CHAPTER 192: PROTECTION AND SECURITY

–Livana–

I stared at the dextrose for a long moment, watching the slow, steady drip as though it were a metronome counting down the seconds of stillness I was allowed before the world demanded something of me again. My husband was across the room, quietly inspecting the meal my mother-in-law had prepared. Tomorrow, we will finally be discharged. Dr. Green insists on continued monitoring, of course — a precaution I cannot protest, not when it grants me silence and an alibi for rest.

I have been careful. I have tried, with every willful shred of discipline, not to overthink. But there are nights where my mind refuses to still, and sleep becomes a distant idea I can only chase and never claim.

My husband? He is worn thin — exhausted from caring for me as if I were some fragile porcelain doll that might crack from the slightest pressure. And yet, fragility is not the threat at all — destruction is. The Black Bull was already attempting to sabotage the lab. Someone even dared to place a bounty on Jane’s head. I am proud of her, but I cannot allow her to bleed for me. So I monitor the lab every night, tightening the threads of my plans, making sure the empire I am weaving does not unravel prematurely. That is why I prepare alternatives; contingencies take time, yes — months — but their seeds were already planted last year.

"Smell me." Damon leaned down, close enough for his warmth to brush against me.

I inhaled softly. "You smell fresh."

He pressed a tender kiss to my shoulder.

"Tell me, love... what are you worrying about?" He lay behind me, slipping his arm around my waist and snuggling into me.

"I already handled it." I caught his hand and placed it over my chest — deliberately teasing — only for him to slide his hand down to my stomach instead. I chuckled. I know what it does to him, but he promised self-restraint. How noble — how futile.

"You ’handled it,’ and yet here we are in a hospital bed. Have you been sneaking off at night while I’m unconscious?"

I giggled and closed my eyes. He knew me too well — far too well.

"Please, my Livy... stop stressing yourself. Let them handle the Empire."

"No one can handle it but me," I murmured. "And I will not let my sister’s hands be stained in my place."

He sighed softly. "Hmm. I understand. Just don’t overwork yourself." He took my hand and kissed it.

"Okay," I exhaled gently. "What happened after you left home?"

"Well... after a few minutes, the driver sped up. Someone was tailing us. It was a trap."

"Why were you in such a rush?" I asked.

"One of the warehouses was set on fire. Beautiful leathers and all, gone." He kissed my shoulder again. "Let’s forget it. Just sleep — think about food. That’s safer," he teased lightly, then reached for my left hand and threaded his fingers through mine. "You scare me, Liva. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you."

That gnawing sensation returned — the dread chewing through my ribs. His words were fear, yes, but also premonition, and I despise omens I cannot control.

"Please, my love... just be careful. For once," I whispered.

"I’m sorry," I murmured, turning toward him. He kissed my forehead tenderly.

"It isn’t your fault," he muttered.

But it is. Everything — the ambush, the burning warehouses, the chaos devouring his company — all of it traces back to me like threads leading to a single puppeteer’s hand. Mine. And until I finish what I started, my husband and his world will remain in the crossfire. I already know how to end it — I simply have not executed it yet.

"Promise me one thing."

"Hmm? Anything," he whispered.

"Protect our baby above all else. Care for this child no matter what. If you fail," I said quietly, "I will have my sister and Jane take our child away from you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I could feel his brows knitting.

"If you promise, it will ease my mind."

"Fine. I promise. But please, stop saying such terrible things." He pressed a kiss to my forehead again.

"Mm." I closed my eyes and drifted. Before sleep could anchor me, I opened them once more — just to look at him, to imprint his face in memory as if I might need to guard it later.

"I love you," he whispered.

I did not echo it. I cannot yet. But I care for him — more than I should, perhaps. And that, even more than fear, is the most dangerous thing of all.

–Jane–

When we arrived at the lab after the fireworks, the whole place was already a wreck. Kei was safe — that was the only result that mattered. The bodies were gone, and every trace of experimental data had been wiped clean. Someone made sure to erase everything before we got there or before the ambush.

Logan threw a vest and hood over Kei.

"Man, you need to gather your shit." He shook him lightly. Kei only nodded.

I turned to the Bishop.

"Send David back to the Philippines. And Chef Wally."

She nodded once and left without questions.

We got Kei out through another escape tunnel. We walked for half an hour before reaching an ancestral house — old, silent, and dimly lit by lamps that looked like they belonged to a century that wanted to be forgotten. We emerged from a hidden storage door a few steps away from the main structure.

Inside, Logan lit a small lamp and went room to room, checking the bedrooms. The place had spare blankets, clothes, and preserved supplies, like it had been waiting for fugitives rather than guests. I already had my own bag. I headed for the kitchen, washed my hands, tied an apron over my clothes, and assessed what could pass as dinner.

Instant noodles, broth, and whatever was left of the hotpot ingredients — that would do. I prepared bowls and set the table just as the boys entered, dressed in simple Japanese robes that made them look deceptively calm for people freshly dragged out of a burning threat.

Kei pressed his hands together.

"Itadakimasu."

Logan echoed, "Itadakimasu," while I muttered it under my breath.

We ate in silence. Silence was better — words made things real and no one wanted tonight to be real.

Logan handled the dishes. Kei wiped the table and countertops. Me? I went straight for the bath — the only luxury left in this temporary cage. Warm water, soft light, quiet — it was enough to coax my nerves into loosening. I must have relaxed too much, because somewhere between breathing and floating, I drifted and my head slipped underwater.

A sharp noise — the door banging open.

"Hey, are you asleep or masturbating?" Logan’s voice.

I coughed, sniffling as the water stung my nose.

"I’m not." I coughed again. The inside of my nose burned.

I got up, wrapped a towel around myself, and brushed my teeth. Moisturizer. Routine. Order. Then my robe. When I stepped out, Logan was waiting with crossed arms.

"You fell asleep." He sounded accusatory — and correct. I rolled my eyes.

"There’s another bathroom, Logan."

"I know." He handed me a small box. "Drink this before bed. I checked it — it’s chamomile tea." He added. "Tea set is in your room."

"Wow. How thoughtful of you." I smiled, trying not to make it look like a smirk. He smirked anyway and stepped closer.

"Are you falling in love so quickly?"

"Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s dangerous." I winked and walked back to my room.

Behind me I heard him shout, "Kei, we’re going to sleep together."

"Where are the ladies?" Kei asked somewhere down the hall.

I rolled my eyes again.

In my room, I locked the windows and brought up the monitor beside the bed — surveillance feed from the villa. Only us here. The "wooden" frames of doors and windows were steel in disguise. Safehouse. Fortress. Trap and shelter in one.

I hung my robe. The towel stayed until I finished brewing tea. Electric kettle on. Teapot ready. While waiting, I dried my hair. The kettle clicked. I poured water over the tea bag and continued skincare — small rituals that give me control when the world threatens to break apart.

Then the sound started — metal rails shifting, bulletproof shutters sliding into place, caging the entire house like a vault sealing shut. I stepped out and saw Logan in the corridor, tablet in hand.

"Logan, isn’t it too early?"

"Nope. Not at all." He didn’t even look at me.

I realized I was still just in a towel. Perfect. I turned and quickly changed into pajamas.

I sat by the tatami, poured the tea, and drank until the pot was empty. Right on cue, Logan knocked and came in. He left the door open and placed something round with feathers beside the bed.

"What’s that?"

"Dreamcatcher." His voice was casual. "Bought it from an old lady at the festival."

"Why are you giving me that?"

"It’s for Kei too," he said. "You’re both having trouble sleeping. Tonight I’ll guard you, so rest."

His tone was soft — maybe sincere. Or strategically gentle. I couldn’t tell which was worse.

Logan and I always bicker, claw at each other like stray cats forced to share the same fence. But suddenly he’s thoughtful, bringing tea and dreamcatchers like some guardian knight?

Did something change?

Is it because he caught me sleepwalking and stabbing a pillow?

Or because he’s worried I might stab him next?

Or Kei?