materialize from the 90s?

Coins spilled onto the carpet like he was making an offering to the car gods.

"Tsk! Pick it up," Caine hissed, his tone one exasperated nanny short of losing it.

"You can have the car cleaner pick it. It’ll be their coin tip," Damon said, shrugging as he poured the rest of the coins into the cup holder between us.

"Why do you even have so many coins?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

"Well, I had to withdraw cash for Laura’s cravings. Some food stalls don’t take cards. And my wife’s stressed—she needed whatever food she wanted," he explained with the calmness of a man who’s seen worse. "Now, let’s go to that drive-thru café." He pointed at Starbucks like it was a sacred temple.

"Get me the most expensive drink," I demanded.

Without missing a beat, Damon handed me a wad of cash. I stared at the stack. Five thousand pesos.

"Is that enough?" he asked.

I gaped. "What the hell, rich bastard? Are we buying coffee or the entire franchise?"

Caine laughed so hard he nearly swerved. "Bro, drinks only cost like 200 max. Depends on the size."

"Oh." Damon blinked, actually surprised. "Really?"

"Dumbass. That’s already expensive with VAT included," I scoffed.

"Here, buy this too." He shoved his phone in my face, pointing at a picture of some overpriced Starbucks tumbler.

I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly sprained them. "Why don’t we just walk inside like normal people?"

"I’m shy," Damon murmured in a low, dark voice that did not match the sentence at all.

I stared at him. "I’m going to kill you."

Caine and Damon just laughed like two idiots reminiscing about their glory days. It felt like déjà vu—the way they used to tease Livana. But Livana, bless her cold little heart, would just give them that nonchalant death stare, turn on her heel, and leave them hanging like clowns in a funeral.

Then they’d turn to me for their nonsense therapy sessions, tossing cheesy, corny questions at me just to watch me suffer. Like parasites feeding on sarcasm.

"Fuckers," I muttered as Caine parked the car. I hopped out first. "Give me more money!" I hissed, snatching another bill from Damon’s stash before heading inside the café with his phone in hand.

My mission? Acquire overpriced caffeine and a ridiculously specific tumbler for the girls. Because apparently, I’m everyone’s errand runner now.

–Laura–

I honestly didn’t expect my sister to go full-on hacker mode that afternoon. There she was, cool as a frozen martini, breaking codes on a computer that didn’t even belong to her. Just casually typing away like she was editing a grocery list. I sat there thinking, isn’t she even slightly nervous that she’s basically programming a weapon for the Lancers?

Livana, my sister—born mysterious, raised like an enigma wrapped in a silk scarf—was there tapping keys like the queen of nonchalance. I didn’t think she trusted the Lancers; in fact, I would bet my last iced coffee that she didn’t. But what was her game here? Was this a strategic dance, a soft manipulation, or just her version of passing time—breaking codes as a casual hobby?

I mean, most women stress-shop or binge dramas. My sister? She violates cybersecurity laws before dinner.

Louie, that composed little commander with the resting poker face, couldn’t do much to threaten her either. Livana had him where it hurt—his family. And not in the literal dagger-to-the-throat sense. No, no. My sister has a more sophisticated style: psychological chokehold with a velvet glove. But there was something else I couldn’t quite pin down.

Did Louie have anything to do with that "unfortunate accident" near Sophia and Kai? You know, the one just a few miles away from the so-called safe, isolated place? Suspicious, isn’t it? Practically next-door for an ambush. Coincidence? Maybe. But in our world, coincidences come with receipts and a body count.

Livana, of course, was five steps ahead of my curious brain. She had already pulled up the nearby camera records, cross-referenced the satellite feed, probably sent a carrier pigeon for good measure, and was now tracing Sophia and Kai’s route with a precision that would make a stalker blush. I leaned in, watching her screen.

"Just how..." I mumbled, more to myself than anyone else.

"Your husband’s here," Louie said flatly, as if announcing the weather.

Livana closed her briefcase of digital secrets with a graceful snap, the kind that says, classified, darling, and you’re not on the list. Louie turned his own briefcase toward himself like he was closing a ritual. And then—cue the dramatic entry—the door opened with Deanne’s access card.

She waltzed in with the air of someone who just won a battle at Starbucks. In her hand: a fancy tumbler cup that probably cost more than my entire week’s snacks.

"Hello, babe." Damon—yes, my brother-in-law, the ever-devoted, occasionally terrifying Damon—approached my sister and kissed her cheeks. The domesticity of it all would have been cute if he didn’t look like a mafia king trying out for a toothpaste commercial.

"Here, have a break," he cooed as he guided Livana’s hand to the tumbler. "It’s a big size." He said it in a tone that made me internally cringe, like, please, keep the innuendos to yourselves, this is an office, not your marital stage.

"Louie," Damon called next, handing him a frappe as if bribing a school principal. "That’s good for you." He even winked. Louie took it with a face that said: I drink this because I must, not because I want to.

Caine floated around with another fancy tumbler, looking like a bodyguard trying to moonlight as a taste tester. Deanne sighed and dropped herself next to Louie like a cat tired of the circus.

"It’s almost six," Louie said, glancing at his watch like a man married to his schedule. "I should check out the reports."

"Okay," Livana nodded with that serene finality of hers. Louie thanked Damon for his questionable generosity and excused himself.

Livana took a sip of her drink, eyes never betraying whether she liked it or just tolerated it out of sheer diplomacy. I, on the other hand, was already halfway to heaven with my customized drink—my one true weakness in this drama-filled life.

"Let’s go home?" I piped up, trying my best innocent-wife voice. "I barely did any work today." I giggled because that’s my secret weapon: giggling makes laziness sound cute.

Deanne rolled her eyes, because that’s her hobby—eye gymnastics.

And then, the door opened again. This time: my hubby. Damien. The only man who can walk into a room like a storm wrapped in cologne and still make me light up like Christmas.

"Hubby!" I exclaimed, maybe a little too theatrically, but hey—branding matters.

He grinned, approached me with that dangerous curve of his lips... and instead of kissing me like a proper romantic partner, he went straight for my drink. Sipped it. In one go. Like a thief in broad daylight.

I gaped. My straw was still trembling in betrayal.

"Ah, ah!" He wagged a finger, the audacity of this man. "This is too sweet."

"Babe! I was craving that drink. Give me a break!" I clutched the cup like a child robbed of candy.

"Give her a break?" Deanne chimed in, her voice dripping with the kind of sass that could pickle a cucumber. "Please. There will come a day when your pranks backfire so hard you’ll be the one crying. I still haven’t forgiven you for that chocolate incident."

Ah yes, the infamous chocolate incident. Long story short: I may or may not have replaced her dark chocolate stash with a very questionable chili-infused prank version. I regret nothing.

Livana and Damon were laughing, of course. My sister with her soft, knowing chuckle: Damon with his dangerous, amused smirk.

"Bad girl," Damien said, low and deliberate. And my ears, traitors that they are, decided to find that ridiculously sexy.

See? That’s the thing about our world. On the surface, we’re just a bunch of people exchanging drinks and office banter. But underneath, there are layers: codes being cracked, alliances being tested, flirtations being tossed like grenades. And me? I’m just here sipping overpriced sugar water, trying to make sure my love life is more fun than fatal.