CHAPTER 186: PILLOWS

–Livana–

Seeing them having fun was not surprising at all. Logan will always find a way to provoke Jane—he feeds on agitation the way wolves track movement in the snow: instinctively, relentlessly. He is far too bored, and boredom is the birthplace of mischief. Or perhaps, more realistically, he is already smitten with her. People do not stage elaborate theatrics merely to "piss off" someone they feel nothing for. Effort reveals interest more than words ever could.

Damon was the same, once. He used to shout embarrassing confessions across the courtyard—"I love you!" "I missed you yesterday!"—loud enough for half the campus to hear. Romance, weaponized as public humiliation. The whole school thought we were dating... or that he was pathetically pining for a girl who kept dumping him. I remember the stares—daggers from girls who thought they understood rivalry, whispers trailing behind me like discarded paper scraps in the wind.

But I never cared. Damon was simply an inconvenient buzz in my ear then—persistent, irritating, hard to swat away. And now, I am married to that very same buzz... only because convenience eventually demanded permanence.

I turned off the tablet and set it aside just as Damon stepped out of the bathroom. I didn’t need to look; the shift in the mattress, the subtle warmth of presence, and the faint scent of soap already told me.

"Okay, it’s a tiring day to be a cook," he sighed, sitting next to me before kissing my temple. "How’s our baby?" His palm found my stomach with casual reverence.

"Kicking," I replied.

"Oh?" he chuckled when the tiny movement pressed beneath his palm. He slipped down to his knees, pressed a kiss to my belly, and lowered his ear to listen. "Little one, can Mommy and Daddy make love?"

I scoffed and tugged on his hair.

He laughed, kissed my stomach again.

"I’m kidding."

"But I feel horny though," I replied lightly, lying back with a sigh. "Alright, let’s sleep."

"Wait~~~" He grabbed my hands before I could retreat. "Can we do it?"

I wanted to roll my eyes.

"Yeah. I asked Dr. Green—just gentle fucking," I said, my gaze fixed squarely on his nose.

"Ohh."

That boyish grin—it should not still catch me off guard, and yet it does. There is something disastrously softening about a man who looks at you like you are the yes to every question he never dared ask.

"Alright, then," he murmured, reaching for my ankle. "Mama needs some loving."

I nearly laughed—but I was also already prepared. I eased onto my back and let him drown me in affection and commentary alike.

After what felt like an hour of gentle lovemaking, he helped me to the bathroom, then collapsed onto the bed, asleep in under three seconds—poor husband, exhausted from both service and desire. I retrieved the tablet again and checked the party. Logan and Jane were no longer outside in the garden. Kenzo, however, was far too alert to simply be a guest—his eyes tracked exits, not music. The escorts were being escorted out. The sound systems silenced.

The front gates were already sealed. Guards were rotating posts with the silent precision of trained hands. Not panic—preparation.

The Bishops’ report, routed through the Pawns, was accurate.

I reached for my phone and called Logan. He answered immediately.

"Liva," he said—deep voice, no greeting. "Since Jane arrived, there have been assassins. Tell me."

"Jane knows the layout better than you realize," I replied, walking toward the closet. "She also discovered something she can’t disclose directly—not to you. And yes, she’s loyal." I placed the tablet inside the drawer and locked it.

"She’s sleepwalking," he muttered.

"...What?"

"She needs a doctor."

"Hmm. I think your resources can handle that, right?" I asked.

"Yes. I can."

"I’m counting on you. Take care, brother."

"Good night, Liva."

He hung up.

I returned to the bedroom. Damon was already snoring softly. It may be my fault he is this tired, yet he looked so thoroughly satisfied that the guilt curled into amusement. I slipped into bed beside him, pulled the duvet up, and guided his arm over me. Instinct—or perhaps habit—made him turn toward me and wrap me in a half-asleep embrace.

"I love you..." he murmured, words blurred in his dreaming. "Love you..."

Even in slumber, he chases me.

"Liv..."

His lips parted slightly; I traced them with my fingertips before pressing a soft kiss there.

I care for him—deeply. His warmth anchors me in ways I do not say aloud.

But love?

Do I love him?

I am not sure the definition matters.

Care is its own form of devotion, and some bonds do not need a label to function as a vow.

And for now—care is enough.

–Logan–

After the party died down, we dispatched the guards to their posts and sent Keiko and the rest back to their rooms. I checked on Jane next. I knocked first—no answer. So I slid the door open carefully.

She was already in her pajamas... but that wasn’t the surprising part.

She was kneeling in front of the pillows—blank-eyed, motionless except for her hands—and muttering under her breath in a low, broken loop. I moved closer but stopped just short of entering her space. She should have sensed me—assassins don’t get taken by surprise in their own rooms. Yet she didn’t even twitch.

Sleep... but not sleep. Awake... but not present.

Like a body stuck between alarms—mind suspended in a place no one else sees.

I tilted my head, taking in her expression.

Her eyes were completely hollow, and the pillow beneath her was a snowstorm of cotton and feathers as she stabbed it over and over again with a small blade.

"Why? ...Why?"

She whispered it without blinking.

"Jane," I called gently.

She froze instantly, gaze snapping to me as if surfacing from underwater. Her knees gave out and she slumped down.

"Get out," she said coldly, shoving the Swiss knife behind her.

I ignored the command and crawled toward her, pinning her lightly against the futon so I could take the knife from her without resistance. She turned her head away from me—not defensive, not angry... ashamed.

"I won’t ask questions," I murmured. "But milady, this is extremely dangerous for you."

My eyes flicked to the nearby gun. I confiscated that too. "No weapons around you for now, my lady."

I left the room, deposited everything in my own quarters, and returned. The door was half-open. She sat exactly where I left her, staring at the shredded pillow like it was a crime scene she didn’t remember committing.

"Stay alert," I told her from the doorway. "We might have uninvited visitors."

"But you took my equipment."

Flat voice—like she was stating the weather.

"You don’t need to fight. Not tonight."

She didn’t argue, which told me more than words could.

My phone rang. Livana. We exchanged quick updates—assassins, layouts, loyalty, the usual chessboard talk—then I spotted Kenzo walking toward me.

"Is Jane awake?" he asked.

"Yup." I shrugged. "But it’s not the best time to talk to her."

He understood instantly.

"I’ll stay with Jane and David. Keep Chef Wally guarded—she’s the White Queen’s favorite cook."

"Got it."

I headed back to the quarters to take a fast shower, then grabbed a fresh pillow—untouched, unlike the others I had to stash because Keiko prefers... creative rearrangements of bedding.

I returned to Jane’s room and knocked lightly before entering. She was curled up in the corner, knees to her chest like a small, braced animal. I cleaned up the feathers, stuffed the ruined pillow out of sight, and replaced it with the new one.

"Here," I said, patting the futon.

"I’m fine, Logan."

"Uh-huh." I draped the duvet around her shoulders anyway. Then I set a pillow beside her and sat nearby—not too close, not too far.

"What are you doing here?" she muttered. "Please leave. I don’t want you to see this embarrassing situation."

"It’s not embarrassing," I chuckled softly. "Everyone has their weird midnight demons. Some just scream louder than others. Just sleep—I’ll wake you if something comes up."

She stayed quiet.

"The fun is done... there’s no noise anymore." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "I drank a sleeping pill. I’m... really tired."

"Then rest," I said. "I’m not bothering you anymore."

She leaned back against the wall, pillow between her and the surface, and slowly drifted off.

That’s when it made sense—the late-night wandering, the long stares out the window, that eerie stillness she carries like armor. She didn’t register me earlier, not because she was ignoring me—but because she wasn’t here. Her body was, but her mind was someplace carved out by trauma.

Back at the mansion, I’d seen cable ties in her room. I’d assumed they were for quick tactical use. Now I know better.

She was tying herself to the bed—restraining her own hands so she wouldn’t hurt someone in her sleep.

She is her own containment protocol.

I remained there, quietly keeping watch, when a cat began meowing outside the door. I grabbed wet wipes from her dresser, cleaned the little guy, and let him inside. He pranced toward her and climbed onto her lap, purring like a tiny engine. She subconsciously shifted to cradle him, her breathing easing.

I gently lifted her to the futon and covered her again. The cat curled over her chest, claiming her like a living blanket.

A softer expression settled on her face. For once... she didn’t look sharp or deadly or distant.

She just looked human.

And so painfully breakable in ways she refuses to let anyone see.