Chapter 15

I glance at his cock—thick, flushed, the tip glistening. My pride wars with want, but only for a breath. I lean in and drag my tongue over the slit, tasting him. He hisses through his teeth, hand tightening in my hair.

I wrap my lips around the head and suck slow, letting the weight of him rest heavy on my tongue.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, voice cracked and low.

I hum around him, the sound vibrating through his length. My hands brace on his hips, and slowly, I take more of him in—inch by inch—until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I gag once, steady myself, then push deeper.

His hands slam against the shower glass behind me.

And I lose the fight with my pride completely.

My husband. My lover. My protector. My god. The father of my child.

I'd kneel a thousand times like this—because I know he'd fall to his knees for me a million more. That's the balance of us. The worship. The ruin. The need.

I feel it in every thrust of his hips, in the tremble of his thighs under my hands as I slide them up to grip his ass and pull him deeper. He's cursing, praising, growling—filth tangled with devotion—and I take it all, moaning around his cock like I can't get enough. Because I can't.

I look up at him, wet lashes, hollowed cheeks, and he's watching me like he's never seen anything holier. Lip caught between his teeth, brow tight, fighting to hold on.

He doesn't.

With a guttural moan, he spills down my throat.

And I swallow every drop, hands still gripping him like I'll never let go.

"Fuck, baby," he groans as he spills into me, his body trembling with release. I swallow everything, eyes closed, savoring the way he falls apart for me.

When he finally pulls back, I lick my lips, catching the last taste of him and then he's dropping to his knees in front of me, pulling me into a kiss that's all teeth and tongue, tasting himself on my mouth like it's the only thing he craves.

Then he raises me up as he remains on his knees and his hands slide down, gripping behind my thighs, and in one movement he lifts one leg over his shoulder.

Still kneeling, still reverent, he mouths along my length, tongue dragging over sensitive skin, slow and intentional. I shudder, fingers in his wet hair. And when he spreads me open and his tongue brushes over my rim—soft, warm, relentless—I can't hold in the broken sound that tears from my throat.

And when his tongue presses in—hot, slow, precise—I break, head falling back, a raw sound slipping from my throat as he keeps going, worshiping me with every stroke.

"Oh god, Phi—"But he doesn't stop.

He groans against me, tongue insistent, hands locked around my thighs as I rock into his mouth, helpless. Every breath escapes me in shudders. Every sound from him vibrates straight through my spine.

Then he eases my leg off his shoulder and shifts me, turning me toward the wall. My palms brace against the tile as my knees threaten to give.

I feel his hands again, spreading me open.

And then his mouth is back on me—deeper, hungrier—his tongue dragging slow and unforgiving as he devours me all over again.

"You taste so good, baby," he growls, breath hot against my skin. "So fucking good. I need more."

His tongue keeps working me open, relentless, while I stroke myself in time with every drag of his mouth. He's eating me out like it's the only thing keeping him alive, and I know I won't last but I want to come with him inside me.

I gasp when his fingers push in—slow, then deeper. "Phi—I'm gonna cum—need you inside me."

He smirks against the curve of my ass. "Need me inside you, huh? Thought this was just a shower."

"Please, Phi." My voice breaks on it, hips pushing back for more.

He chuckles low, then rises to his feet and spins me around. His mouth crashes into mine, tasting every inch he just claimed. His hands grip my hips tight, lifting me. I wrap my legs around him, clinging to his shoulders, loving the way he makes me feel so small, so completely his.

He kisses down my neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, one hand shifting to stroke his cock through my rim. He lines up, and then the head pushes in.

I gasp—tight, burning stretch—and then he sinks in all the way.

We both moan, breath caught, foreheads pressed together as he holds me, buried deep.

He grunts into my mouth, the sound low and wrecked, vibrating down my spine as he thrusts deep and holds me there. The shower steams around us.

"Tell me you love me," he growls, lips brushing mine. "Tell me you need me. Tell me you're mine."

I can barely think. He's holding me up like I weigh nothing, cock buried to the hilt inside me, my legs wrapped tight around his waist, water sluicing down his back. My hands clutch at his shoulders, nails dragging through slick skin and muscle as I fight to catch my breath.

"I love you," I breathe, voice cracked. "God, Phi, I love you—so much it drives mecrazy."

He thrusts shallow, slow, grinding up into me just enough to make me gasp.

"I need you." My forehead presses to his. "Need you all the time."

"Say it," he whispers. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," I choke out, clinging to him. "Always, Phi. I'm yours."

That does something to him. His arms tighten around me, almost bruising, and then he starts to move—slow at first, like he wants to feel every inch of me, like he's claiming every part that's already his. He groans as he rolls his hips up, the drag of him inside me maddening, perfect.

"You drive me insane," he breathes against my mouth. "No one else, Rain. Only you. You ruin me."

He thrusts harder. I cling tighter.

"I want all of you," he growls. "The way you look at me. The way you take me. I need it—I need you."

His words wreck me. My eyes sting, my whole body trembling as pleasure coils in my gut. Every movement, every kiss, every thrust feels like a promise etched into my skin.

"I love you," I say again, louder this time, desperate. "Don't stop. Phi, please—"

He crashes his lips into mine, swallowing my moans as he drives into me, deep and unrelenting. I feel every inch of him, every desperate pulse of need as he thrusts faster, chasing both our highs. My cock leaks against his stomach, the friction making me see stars.

"I've got you," he murmurs against my mouth. "Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you."

And I do—shattering around him, crying out his name as I come hard between us, body jerking in his arms. He groans at the feel of me clenching around him, and with one final thrust, he spills inside me, deep and warm, panting into my mouth like he's never needed anything more.

We stay like that for a long moment. Wrapped around each other. Hearts pounding.

And when he finally lowers me gently to the floor, still holding me like I'm the most fragile, precious thing he's ever touched, he kisses me again—slow, reverent.

"You're everything," he whispers. "Everything."

After the shower—a real one this time, not the kind that ends in steam and knees and gasping—we're quiet. Wrapped in that kind of silence only lovers can share without it feeling like absence.

He towels me off with practiced care, the way he always does when he's trying not to say too much. Gentle. Focused. Protective. And then he ruffles my hair with the towel like I'm soft, not a killer like him. Not someone who just assassinated a man two hours ago.

"What do you want to wear to bed?" he asks, voice low.

I point lazily at one of his shirts. He chuckles, shaking his head like I'm the most predictable thing he's ever loved. He helps me into it, dresses me like I'm fragile. I'm not. But I let him do it anyway.

The irony is not lost on me that he's dressed me and Kaia in his clothes today.

He yanks on a pair of pajama pants—no shirt—and then glances over at me, brushing my damp bangs from my forehead. "You hungry?"

I nod.

"Did you eat anything?"

I pout, lifting my arms wordlessly. He exhales, already stepping forward to scoop me up without waiting for a verbal answer. "Of course you didn't."

I rest my head on his shoulder as he carries me downstairs. I didn't eat since the cheese board he made for me and Kaia before they left for dinner. And after tonight's...bathroom exercise, I'm starving.

He sets me on the kitchen counter, hands lingering for a moment on my thighs. "What do you want?"

He lists options. Pasta. Ramen. Fried rice. Noodles. Omelette. I shake my head after each one, still pouting.

He scoffs, but his smile is fond. "Kaia's just as spoiled as you, you know that?"

"And?"

He rolls his eyes. "Grilled cheese it is, then."

I watch him work. Shirtless, muscles flexing in the dim kitchen light, tattoos shifting with each movement. His long hair still damp, loose. I don't say anything. I just sit there, legs swinging like Kaia's, chest full of warmth.

His back is to me but he knows I'm staring.

"You gonna help?"

"No."

He laughs, low and rough. "Didn't think so."

And I smile. Because this? This is the part that keeps me grounded. Not the sex. Not the power. But this—his hands making something simple for me, his presence so steady it makes the rest of the world blur out.

Home. This is what it feels like.

I glance at my phone—12:03 a.m.

The kitchen's dim, just the under-cabinet lights on. I set a slow song playing, soft jazz pouring from the speaker tucked near the fridge. It winds around us, background to my voice finally finishing the rundown of tonight's job.

Clean kill. No witnesses. No mess. Just another name crossed off the list.

He listens as he works, flipping the sandwich with one hand, pouring my iced tea with the other like it's a ritual. The man could burn cities down and still remember the ratio of honey to lemon in my drink.

He plates our sandwiches on one plate and places it beside me on the counter, then stands between my legs like he always does—hands casually resting on my thighs as I pull him closer. We eat like this. Trading bites, stealing kisses. Laughing quietly at inside jokes. At nothing at all.

His lips are soft when they meet mine mid-chew, and he murmurs something teasing that makes me nudge him with my knee. He grins and takes another bite, eyes never leaving me.

And it hits me again.

When he's not wearing the title of CEO. When I'm not bleeding someone out in the dark. When we're not fathers or executioners. When we're just this—just two men in the kitchen at midnight with grilled cheese and jazz and quiet laughter—this is my favorite version of us.

Unburdened. Unmasked. Ours.

...

I'm laughing hard, head thrown back, at something phi said while he buries his face in my neck like he's trying to muffle his own laugh there. He smells like soap and home and everything I love.

And then we hear it.

"Papa?"

We freeze.

I pull away slightly and turn to the door. Kaia's standing there, rubbing one eye, bunny clutched in one arm, an adorable, sleepy pout on her face. My heart clenches.

I jump down from the counter, wincing just a little at the soreness in my legs, and go to her quickly. I crouch in front of her and brush her hair back.

"Why are you awake, baby? Did you have a bad dream?"

She shakes her head, sleepy. "Thirsty."

Phi's already grabbing her water before I even stand. I lift her gently, place her on the counter beside our plate. She leans into me while Phi hands her the cup.

He ruffles her hair. "Hi, tiger."

She sips slow. Her voice is muffled by the rim of the cup. "Hi, Dada."

We stay like that for a while.

She sips slowly, eyes heavy with sleep, her bunny clutched to her chest. I brush her curls back, murmuring, "You okay now?"

She nods and leans her head on my shoulder. "Uh-huh. I like the music."

Phi chuckles, low and soft, still standing close enough that his arm brushes mine as he leans in to kiss her forehead. "That's jazz, tiger. Grown-up sleepy music."

Kaia blinks at him. "I like it." Then, with a small yawn, "Are you and papa having a party?"

I smile, catching Phi's eye. "Maybe. You wanna dance with us?"

She gives a tiny shrug, already fading. "Later." Her head tips back and her eyes close again, water cup in one hand, bunny in the other.

I take the cup from her gently before it spills.

Then I carry hr upstairs, head resting on my shoulder, her bunny tucked close. She's already half-asleep by the time I tuck her into bed, whispering goodnight, and kiss her forehead. She mumbles something that sounds like "love you, Papa," and I just melt a little more.

When I come back downstairs, Phi's in the kitchen, rinsing out our plates. I walk up behind him and slide my arms around his waist, pressing my chest against his back, cheek resting between his shoulder blades.

He dries his hands slowly, then turns in my arms and pulls me into him.

We sway—just a little—to the soft music still playing in the background. His hands settle on my lower back.

And then he leans in and murmurs against my ear, voice low and wicked:"What if I'd had you bent over the counter when she came in?"

I gasp and slap his chest. "Phi!"

He just grins like the menace he is, unbothered, smug. "Could've been traumatic. Or educational."

"You're insane," I mutter, cheeks hot, but I'm smiling.

He leans in and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. "Bed?"

I yawn right on cue, and he smirks. I walk over to turn off the speaker and flick the light switch, casting the kitchen in warm shadows.

When I turn back, he's already crouched slightly, back to me. "Come on, beautiful."

I don't hesitate. I jump on.

His arms catch me effortlessly, and I wrap mine around his neck, chin resting on his shoulder as he carries me upstairs.

...

It's been two weeks since we got her back. Since I held her against me and checked every inch of her skin while Phi hovered behind me like a storm cloud ready to pour. She laughs easily, eats well, sleeps nestled between us sometimes or in her bed without whimpering, without nightmares.

But I don't trust it.

So today, I took her to Dad's hospital. She's used to the building, used to the smell of antiseptic and the warm greetings of the staff who all know her as Kaia—little princess of the Theeranpanyakuns. They smile when they see her. She waves back. Like nothing happened.

Dad meets us in the pediatric wing, soft-eyed the way only he is with her. She runs to hug him and I can't help but smile, just for a moment. He crouches to kiss her forehead before lifting her up in his arms and asking about her school and her pink nails. She chatters on. Effortlessly. Brightly.

We're led to a child psychologist—Dr. Mali. She's gentle, soft-spoken, and Kaia takes to her immediately. They sit together on a mat surrounded by dolls and picture books. I watch from behind the glass with my father beside me, arms folded again but tighter this time.

"Do you think she'll talk about it?" I ask quietly.

"She might," Dad says. "But she also might not understand that she should. Children reframe trauma to survive it."

And she does talk. Not about pain, not about fear—at least not in the way I expect. She says Ms. Kora told her it was "an adventure." A game. That she had to call her "Mama." That they were playing hide and seek and that her Dada would come find her. Like he always does.

My jaw tightens. Dad places a hand on my shoulder.

"She wasn't hurt," Dr. Mali tells us afterward. "Physically, emotionally, she's shockingly well-adjusted. Confused, yes. But her concept of safety seems intact. That's a testament to her upbringing. She believes her parents will always find her. That's what she held onto."

Kaia skips back to me, holding a sticker sheet and a lollipop. She's fine.

She's fine.

But later that night, I hold her a little tighter. Breathe in the scent of her shampoo. Kiss her forehead.

Because I can't stop thinking about what could've happened if we were even a little too late. And how she smiled through it all—trusting her Dada to come find her like it was just another game.

She doesn't know how close we came to losing her.And I don't know how to stop replaying that in my head.

"I never want to fail her, Rain," Phi said.

His voice was quiet, but the way he held her that night—tight, like she'd vanish if he blinked—spoke louder than any words. "I want her to continue to believe we'll always come for her."

And I know he will. He always has. He always will. There's no version of the world where Phayu doesn't move heaven and earth for her. I don't need to say it aloud. I just nod, hand on his back, watching the way she curls into his chest in sleep, safe.

...

Rain's POV

A whole month passes, just like that. Life folds back into our kind of normal. Kaia's thriving—back in school, bubbling with stories every evening, a little whirlwind of glitter and giggles, still as spoiled as ever.

Her godfathers rotate weekend duties like it's a roster, and Papa somehow still manages to outdo everyone when it comes to gifts. There's been no mention of Kora again. Not from her, not from anyone. Like she never existed. And that's exactly how we wanted it.

Storm Inc. is steady. Expanding. Phi's secured more contracts this quarter than the last two combined. I help where I can—finally putting my architecture degree to good use. Site visits, structural analysis, urban plan overhauls.

I'd forgotten I loved it. Forgotten what it felt like to create, to design, not destroy. Phi says I light up when I talk about it. I don't argue.

He's got a new assistant now. Vetted, trained, vetted again. No familiarity, no jokes, no lingering gazes. Efficient. And more importantly, nowhere near Kaia unless we're in the room. That rule stands. If you're not blood, you don't get five minutes alone with her. No exceptions.

And the mafia?

It's been...quiet. Not uneventful—we've still handled our share of problems. Men who didn't know better. People who owed blood. But nothing public. No ripples through the underworld. Just whispers. As it should be. Controlled. Efficient. Clean.

We're not soft. We're just satisfied. Balanced. And I know it won't last. Not forever. But right now, this version of peace is ours.

Kaia's started her training now—basic drills and survival tactics, nothing too heavy. Win and Saifah are far too enthusiastic, turning her into a pint-sized menace with deadly precision and sparkly hair clips.

She's thriving. Sharp, focused, still giggling between punches. Papa's begun sending her knives and other charming gifts labeled "for my little storm." I checked every single one before she could touch them, but the gleam in her eyes when she unwrapped her first butterfly knife? Terrifying. Beautiful.

As for my husband—he's still in love. Still dangerously obsessed. Still treats me like something divine. We get our time—dates with Kaia, dates without. Dinners, drives, backseat arguments that end in kisses.

He still pisses me off like nobody else can. And we still fuck like we're trying to erase every fight from memory.

I remember the week Kaia casually told him a single dad at school was flirting with me. One compliment. That's all it took.

Phi did every school drop-off and pick-up for two straight weeks, in full black suits, sunglasses, and his scariest men. Brought Kaia lunch mid-day.

Asked to speak with her teacher. And on the last day of that petty streak, he handed me a ring so massive I felt its weight in my wrist. "Just in case anyone standing ten feet away had doubts."

I got my payback, though.

Took Kaia to her playdate with Lilly. One of her moms casually mentioned "that persistent friend" who'd tried touching Phi's arm at the restaurant.

Said it like a joke, like something harmless, but I felt my teeth grind behind my polite smile. Kaia, of course, didn't miss a beat. She was all too happy to fill in the blanks on the drive home.

"She said he was very handsome," Kaia chirped from the backseat. "And she tried to hold his arm, Papa! But I told her, 'Don't touch my Dada.'"

I glanced at her through the mirror. "You did?"

She nodded, proud and unbothered. "She was being annoying. Dada didn't like her."

Neither do I. And for the next thirty minutes, my smile stayed tight. Polished. Cold.

I didn't mention it when we got home. Just helped Kaia wash up, tucked her into bed, and went about my evening like I wasn't already planning exactly how to make him squirm.

Phi noticed, of course. He always does. Spent the whole night looking confused, like he was being punished for a crime he didn't know he committed—until I kissed him slow and said, "So, who touches your arm now?"

He folded in record time.

Begged by bedtime. Whined into my chest "you know I only look at you."

Yeah, I know.

I just like watching him squirm.

All in all, life was good. Very good.

***

I should've known something was up the moment I saw her walking over—perfect nails, carefully blow-dried hair, and that strained smile most school mums wear when they're trying to make something seem casual.

She's holding Rocky.

Yes. That Rocky.

The infamous classroom heartthrob, kaia's first and most persistent crush, and the name that's single-handedly responsible for Phi's deepest sighs and most dramatic eyerolls.

I smile, polite as always. Kaia says hi, waves a little too eagerly, and the boy—bless him—goes red and hides behind his mum's legs. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

Then she says it: "Rocky's birthday party is coming up. We're inviting the whole class, but... he specifically asked if Kaia could come." She says it like it's an honor. Like my daughter hasn't been a monarch since birth.

Kaia gasps, turns to me instantly. "Please, Papa. Please, please—can I go?"

I chuckle, glancing at Rocky's mum. "Of course," I tell her. "Send me the details."

And I already know—know—I'm going to hear an earful when Phi finds out.

I crouch in front of her, brushing back a strand of hair from her face. "Have a good day at school, okay? No sneaking off with Rocky."

She giggles, eyes sparkling.

"And don't say anything about the party to your dad or your uncles. I'll tell them first, alright? It's our little secret."

She nods fast, pinky promising like she always does when she's really serious. I kiss her forehead and whisper, "I love you. Have a good day, princess."

She runs off, backpack bouncing, and I swear—one day she's going to be the death of all of us.

By the time I get back, Phi's already gone. The silence is a relief—no serious stare, no knowing smirk, no sixth-sense interrogation. Just a note saying he's at a site.

I duck past Saifah too, who's lounging like he owns my house, arms folded and eyes narrowed. "You're acting shady," he mutters as I pass. I ignore him.

I work for a bit, clear my inbox, review some plans. But the guilt's coiling, so I grab my keys and drive to Sky's. If there's anyone I trust to help me coordinate this tiny betrayal without it becoming a war crime, it's him.

When I get there, he's already making tea, gives me a once-over and deadpans, "What did you do?"

I sit and exhale. "Kaia got invited to Rocky's birthday party. As a special guest."

Sky leans back on his couch, barely hiding his grin. "So let me get this straight—you came all the way here because you're scared your husband and his brothers-in-arms are going to declare war... on a five-year-old?"

I throw him a look. "Don't act like I'm overreacting. His mum said he specifically asked for Kaia. That's not a general class invite. That's targeted. And you know how those birthday parties go—mini throne, paper crown, a spotlight dance. He'll probably call her his princess and then I'll have a crime scene."

Sky barks a laugh, tossing a cushion at me. "You sound like you're plotting to smuggle her into enemy territory."

"I might as well be. You think Phi's going to hear 'Kaia is Rocky's chosen consort' and not lose his mind? I'm trying to avoid bloodshed. Or Kaia showing up to the party with five grown men in bulletproof suits. Or worse, no one letting her go at all."

Sky snorts. "So what do you want from me? Sanity clause? Distraction plan? Moral support when P'Phayu starts sharpening his knives?"

I exhale. "All of the above."

Just then, Phi's name flashes across my screen.

Sky sees it and mutters under his breath, "Oh, shit."

I inhale, straighten my spine, and swipe to answer. Phi's face fills the screen—, focused, unreadable.

"Hi, beautiful," he says softly.

"Hi, Phi." I force a smile.

His eyes narrow a fraction. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I reply too quickly. "Just here with Sky."

Sky, unhelpful, coughs pointedly from the couch. Sky mouths "You're so cooked" from the couch.

Phi's gaze doesn't move. "You look off."

"I'm tired."

He doesn't buy it. He tilts his head slightly, like he's dissecting my voice from across the screen. "What's going on, Rain?"

I shake my head too quickly. "Nothing, just tired. Kaia went to school fine, everything's good."

He doesn't blink. "And what are you doing with Sky?"

"Needed a break," I say, too casually. "We were talking about vacation plans... Maybe Kaia's birthday."

Sky throws me a what the fuck look.

There's a pause. His voice drops. "Rain."

I freeze. "Yeah?"

"You're lying," he says quietly.

I hesitate. "I'll explain later. When you get home."

"Rain."

"Please, Phi." My voice softens. "Trust me."

Another beat of silence. Then, finally: "Alright. Later. But don't run from me."

"I never do."

He nods once and I nod too, throat tight. "I love you."

His expression shifts—just slightly. The tension behind his eyes softens. "I love you too, sneaky little shit."

And then the screen goes black.

I exhale like I've been holding my breath for hours then  drop the phone face down on the table. Sky's looking at me like I've grown a second head.

I slump into the couch. "He knows. He definitely knows."

"You really think you're walking out of this alive?"

I groan. "Only if I break the news before Kaia does."

Sky snorts. "You've got six hours; max. Better draft your will."

Phayu's POV

The second I hang up with Rain, something sits wrong in my chest.

I call Kaia's security detail. Routine. They say everything's fine—school drop-off was smooth, she's safe, accounted for. But it doesn't ease the pressure building behind my ribs.

Next call's to Saifah.

"Anything off today?" I ask.

He pauses just long enough to make me suspicious before answering, "Nah. Rain came home after the school run, worked a bit, then went out again. Didn't say where."

Of course he didn't. Sneaky little shit.

I shut my laptop and push back from the desk. My mind's already ten steps ahead—what the hell is he hiding? I don't like games, and I don't like not knowing what's going on with my family.

I grab my keys.

Time to go home, kiss my little husband, and figure out what exactly he's keeping from me—before I tan his lying ass.

Rain's POV

Pickup goes smooth—at first. Kaia's bouncing like she's had sugar for breakfast, chattering nonstop. I hum along, half-listening, until she says it.

"I think I'll wear the sparkly yellow dress for Rocky's birthday. The one with the bows. But Rocky likes pink."

I nearly choke on air.

I look over at her in the rearview mirror, calm as you like, swinging her legs.

"Baby," I say gently, "remember, we talked about this. Papa's going to tell Dada, right? It's a secret for now."

She nods like it's obvious. "Uh-huh. But I'm still picking my dress."

By the time we pull into the drive, I know I'm screwed.

Phi's standing by the front door, arms crossed, all black, sleeves rolled, tattoos on display.

That is not "just got home from work" posture. That's "I know something and I'm about to wring it out of you" posture.

Shit.

I park, take a deep breath, get out and go around to unbuckle Kaia. She hops down, hugs her bunny, and runs straight to her father with a scream of "Dada!"

I swear I see his jaw twitch before he softens for her. Just a little.

Me?

I'm next.

And I'm walking straight into the fire.

Phayu's POV

I scoop Kaia into my arms the second she reaches me, pressing kisses to her cheek. "Hi, tiger. How was school?"

Before she can answer, Rain strolls up, trying too hard to look casual. "You're home early," he says, a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

And that's when I notice, I didn't get a kiss.

Suspicious.

Kaia, bless her honest little heart, dives right into her day, waving her bunny around. "Rocky's having a birthday party, Dada! And I'm going as his special friend!"

Everything around me goes still.

I slowly turn to Rain.

He freezes like a kid caught stealing cookies, eyes wide.

Kaia gasps, then slaps a tiny hand over her mouth. "Oops! It's a secret, Dada."

And that's when my husband—my brave, ruthless, allegedly grown husband—turns and bolts for the door.

"RAIN!" I bark, already adjusting Kaia in my arms as I storm in after him.

He's not getting out of this one with puppy eyes and a pout. Not this time.

...

Rain's POV

Phi looks like he's one second away from flipping the bed. The way he's glaring at me from across the room—murderous. If looks could kill, I'd be six feet under in my own diamond-studded grave.

I roll my eyes, deflecting with a smirk. "Where's Kaia?"

"I passed her off to Win," he snaps. "And don't fucking roll your eyes at me. What's this about a birthday party and Kaia being a special guest?"

I snort. "Exactly what it sounds like. A five-year-old classmate's birthday party."

His jaw clenches. I head into the closet, pulling off my earrings with deliberate calm, but he stomps in right behind me like a storm with tattoos.

"She's five, Rain. Five. What the hell does special friend even mean? What kind of party is this? Why did you keep it from me? And why—why—was I the last to know?"

I toss my earrings on the velvet tray and turn to him, arms crossed, "Because I knew you'd act like this."

He throws his arms up. "Act like what? Like a father? Like a man who doesn't want his daughter paraded around like the goddamn crown jewel in some toddler courtship ritual?!"

"She's not being paraded," I snap, stepping closer. "It's a party. With cake. And juice boxes. And a crush that's been going nowhere for one year!"

He narrows his eyes, voice low. "And the little boy?"

I smirk, just to needle him. "Rocky."

His entire body tenses. "That name again."

"Look," I sigh. "I was going to tell you. I just needed to... soften the blow."

He glares. "Softening the blow means not lying by omission."

I raise a brow. "Would anything have changed if I had told you on the phone?"

Silence.

Exactly.

I raise a brow, trying to stay calm. "I was told literally this morning, Phi. His mum invited us right as I was dropping Kaia off. It's a birthday party, not an engagement announcement. And besides—why are you this ticked over a five-year-old crush? Kaia's going to grow up. She'll have crushes as a teen. She'll date eventually—"

That was apparently the wrong move. I see it immediately—the way his jaw clenches, the flicker of heat in his eyes. If steam could come out of someone's ears, it would.

"She's not dating until she's thirty," he snaps, voice deadly.

I snort. "Yeah, right."

I start unbuttoning my shirt, part distraction, part silent plea for him to just breathe. He goes quiet, eyes following my fingers, but the tension in him doesn't budge.

I walk over to him slowly, like he's a cornered animal, and he is. He's her dad. Her dada. And in his head, the world is already lined up to take her from him one day.

"Phi," I murmur, resting my hands on his chest. "They're five. Six in a few months. You're overreacting."

I lean in, kiss him. Softly. Once. Twice. Hoping he'll melt into me the way he always does.

But this time, he doesn't kiss me back.

His hands stay at his sides. His eyes stay hard.

And my heart sinks a little.

This isn't about Rocky. It's about the fact that Kaia's growing and he can't stop it.

"She's not dating when she's 5 or 6" he says again, quieter this time. "Not while I'm alive."

I press another kiss to his cheek. "She's not dating, she's eating cake. Wearing a tiara. Probably sharing stickers. Don't make this bigger than it is."

He exhales. Still tense. Still not touching me. But the worst of the storm seems to be passing.

"You lied by omission," he says again, voice like steel under pressure. "You never do that."

"I didn't lie, Phi. I delayed." I glance up at him. "Because I knew you'd do this. Exactly this."

His eyes flash. "She's five, Rain. Five. And she's already got boys inviting her places and you think it's funny?"

"She's going to a party, not Vegas."

"That boy—"

"—is a child. Like her. It's cupcakes and cartoons, not courtship." I grip his forearm. "You're making this weird."

He pulls back, pacing, hands flexing like he doesn't know whether to punch something or hold on to me. "He asked for her specifically. Do you know how that sounds? How that looks?"

"Yes. Like a kid who likes his classmate and wants her at his birthday. You're not at war, Phi."

He stops. Turns. "We are always at war. Maybe not out there today, but in here?" He taps his temple. "In my head? Every scenario. Every threat. And now the thought of some little boy—"

"Stop." My voice is sharp now. I step in close, hands on his chest again, grounding us both. "Kaia is safe. She is happy. She trusts us. Don't make her fear love. Don't make her scared of being wanted. That's not who we are."

He breathes hard, chest rising beneath my palm. Slowly, his arms come around me, circling my waist.

"I don't want to share her," he mutters. "With anyone."

I soften against him. "You don't have to. But you do have to let her live. Let her be five."

Silence.

Then a soft kiss to my hair. "I still don't like that boy."

I grin. "Noted."

His voice drops. "She's still not dating until she's thirty."

I tilt my head up and kiss him properly this time—slow and sweet.

"Deal. But only if you stop trying to assassinate Rocky before the cake's cut."

He grumbles something unintelligible, but he doesn't pull away. Which, in our language, means I won.

"so what else are you not telling me?"

That lands hard. My breath hitches. I step back.

"That's not fair."

He finally looks away, guilt flickering behind the storm in his eyes.

I say nothing. Just shrug off my shirt and toss it to the bench. "Get over it before Kaia asks why you're sulking because of a children's party." Then I turn to the closet, leaving him to stew in his silence.

Behind me, I hear his sigh. Heavy. Tired.

"Rain."

I don't turn.

"I'm not mad at you," he says. "I'm scared."

I stop, fingers brushing a folded sweater.

"She's my daughter," he adds, softer now. "The world doesn't get to have her. Not like that. Not yet."

I nod slowly. "Then be her shield, not her storm."

Phayu's POV

I shut the office door and lock it.

Kaia's laughter still echoes faintly from upstairs—some cartoon or whatever Rain put on for distraction—but my mind's far from peace. I don't waste time. I press the intercom. "Win. Saifah. My office. Now."

Then I grab my phone and hit the video call button—Pai and Papa both answer in seconds, faces sharpening the moment they see my expression.

"What's going on?" Pai asks, already in his home office judging by the skyline behind him.

Papa's lounging somewhere, a book tossed aside. "You only use this tone when someone's dying or dead."

"Not yet," I mutter. "But it's a possibility."

They both straighten.

Saifah and Win enter just as I angle the screen toward them.

"We've got a situation," I say, and the room goes still.

Papa lifts a brow. "Kidnapping? Surveillance? Internal leak?"

I grit my teeth. "Worse."

They wait.

"She's been invited to his birthday party," I say coldly. "And she's the special guest."

Silence. Then:

"...The fuck?" Saifah mutters.

Win blinks. "Special what?"

Pai's already typing, probably pulling enrollment data from the school database. "What's the security background on the kid's family?"

"Rain said it's harmless. Normal."

Papa hums

Saifah frowns. "So what are we saying? You want to pull her from school?"

"No." I tap the table. "But she's not going to that party unvetted. I want a full profile on Rocky's parents, guest list, vendors, anyone who'll be in a fifty-foot radius of that child. If he gets a magician, we run a background check on the rabbit."

Pai sighs. "You're spiraling."

I look straight into the camera. "Your goddaughter is being courted by a sneaky little boy weaponizing cake and glitter pens."

He nods, goes quiet.

Papa tilts his head. "And Rain?"

"Kept it from me."

Saifah whistles.

Win coughs. "Should we... kill the kid?"

"Win." I snap. "Unless he touches her."

"...Accidentally?"

"Don't test me."

They go quiet. Orders settle in. Plans start forming.

Because in this family, there's no such thing as just a birthday party. Not when Kaia's involved.

...

The next morning, I still can't believe I'm spiraling over a five-year-old's crush. A birthday invitation. It's not the first time Kaia's been asked to classmates' parties—boys, girls, doesn't matter—but this one? Rocky? The way she says his name like it's dipped in honey?

No. Absolutely not.

Breakfast is quiet, at least on my part. I barely slept. Rain notices, of course—he notices everything—but instead of pressing, he just shakes his head with that look that says you're ridiculous and shovels more strawberries into Kaia's bowl.

"I'll take her today," I say after clearing the plates.

Rain lifts his head. "Really?"

I nod. "Going straight to the office after."

He narrows his eyes. "Phi—"

"What?" I cut in, sharper than necessary. "I can't take my own daughter to school now?"

He blinks, mouth twitching. "Fine. I'll come with."

"No need," I reply calmly. "You've got that 10 a.m. with Janis. Outfit run-through for the charity dinner, remember?"

I see the gears turning in his head, the comeback forming. But I raise one brow and he reads the warning for what it is.

He gives in with a scoff and gets Kaia's coat. Kisses her head and tells her to be good. Tells her he loves her. She hugs him with that sunshine smile and I swear she has no idea her father's ready to audit the entire party guest list.

I'm by the driver's side, about to get in, when Rain strolls over. "Leaving without a kiss?"

I roll my eyes. "Rain—"

But he's already pulling me down by the collar and kissing me. Slow. Dirty. Possessive. The kind of kiss that's more smirk than softness, just to remind me I'm the unhinged one here.

When he finally pulls away, he grins. "You're insane, Phi. But I love you."

I grunt. "Good. Because this isn't over."

He winks. "Didn't think it was."

Rain's POV

I watch Phi's car pull out of the driveway, calm and composed like he isn't one tantrum away from declaring  war on a five-year-old. Another SUV slides in behind him—standard protocol for Kaia's extra security, so I don't blink.

Not until I walk back in and casually call for Saifah. No response.

I glance at one of the men stationed by the stairs. "Where's Saifah?"

"Went with the boss. Win too."

The gears in my brain screech. Something's off. Why would both Saifah and Win go just to drop Kaia off?

Then it clicks.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter, already sprinting up the stairs. I grab my phone, slam into my closet, pulling clothes on in record time as I call Sky.

"Phi's headed to Kaia's school," I say. "With Saifah and Win."

Sky groans, "Shit. Pai just left the house too. Said he wasn't going straight to the office, had a meeting."

"That's a lie," I hiss, yanking on my pants. "They're all going."

I merge Papa into the call. "Where are you?"

"Business," he replies smoothly, too smoothly. There's the telltale background hum of traffic and shifting leather. He's in the car.

"Papa," I warn.

He hangs up.

Sky exhales hard. "They're definitely going to the school."

I'm already throwing on a jacket, slipping my gun into the holster, and grabbing my keys.

"Meet me there," I snap to Sky. "I'm not letting a mafia war council descend on a kindergarten boy because of a birthday party."

I dial Phi's number.

Straight to voicemail.

"Fucking hell."

Win's POV

Yeah, from the outside? This probably looks completely unhinged. But we are unhinged. Certified. Especially when it comes to Kaia.

I'm in the backseat of her security SUV with Saifah, stone-faced like we're headed to a cartel drop. Two of Phayu's men are up front. Phayu himself is in the lead car with Kaia, radio silent, focused. Tactical.

We're on a mission: knock some sense into this Rocky boy.

I remember the first time Kaia mentioned his name. "Uncle Win, Rocky says I'm pretty." I blacked out for thirty full seconds. Since then it's been Rocky this, Rocky that, like the kid invented sunshine. Hell. No.

No five-year-old with jelly-stained fingers and a knockoff superhero backpack is going to imprint on my goddaughter. Not on my watch.

My phone buzzes again. Rain. For the twelfth time.

Saifah glances over. "You picking up?"

I shake my head. "We'll be there and gone before he even gets his shoes on."

He smirks. "You know we're gonna die for this, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," I mutter. "Phayu's bad enough. Rain? He's going to take our knees. Slowly. Surgically."

But I stare out the tinted window, watching the school gate get closer, and I know this is the hill I'll gladly die on.

Because Rocky? That kid's about to meet the goddamn board of directors of hell.

Papa's POV

I'm lounging in the backseat of my car, phone on speaker, and my husband's voice cuts through the line, laced with exasperation.

"Arm, don't you people think this is excessive? And you're doing this behind Rain's back?"

I hum thoughtfully, fingers drumming against my thigh like I'm weighing the ethics of a medical procedure, then answer with calm precision.

"Darling, it's your granddaughter. You should be in this car with me, scalpels in your coat pocket, ready to put the fear of God into this little boy. You know, something light—anatomical diagrams, a list of organs he won't need."

He sighs—long, weary, and married to me for too long to be surprised.

"Rain knows exactly the hell I put Phayu through when he wanted to date him at twenty. What does he think is going to happen now that I hear some five-year-old with grass-stained socks and audacity is sniffing around my granddaughter?"

Another pause on the line. Then he mutters, "Just don't make the child cry."

"I'll try. But if he calls her his princess—I'm showing him stuff that will make him wet his bed till he's forty."

Pai's POV

I ignore Sky's calls once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time, I sigh and pick up—because I know he'll just keep calling until I do.

I don't get a single word in before his voice slices through the line, low and lethal:"Turn the car back right now, what the hell are you doing trying to intimidate a five-year-old because he asked our goddaughter to his birthday party?"

I sigh, shifting in my seat."My Sky, you need to understand—how are we supposed to sit back and let some boy dwiddle around Kaia? She's soft. She's innocent. We're just... preserving that innocence."

There's a pause. Then he hisses:"P'Pai, are you listening to yourself? They're five. Five. Turn. Back. Now."

And yeah, normally? I'd obey. Sky's no mafia don, no ex-assassin, but the man once chased me around the condo with a rolling pin for messing up his butter cream. His glare could freeze hell over.

I'm scared of him. Deeply.

But not today.

"Okay baby, I'll turn back now, gotta go, talk later—"

"You're not turning back, are you?" His voice is dead flat.

I grin. "Nope. Bye baby, love you."And I hang up immediately.

If I die, I die for Kaia.

Saifah's POV

I always knew if Phayu didn't do something about this Rocky boy, I would. Hell, I was counting down the days. Thankfully, he'sfinally taking initiative—took him long enough.

We drive through the school gates and I glance out the window just in time to see Papa's sleek black Bentley and Pai's ridiculous white-on-white Rolls glide in behind us like some royal convoy. Perfect. The full squad's here. All for one tiny princess.

Win and I step out of the SUV just as Phayu exits the one ahead and circles to Kaia's side, lifting her gently from her seat. She looks up, blinks—and then lights up.

"Papa! Uncle Pai! Fah-Fah! Uncle Win!" she squeals, throwing her arms out like we're her Avengers.

Our hard-ass ex-assassin of a Papa smiles like she hung the damn moon, and we all walk to her, a coordinated wall of overprotective insanity in designer shoes and tailored violence.

People watch. Of course they do.Teachers, parents, kids—some look starstruck, others vaguely terrified.I don't blame them. Six-foot-plus men in black showing up in formation at a primary school tends to make people nervous.

We're not here to cause a scene.Unless Rocky makes one first.

Phayu's POV

My daughter is glowing. Positively radiant—surrounded by four of the most dangerous men in the country, and not a care in the world.

All her godfathers are here. Her grandfather too. No Sky, no Papa Porsche, but that's fine. The ones who understand the gravity of the situation—the mission—are present and accounted for.

Win's the first to speak, crouching slightly so he doesn't tower as much. "Kai Bear," he says gently, "where's your class? We want to say hi to Rocky."

Her head tilts. That too-smart brain of hers kicking into overdrive. She knows damn well how we react when the name Rocky comes up. So why now? Why the sudden interest?

She opens her mouth—hesitation clear—just as the universe does us a favour.

A black-haired girl bounds over from across the field. I recognise her. Lilly. The gummy-bear executioner. She was the one who, last I checked, commented on my size.

She freezes a few feet away, understandably wary of the wall of six-foot-plus men in black suits surrounding Kaia.

But my daughter—my unbothered queen-in-training—just beams. "Lilly! Come come!"

Lilly scans us, eyes landing on Papa Arm. Her whole face lights up. "Hi Kaia's Grandpapa!"

I blink and turn. "How does she know you?"

Arm shrugs, completely unfazed, hugging Lilly back like she's his own blood. "I'm here a lot."

What the fuck does that mean?

And then—as if god decided to roll the dice—a car pulls up. A woman steps out. And behind her, a little boy.

Lilly says, helpfully, "Kaia look—Rocky's here!"

Excellent.

I watch her closely—the woman, Rocky's mother—as her eyes sweep across the scene. She spots Kaia first, cradled easily in my arms and surrounded by a circle of stone-faced men dressed in all black. All except Papa who's in white, like Rain always is.

She smiles, a little uncertainly, and I see the moment she notices Lilly perched comfortably in Papa Arm's arms. There's a twitch at the corner of her lips—nervous recognition. Her eyes skim over me, and I give her a nod. Nothing aggressive. Not yet.

She sees we're not armed to the teeth, not torching the playground. No blood, no chaos. Not today.

What she doesn't realise is—this entire tactical formation was for her son.

She gently nudges Rocky toward the school entrance, still blissfully unaware of the impending interrogation. The poor kid doesn't even glance our way. He's too focused on fixing the strap of his little bag.

I narrow my eyes. He can run. But not from me. Not from us.

His mother's already back in her car, doors locked, driving off like we're not already tracking her plate. Smart. But not smart enough.

I feel Kaia stir in my arms, and then her little hands are on my cheeks.

"Bye Dada," she says sweetly, trying to wriggle out of my grip. "I love you!"

Oh no, baby. Not so fast.

"You're not off the hook just yet, tiger."

I catch Win's eye and give a small nod. Saifah adjusts his cuffs. Pai slides his sunglasses on. Papa Arm is already walking ahead like he owns the school. Together, a wall of quiet menace, we step through the gates of Kaia's school.

Destination: her classroom.

Time for a little chat.

Rain's POV

I pull into the school parking lot, stomach sinking the second I spot the familiar line-up of sleek, black, and utterly unnecessary luxury vehicles. One of the Rolls is Pai's—painted smug and rich. The other is Papa's Bentley. Fuck.

They're already inside.

I grab my phone, dial Sky. "Where are you?"

"Just a minute behind—" His voice cuts off as another SUV pulls in behind me. Figures.

He steps out, immaculate in black-on-black, hair styled like he's heading to a meeting and not to track down a squad of overgrown men harassing a five-year-old.

Sky looks me up and down with a smirk. "For someone chasing your husband across Bangkok, you look good."

I'm in white, as usual—light slacks, pressed shirt, the sleeves rolled, my hair catching the sun exactly the same shade as Kaia's. Pretty. Always been. Right now, it's irrelevant.

I roll my eyes. "Flattery later. Let's find them before Phi starts recruiting Kaia into a five-year-old interrogation op."

Phayu's POV

We march through the corridor like a mafia parade—suits, scowls and sunglasses—staff and students stop to stare.

Kaia, completely oblivious to the sheer menace flanking her, skips along chatting with Lilly, pointing at her classroom door, showing us decorations on the wall like it's just another school day.

We reach her class and pause outside. I crouch and set her down gently. "Tiger," I say, smoothing her curls, "introduce me and your uncles to your friend Rocky. We want to say hi."

She blinks, suspicious already—smart girl, too smart for this damn early—but Lilly, bless her meddling soul, bounds in without hesitation and seconds later drags out the boy in question.

Rocky.

He's shorter than Kaia, clean uniform, a neat haircut—he even blinks like he rehearsed it. A model student. A little prince. I watch him closely, eyes narrowing as Kaia grins and stands proudly beside him.

The class teacher notices the gathering storm and approaches, brows furrowed, but Papa intercepts her like the seasoned diplomat he is, offering a warm smile and a calming voice. "Just family visiting, nothing serious."

The Rocky kid looks between Kaia and us. His hands twitch at his sides. He's scared. Good. Not traumatized. Just... respectful.

I fold my arms and tilt my head, voice calm, but carrying all the weight it needs to. "Rocky."

He swallows. "Y-yes sir?"

I crouch to his level, eyeing him over the edge of my sunglasses. "You like Kaia?"

His eyes dart to her—she's still smiling, entirely unaware—and then back to me.

He nods cautiously.

Win whistles behind me. Saifah grunts. Pai mutters something about early symptoms of madness. Papa just chuckles darkly.

I keep crouched, still watching him, still letting the silence stretch, just enough to make him sweat—not enough to crush him.

Behind me, Win exhales like he's reconsidering his kill order. Saifah tilts his head slightly, watching Rocky like he's seeing the layers of a puzzle.

Pai mutters under his breath, "this kid." And Papa? Papa grins, hands folded behind his back, eyes glinting like he's found a promising recruit for the next generation of madness.

So I ask. "Why?"

Rocky shuffles but doesn't break eye contact. "She makes everyone feel better when she smiles," he says, a little quieter. "I like playing with her."

Kaia giggles somewhere beside me, completely unaware of the diplomatic pressure this kid's under.

I keep my face neutral, but behind me, Saifah lets out a quiet "huh," like he's mildly impressed. Win mutters, "That tracks," and Papa hums like he's filing the information away in his mental archive of Kaia's war history.

Rocky shifts under the weight of our collective silence, but he doesn't back down. He glances once more at Kaia—who is now braiding Lilly's hair like we're not interrogating her elementary school suitor—and then meets my eyes again, steady.

"She's my friend," he says, voice clearer now. "I like her. She's very cool. And she's not scared of anything."

I stare at him a beat longer. He holds it.

Not bad.

Behind me, I hear Pai quietly: "...damn."

"Good answer" I say finally. "She's special, isn't she?"

He nods again, slower this time.

I nod once, slow, deliberate. "You know she's mine, right?"

His brows furrow, confused. "She said you're her dada."

"I am," I say, standing to my full height. "But she's mine. Her papa's too. And her uncles and grandpas. That's a lot of people who'd do anything to protect her."

"You treat her well," I continue. "Like the princess she is. You be kind to her. Gentle. Respectful. You protect her if anything ever happens in class. And if I hear anything different..."

I lean in, my smile calm and cold. "I won't care that you're five."

Rocky pales.

Kaia tugs at my hand. "Dada, you're scaring him."

I straighten, ruffle her curls, and paste on the softest smile I can muster. "Just making sure he knows how lucky he is."

Rocky bows.

Smart boy.

"you've got good taste. And good sense."

Papa hums. "More than most grown men I've met."

I extend a hand. He hesitates—then shakes it, small fingers curling into mine with surprising confidence.

"Just remember," I murmur low enough only he hears, "if she ever cries because of you, you see all of them behind me, they're not very nice to anyone who hurts Kaia."

He nods, a little pale now. I can see him calculating just how much trouble he's invited by asking her to his birthday party.

Kaia huffs. "Dada! Don't scare him!"

I pat her head. "I didn't. We just had a little man-to-man talk."

Rocky looks to her, gives her a shy smile, and she beams back.

And just like that, she takes his hand and Win mutters behind me, "No handholding until you're twenty, young lady."

Rocky blinks and immediately yanks his hand away like it's caught fire. Kaia spins on her heel, cheeks puffed, eyes narrowed. "Uncle Win!" she yells, stomping her little foot in righteous fury.

Win lifts both hands like he's innocent.

He's just about to argue back when we all feel it—that shift. The air sharpens. A chill rolls in.

We don't even need to look.

Kaia's already darting behind my legs with a dramatic gasp. "Papa! Uncle Sky!"

Shit.

Rain and Sky are walking toward us, in all white like vengeance made flesh and storm. Rain's got that too-sweet smile that means someone's getting stabbed with a hair pin. Sky looks like he's restraining himself from throwing hands and rolling pin.

Rain stops a few feet away, arms folded, gaze sweeping the lot of us like he's cataloguing every sin committed.

Kaia tugs my pants gently. "Dada," she whispers. "Papa looks mad."

Yeah, baby. We're all in trouble now.

RAIN'S POV

I walk over, slow and steady, crouching right in front of the kids. Kaia lights up immediately and runs into my arms. I scoop her close as Sky leans down beside us, planting a soft kiss on her curls.

Lilly waves enthusiastically; Rocky follows, a bit more reserved, eyes flicking between me and the wall of men still looming around them.

I glance over Rocky. No bruises. No tears. Still standing. Good. My husband and his band of bloodthirsty clowns haven't crossed the line—yet. But the boy looks like he aged five years in the last ten minutes.

I stand and look at PhI. "Kiss your daughter goodbye," I say, voice like frost. "We're leaving."

He swallows, clearly not expecting that tone from me. "Rain—"

"Now."

That does it.

He swallows hard.

To his credit, he doesn't argue. Just crouches and brushes Kaia's curls back from her face like he didn't just stage a mafia-style intervention at a kindergarten. "I love you, tiger," he whispers.

"I love you too, dada," she beams, kissing his cheek, completely untouched by the chaos around her.

One by one, they take their turns—Win, Saifah, Pai, and Papa. All hugging her like they're heading off to prison instead of just being dragged home by her other father. They try to look casual. I'm not fooled.

I don't miss the subtle side-eye they all throw Rocky. Not threatening, but... reminding.

Kaia waves them off, entirely unbothered. "Bye dada! Bye uncles! Bye grandpapa!""Bye Kai bear," Win says, voice cracking."See you soon, princess," Papa adds, already edging back like he's planning his escape route.

Not on my watch.

"Nobody moves." I say, voice quiet but final. They freeze like kids caught shoplifting.

I kiss her next, whispering something into her ear that makes her giggle.

I wait as the classroom door closes behind the children. Then I pivot slowly, eyes scanning my husband and every single enabler he recruited.

"Let's go," I say, stepping back. "Family meeting."

And like that, the march of shame begins.

They're all dead men walking.

Phayu's POV

He's pissed. Veeery pissed. The kind of quiet, glacial fury that makes my spine itch.

I catch Pai trying to speak to Sky, whisper some last-minute excuse, maybe beg for mercy—but Sky levels him with one look. Disappointed. And Pai shuts up immediately, slinking toward his car like a kicked Doberman in a designer suit.

When we reach the parking lot, Rain doesn't even glance at me. Just tosses his keys at one of our men and walks straight to my car, slipping into the front passenger seat like it's already decided. I follow, open his door for him out of habit—he doesn't so much as blink in my direction.

Right.

As I'm rounding to the driver's side, I catch Win and Saifah whispering near their SUV, exchanging panicked looks.

"Maybe we should go to the office—"

I cut them off with a point of my finger, cold and precise. "He said family meeting. You vanish now, and I swear I won't stop him when he comes hunting. We did this together. We're going down together. Get in the fucking car."

They scramble.

Good.

If I'm going to get dragged to hell, I'm not going down alone.