Chapter 16

Rain's POV

I don't look at him the entire drive home.

The silence eats at him—I can feel it in the way his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, how he checks on me from the corner of his eyes but says nothing. Good. Let it choke him. Let him stew in it.

We get home in record time.

He parks, gets out, comes around to open my door like always. I don't acknowledge him. Just step out, walk into the house, through the doors of the grand living room where they all start to file in behind me. Even Papa, smug bastard that he is, has the decency to look slightly remorseful.

I head to the bar. Pour myself a shot of whiskey with hands far steadier than I feel. I down it in one go, the burn grounding me, and then I slam the glass down—just hard enough to snap everyone to attention. I turn.

My voice is low. Clipped.

"What. The. Fuck."

Sky's sitting, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Pai's not far from him, fidgeting like a scolded child. Even Papa—who never apologizes for anything—is standing, no smugness for once. Win and Saifah hover by the wall like they're seconds from bolting. Phi? Phi just stands there, arms loose at his sides, eyes locked on me. Watching. Silent.

I sweep my gaze across all of them. The weight in my chest threatens to cave in my ribs.

"None of you thought this was too much?"My voice is cold. "Not one of you thought, 'Maybe this is excessive'? 'Maybe intimidating a five-year-old at school is a step too far'?"

Silence.

Tight throats. Guilt. No answers.

I scan again."Nothing? Not even a weak defense?"

Saifah shifts, about to say something—

"Shut up."

He swallows it. Good.

Because right now? I don't want excuses. I want clarity. I want to understand how a group of fully grown, powerful, supposedly intelligent men could collectively decide that the logical response to a birthday invitation was a coordinated display of mafia power against a literal child.

And the worst part?

I still don't know if I'm more furious... or stunned.

I pin all of them with a look sharp enough to gut a room.

"I'm effectively banning all of you from Kaia." My voice doesn't waver. "Papa, that includes you."

That sets off a wave of noise—Pai's jaw drops, Sky jerks in his seat, Papa straightens with a quiet scoff, Win starts to protest, Saifah's already trying to explain—But I raise my hand.

Silence. Immediate.

"Pai. Papa. I don't want either of you in my house for the next two weeks."I say it flatly, like I'm announcing the weather. "Consider it time to reflect on what the hell you think parenting means."

They both stiffen—wounded pride, bruised egos—but they don't speak.

I turn to Win and Saifah. "You two live here, fine. But make yourselves scarce. If you see Kaia at all? Five seconds. 'Hi' and 'bye'—that's it."

And then—finally—I turn to Phi.

He hasn't moved. Still watching me. Still silent.

I stare him down.

"You," I say, voice like ice, "come with me."

I feel him wordlessly follow me as we go upstairs. I hear sky berating Pai.

Papa, Win and Saifah's displeasure echo with their murmurs.

I don't care. This is my home, this is my daughter.

...

He closes the door behind him with a quiet finality, but it doesn't feel gentle—it feels like a line drawn. The lock clicks, and then nothing. No words. No movement. Just his heavy silence filling the room like smoke.

I turn to him, chest tight. I stare, and he stares right back. That unreadable calm on his face, it used to reassure me. Tonight, it makes my blood boil.

We stand there, locked in a silent standoff, and I've been married to him long enough to know he's waiting. Waiting for me to speak first. Waiting because he knows I'm furious. But it's the fact that he knows—and still thinks standing there like a mute statue helps—that sets me off.

"So?"

He exhales, low, barely a shift in his posture."The boy's fine."

I blink. Once. Hard."Yes. Because I've been telling you that for almost a year."I take a step closer, jaw clenched."Do you not trust me? Do you honestly think I'd let anyone near Kaia who wasn't safe?"My voice drops."Do you think I'm that careless?"

His eyes flicker, just for a second, and that's all the answer I need.

"You didn't trust me. Not with this. Not with her. You gathered your little army of overprotective, emotionally stunted idiots and you stormed into her school like you were taking down a goddamn arms cartel."

He doesn't flinch.

"Do you know what that looked like to the rest of the world? What it felt like to her? To me?"I laugh, bitter."And don't even try to tell me it wasn't about control. Because this wasn't about Kaia. It was about you—being unable to accept that our daughter has a mind of her own."

Still nothing. But I see it now—the crack in his calm. The slight twitch in his jaw.

"You embarrassed her. You embarrassed me. You turned something sweet and harmless into a public spectacle."I step back, folding my arms."All because you didn't want to admit she's growing up."

He just stands there. Quiet.

"Answer me!"My voice cracks from how tight my chest feels.

He finally opens his mouth."She's five."

"Exactly!" I snap. "And that's why it was insane to go full mafia godfather on a toddler. That's why I'm standing here wondering what the hell happened to the man I married."

He looks at me like he wants to speak but can't find the words. And I shake my head. My voice is lower now, but no less sharp.

"You didn't just overreact. You sidelined me. You made a decision about our daughter's life and left me out of it. You didn't talk to me. You didn't even warn me."

I stare him down."That's the betrayal, Phi. Not the school stunt. Not the theatrics. The fact that you didn't trust me enough to let me in."

He exhales slowly, eyes closing for a second."It wasn't about you."

"Bullshit." I snap. "You don't get to play noble protector when what you really wanted was control." I step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You weren't protecting her. You were throwing a tantrum because your little girl likes a boy, and you couldn't handle it."

He doesn't flinch. Just says, low, "He's five. She's five. That's our baby."

"Exactly," I bite out. "And she's not yours alone, Phi. She's ours. And you made a circus out of her first crush. You turned a sweet moment into a goddamn military operation. Do you even realise how terrifying that must've been for him? How confusing for her?"

His silence answers me.

I scoff bitterly. "You really think you're the only one who'd die for her? You think I don't wake up every night wondering how we'll keep her safe in this world we built?" I shake my head. "But I want her to have joy. Normalcy. A childhood. And you—" I break off, looking at him like I don't recognise him. "You endangered that. For what? So you and your idiot men could puff your chests and remind a toddler who's boss?"

Still nothing.

So I say the quiet part.

"You humiliated me."

That lands.

Another beat of silence.

"So I'll ask again."My voice is soft now."Why?"

His jaw clenches—tight, grinding. That telltale tic in his temple pulses once, and I know I've hit the vein.

He doesn't answer right away. Doesn't try to deny it. Just stands there like he's swallowing glass. Like the weight of what I said is settling in places even he can't muscle through.

Then—quietly, tightly—he says,"Because I am scared, Rain."His voice is low, stripped of its usual control."Because the minute I trust the world with her, the minute I start thinking maybe it's okay to ease off... something always proves me wrong."

He meets my eyes, and there's no steel there now—just something raw.

"You've always been better at balance. At hope. At seeing good in people. I don't have that."His hands curl into fists at his sides."I only have control. I only have force. That's how I've kept both of you alive this long."

He swallows, hard."So no, I didn't trust Rocky. But not because he's a bad kid."A pause."Because Kaia loves freely. She gives pieces of herself without hesitation, just like you. And if someone doesn't protect that..."His voice falters."It'll get crushed."

He steps forward, slower now, careful."You think I didn't want to tell you? I did. But I knew you'd talk me down, and I didn't want to be talked down. I wanted to do something. Even if it was stupid."

He looks down, then back up again."I'm sorry. For all of it. For making you feel cut out. For turning her moment into mine. For not trusting you like I should have."

Another pause."But I don't regret protecting her. I never will. I just... forgot that I'm not the only one who would die for her."

And for the first time all night, his walls drop completely."I'm scared, Rain. And I don't know how to stop being."

I take in a deep breath. How the hell did this spiral from an innocent, normal crush to... this?

And I know how.

It's because we've never been normal—especially not Phayu. With him, everything is all or nothing. Me. Our daughter. His love, his rage, his protection.

He doesn't know moderation. Doesn't know grey.

He's a husband, a father—and he loves us with a madness that borders on terrifying. Obsessive. All-consuming. And I don't hate him for it. I never have.

Because every night I go to bed knowing this is a man who will never leave me. Who will never walk away from our child. Who will burn the world to ash if she ever screams too loud in fear. And as fucked up as it sounds, that kind of loyalty? That kind of fire? It makes me feel safe.

Still, someone has to balance the scale.

That's me. I'm the reason Kaia knows softness can come from strength. I'm the reason she understands when "no" means "no" even when it's whispered.

She never questions why her Dada doesn't smile at strangers—why he looks like violence wrapped in black when he's out in public. Because at home, she's never known a gentler hand than his. Never known a softer gaze.

She's cradled in the same arms that have ended lives, and she sleeps like nothing could ever hurt her. Because to him? Nothing ever will.

But this morning? He crossed a line.

I sigh, the fight bleeding out of me with the exhale. I can't take Kaia away from him—God knows she'd never understand it, and I'd never forgive myself. But I can't let this go unspoken either. I can't let him think this is okay.

So I fix my eyes on his and say, flatly, "I'm mad at you. Very mad. And if I wasn't thinking clearly, I would've taken Kaia and gone to stay somewhere else for a few days. Or made you sleep in the east wing alone."

His body stiffens. His jaw ticks once. His eyes darken—not with anger, but something worse. Hurt. Dread.

He takes a step toward me, voice low. "Rain—"

I stop him with a hand. "No."

He freezes.

"I'm not going to do that," I say, quieter now. "But you're going to sit with your actions. Alone."

His throat works. He doesn't say another word.

I turn and walk out of the room. His footsteps don't follow.

I know he wants to. I feel it in the way the air tenses behind me, in the way his breath catches just before I close the door. But he doesn't. And that's how I know he heard me.

I walk down the hall slow, controlled, even though my pulse still thrums from everything—his words, my anger, the mess we just crawled out of. I need the space. I need him to sit in the silence he hates, to confront what he's done without distraction. Without me softening it.

And he will. That's the part people never understand about Phayu. He looks like a storm, commands like one too—but when it comes to me and Kaia, he listens. Eventually. Always.

This fight is far from over but the war? It was never between us.

It's between the kind of world we're in, and the kind of life we're desperate to give her.

And he'll learn. Because I'll make damn sure of it.

I go back downstairs and Win and Saifah are nowhere to be found—good. Sky still sits with Papa, calm but sharp-eyed. I look around once, then back to Sky. "Where's P'Pai?"

Sky waves him off. "Gone to the office. After a good ass-chewing. I told him he's still in for it when he gets back home tonight."

I nod once and turn to Papa—my father. "Papa, I expected better from you."

His eyes hold mine, calm and steady, but not defensive. "I apologize, baby. But I don't feel sorry."

I stare at him.

He doesn't flinch.

"And I know that makes me a hypocrite," he continues. "Because if it were you—if you'd come home at her age and told me a bunch of armed men showed up at your school and stared down the kid you liked—I'd have burned the city down. I know it's not okay. I'm not excusing it."

I raise a brow. "Then what are you doing?"

He sighs and shifts forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the same way he used to lean toward me when I was a boy and he was trying to explain away blood on his hands.

"I'm telling you the truth. Kaia's my first and only grandchild. You know what I've done. You know the life I've lived. These men?"—he jerks his chin toward the empty air where Win and Saifah had been—"They've only ever known bullets and concrete. That little girl? She's sunlight in a storm. You're asking monsters to protect a flower. Of course we're going to overreact."

"She's five," I say flatly. "Not a flower. Not a prize. Not your redemption arc. And she doesn't need all of you to descend on a playground to prove you love her. She needs you to know when to not pull a trigger. Or a stunt."

His mouth tightens, but he says nothing.

"She's five," I say again, like they need the reminder. "Not fifteen. Not twenty-five. Five, Papa. And you all walked into that school like a hit squad."

His lips press together, but his eyes don't drop. "I know."

"No. You don't." My voice is quiet now. Measured. "Because if you did, you wouldn't be sitting here telling me you're not sorry. You would be pacing. You would be ashamed."

"You all walked into that school like a fucking parade of body bags. And for what? A child who shares his gummy bears and calls her funny? A crush?"

He looks down. Finally. And then after a pause, he nods.

"I am," he says. "Ashamed of how it looked. Of how it made her feel. Not of why I did it—but enough to listen now. Rain, she's the only piece of light I've ever been allowed to protect without ruining it. You think I'm going to let some boy start touching her hand without knowing what kind of man he's going to be?"

"And who gets to decide that? You? A man who's killed for less?"

His expression tightens. Sky shifts, uneasy now. But I don't stop.

"I'm Kaia's parent. Not you. I will not raise her in fear. She will not be raised with the idea that kindness is dangerous unless her mafia family personally threatens it into submission."

His eyes shutter slightly. I press on.

"You can be her sword, Papa. But don't you ever try to be her cage. That's not love. That's control. That's legacy rot. And I'm not passing it down."

He swallows. "I'll do better. For her. And for you."

"Good." I glance at Sky, who's watching silently. "Because next time, this conversation won't be this civil."

Papa exhales, leans back, and finally, finally, looks like he understands.

Eventually, he leaves—with my two-week ban still in place. I know it's going to be the hardest thing they've ever done, and honestly, I'd like to see them try. They won't last. They never do.

They orbit Kaia like she's their sun. She smiles, and their world shifts. I wouldn't be surprised if Papa's already circling back to her school now, finding some excuse to "drop something off" or check in on her teacher.

I sink into the couch next to Sky and exhale the kind of sigh that tastes like three decades of inherited madness. "How are we the only sane ones, Sky?"

He raises a brow, curls his lip, and levels me with a dry stare. "Speak for yourself. I'm married to P'Pai."

Fair enough. I laugh—low, tired.

He leans back, arms crossed. "But we're the only ones trying to pretend we're sane. That counts for something, right?"

I groan into my hands. "I need a vacation."

Sky smirks. "We both do. Somewhere with no guns. No security details. No mafia uncles trying to rough up toddlers."

I blink at him. "You just described Mars."

He asks, "Where's your husband?"

I sigh, lean my head back against the couch, and gesture vaguely toward the stairs. "Left him in the bedroom licking his wounds."

Sky hums, unimpressed. "Good. Let him marinate in his own stupidity."

I nod. "I've never seen a more coordinated display of insanity."

He scoffs. "They looked like a cartel-themed boyband marching into a preschool."

That gets a short laugh out of me. Exhausted, yes. Done with them? Never. But they need to stew. Every last one of them.

Eventually, Sky leaves for the bakery, tossing one last warning about keeping the lunatics on a leash. The house is too quiet now. Just me. And my sulking husband.

I head upstairs to our bedroom—empty.

Not surprised.

I pull up the CCTV on my phone, and there he is. Office. Slouched back in his chair, shirt wrinkled, hair loose, a glass of whiskey in one hand, with cigarette.

Tracks. He rarely smokes. Not since I told him to stop—for Kaia, for me. "Stay alive long enough to protect us." He promised.

So if he's smoking, I know it's bad.

I lock my phone and sigh, not in anger this time—just tiredness. Love doesn't make you less exhausted. It just gives you a reason to keep showing up.

I change into something more comfortable—soft cotton whites—and make my way into Kaia's room. It still holds the chaos of the morning rush: her pjs on the floor, one sock under the bed, a half-open drawer with ribbons spilling out.

I start picking things up, folding tiny clothes with slow, deliberate hands.

The quiet is heavy. But not empty.

He's hurting. And honestly, so am I.

Phayu's POV

I replay the morning again and again. Rain's voice still echoes in my head— furious, disappointed. And I know how it looked. Hell, I understand why he's mad. But if I woke up tomorrow with no memory of today, I'd still do it again.

Because she's mine.

My daughter. My blood. My soft spot in a world that's otherwise carved out of steel and smoke and silence. I know I'm obsessive. Controlling. Irrational. But the truth is—if I could control every variable around her, I would. Without blinking.

Still... I get it. Rain's right. Kaia's not a doll. She's a person, a little girl growing into her own opinions, her own decisions. She's going to grow up and chase her own life.

She's going to love who she loves. Explore the world on her own terms. I don't have to like it—but I have to learn not to light the whole world on fire just because I'm scared.

I sigh and take another drag of the cigarette.

I shouldn't be smoking. I promised I'd stop. For Kaia. For Rain. But today... today's been hell. And if Rain walks in here now, catches me like this—he'll be pissed. Not loud. Not dramatic. Worse.

He'll punish me in his quiet way. With silence. With distance. With that look in his eyes like I've disappointed the only person who's ever truly known me. And I hate that already.

Rain's POV

I already know he's not stepping foot in the city office today. Phi will stay home, sit in that soundproofed office of his and pretend to work—just to be close, just to keep me in reach. It's his way of pacifying the space between us when I'm pissed. He never handles distance well, especially not emotional ones.

But I don't give in. Not today.

Normally, I'd slip into his office with a snack, a kiss, a soft word. Sit on the couch with my legs folded under me while he reviews blueprints or field reports. Something. Anything to keep us tethered. But today—nothing.

All morning. Now the afternoon. I don't cross that hallway once.

I make his lunch myself, plating it with the kind of care that'll twist something in his chest when the maid delivers it. But that's all I give. Just enough to remind him I'm still his, that I'm still watching, but not enough to relieve the weight of what he did.

Let him sit in it. Let him feel the lack. He'll break before I do.

Phayu's POV

The moment the maids brought in lunch, I knew. One bite in and it was obvious—Rain made it himself. I could taste the quiet anger in the precision. The deliberate tenderness in the flavors. He won't speak to me, but he still makes my favorite lunch and sends it through someone else.

That's how he punishes. With silence, with presence made painfully distant.

I sigh and push the plate aside. Not out of spite...out of guilt.

Forty-five minutes later, Saifah and Win creep into my office like kids summoned to the principal's office. I'm about to ask why when my tablet buzzes.

Meeting. Fuck, I forgot.

Rain walks in not long after, white as ever, immaculate. First time I've seen him since he walked out of our bedroom this morning, fury in his voice. He doesn't even look at Saifah and Win, just takes a seat on the couch and crosses one leg over the other with clinical calm.

The air changes.

Saifah clears his throat and starts the meeting. Rain contributes—precise, to the point, eyes on the work. Never on me. I speak when needed, keep it professional. I watch him from the corner of my eye. He doesn't glance once in my direction.

The meeting drags for an hour. By the end, Saifah and Win shuffle out so fast they practically leave smoke trails. I don't blame them. Rain's mood today? Volatile. Quietly lethal.

He gets up wordlessly, grabs his tablet. I hold my breath. Maybe he'll say something. Maybe he'll give me something.

And at the door, he pauses. Still not looking at me.

"I'm going to pick up Kaia."

My hands twitch on the desk, but I stay silent. Waiting.

He opens the door, halfway through it, and then "Eat your lunch. I'm not throwing it out."

Then he's gone.

And I sit back in my chair, swallowing the lump in my throat.

Rain's POV

He didn't call me back. Good. If he had, I might've folded. That's the thing about being married for years—sometimes love sounds like "fuck you," and forgiveness tastes like shared leftovers and late-night kisses.

We'll move past this. We always do. The question is when... and how.

But no matter what, I love him. He's an overprotective, overbearing, obsessive idiot—but he's my idiot. And Kaia's.

I pull up at her school and wait by the gate. She's chatting animatedly with Lilly, her curls bouncing as she laughs. And then she spots me.

"Papa!"

She breaks into a sprint, throwing herself into my arms, and I catch her easily. "Hi baby. Good day?"

She nods, talking a mile a minute as I carry her to the car, open the door, and strap her in. I wave at Lilly as she runs to her moms, and then get in.

The drive starts with more stories—snack time, her drawing of our family, how her teacher liked her sparkly pencil. And then, casually, like she's commenting on the weather:

"Rocky said he's my super hero now because of Dada."

I grip the wheel a little tighter. "Oh?"

She nods, swinging her feet. "He said Dada came to check if he was a good boy and now he'll be extra good."

My jaw clenches, but I keep my voice soft. "Um, baby... how did you feel when your Dada, Grandpapa, and your uncles came to school today?"

She hums, thinking. "I was surprised! But it was funny too. Everyone was looking at us. And Uncle Win said Rocky can't hold my hand till I'm twenty!" She giggles.

I chuckle weakly, my heart aching. "And... did it make you uncomfortable?"

She tilts her head. "No... I liked that they came. It was silly. But I know they love me. Even if they were being extra extra."

That makes me smile despite myself. "Yeah, they were definitely being extra extra."

I don't have it in me to tell her. That I've put every single one of them on the bench. Papa. Pai. Win. Saifah. Her own father. She'll ask about them in a day or two, probably wonder why they're not hovering like usual, but until then—I'm protecting her.

Her joy. Her sanity. Her dignity. No five-year-old should have to process the egos of a mafia battalion disguised as her family.

After school, we get her usual ice cream. She picks rainbow sherbet today—Kaia logic: if it looks like unicorns, it must taste like magic. Midway through licking the cone, she asks, "Can we go to Dada's office?"

I smile softly. "Dada's working from home today."

That lights her up. "Yay!"

As soon as we pull into the estate, I unstrap her and she bolts, waving and yelling greetings at every maid and security guard she passes. She's a little storm of sunshine in a white uniform and sparkly shoes, and I know exactly where she's going—straight to her Dada.

God help him if he doesn't melt the second she lands in his lap.

"Kaia, no running."

She skids into a speed walk instantly. "Sorry, Papa."

I can't help the smile tugging at my lips. She's five and already knows how to negotiate terms with the law.

She reaches her Dada's office and—thank God—remembers her manners. Knocks first like we taught her, peeks in, and once she sees he's alone, throws the door open with a delighted, "Dada!"

Phi's out of his chair before she crosses the room. "Hi, tiger."

His voice is soft. The kind he saves for only two people in this world.

I step in behind her. He looks up, meets my eyes—two seconds, maybe—and I drop my gaze before the warmth there can do anything foolish to my temper.

Kaia's already cupping his face between her tiny palms like she's twice her age, eyes wide and serious as she declares, "Missed you, Dada."

He nods, brushing her curls from her forehead, and sits with her in his lap as she starts recounting her day. Loudly. With dramatic pauses. She's telling him how many people asked about him and her uncles—like it's a school field trip and not a full-blown intimidation campaign pulled off by grown men who should know better.

At least someone in this family finds the entire clusterfuck amusing.

Kaia kicks her legs in Phi's lap as she recounts the story, animated and proud. "And then Jason and Timmy were being mean to me and Lilly again, but Rocky told them to stop! He said if they don't leave us alone, he'll tell the teacher—and he stood in front of me like this—" She throws her arms out wide like a tiny shield.

Phi's jaw clenches the second Rocky's name leaves her mouth. I see it, the twitch, the reflex. But it eases slightly—reluctantly—when she gets to the part about him stepping in. Still, I catch the subtle tick in his temple. Progress, maybe.

I don't comment on it. We're on thin ice already.

Instead, I clear my throat and glance at Kaia. "Alright, superhero. What do you want for dinner?"

She gasps like I just offered her the world. "Noodles. But not the spicy one. The pink one. With cheese. And the sausages Papa cuts like octopuses!"

I nod. "Done. But you're helping me make it."

"Okay!" she beams, then hugs Phi tighter, whispering, "But I'm sitting with Dada to eat."

Naturally.

"Come on baby, you need to change out of your school clothes, you can come sit with your dada after."She frowns, her little fingers gripping onto Phi's collar like a lifeline.

"Kaia, what did we say about being clean?" I ask, gentler this time.But she only clings tighter, burying her face into his neck. "Later, Papa. Pleaseeee," she whines.

"Kaia," I warn, more firmly now. "Up. Now."Her eyes well instantly. She doesn't scream or throw a fit—she just looks heartbroken, tears hanging heavy in her lashes.

She can be dramatic, sure. She can be a brat when she wants to. But I know this is less about clothes and more about not wanting to let go of him.

I exhale and look at Phi. He strokes her cheek, his voice quiet but sure."Tiger... you remember our rule, don't you? No dirty uniforms in the office. You promised Papa."

Her face crumples a bit more, and he kisses her temple."You can come back after. I'll still be here, waiting for you."

Her lower lip trembles, but his tone gets through where mine didn't. She sniffles, eyes wide and watery, and nods slowly.

"You promise?" she says in a whisper.

He nods, pinky out. "Promise. Cross my heart."

She hesitates, then lets go slowly, sliding off his lap with the kind of sigh that belongs in a tragic opera. I hold out my hand and she takes it with the solemnity of a soldier reporting for duty.

"Later, Dada. I'll be back soon, okay?" she calls over her shoulder.

He chuckles, easy and warm. "Okay baby, I'll be right here."

I don't look back. I know that tone—he's smug. He always gets to be the soft one, the safe landing, the one she runs to with messy hands and secrets.

Good cop, bad cop. Always been our thing.

Which makes it all the more ironic that he was the one who marched into her school like a lunatic on a mission. If anyone should've overreacted about Rocky, it should've been me. But I didn't. Because someone has to keep their head in this family.

Kaia's still sniffling a little when we reach her room, her hand gripping mine. But the moment I mention she gets to pick her own pajamas and maybe—even just maybe—wear her sparkly unicorn socks, she perks up like nothing happened. Five-year-olds are fickle like that.

She tries to rush through everything—throws her shoes in the corner, strips her clothes halfway on the rug, hops toward the bathroom like she's auditioning for a cartoon—just so she can get back to him. And I chuckle, following behind her with practiced patience, already gathering her uniform and muttering under my breath.

"Should've let her stay filthy," I grumble. "Might've bought me a few more minutes alone with her."

She's already brushing her teeth in double-time, foam flying. I hand her a towel, and she snatches it like time's running out. My daughter. Dada's girl. Through and through.

"Want a bath or a shower?"

"Shower, Papa—it's faster!" she blurts without missing a beat.

I snort under my breath. Of course it is.

Still, I scrub her down like she's been rolling in dirt all day, no matter how fast she wants it. My daughter's always clean and well-kept—I make sure of that. But I don't trust other kids.

Their grubby little hands, their bad habits, their runny noses. I rinse the suds from her hair while she chatters, probably already mentally halfway back in her dada's arms. I wrap her in a warm towel, kiss her temple. "Hold still, baby." She wiggles anyway.

Phayu's POV

Rain didn't look at me when he walked out with her.

Didn't give me a glance. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

It should piss me off, but all I felt was that sick, hollow ache. The one that only surfaces when he shuts me out. It's not rage—it's worse. And I hate how I crave even his anger over this cold shoulder.

But Kaia—my daughter, our daughter—she wanted me today. She clung to me, smiled for me. That counts for something, doesn't it?

And Rocky? The little brat wasn't even being a problem. Almost made me rethink my stance... almost.

So if there's any shot of Rain looking at me again—really looking, soft and exasperated and full of that complicated love he holds in spades—it's going to be through Kaia.

Sue me. I'm a bastard for using my daughter to get to my husband.

But I'm his bastard. And I'm not above fighting dirty to be let back in.

It doesn't take long before Kaia comes bounding in—fresh from her shower, dressed in her soft cotton house clothes, hair pulled into a neat ponytail that makes her look impossibly more grown than five.

"Dada!"

"Hi, baby. All clean now?" I hold out my arms and she climbs right in, nodding with the biggest grin.

I kiss the top of her head. "Wanna help me with work?"

She nods again, enthusiastic as ever, and I slide my chair back just enough to reach into the drawer and pull out a stack of blank drafting paper and her colored pencils—her own personal stash I keep in here for moments just like this.

"Draw me a house, a big one. With a garden and space for all your friends to sleep over."

"Even Rocky?" she asks absentmindedly, already grabbing purple.

I grit my teeth. "If the structural integrity allows."

She giggles and gets to work, humming as she sketches, a little tongue poking out in concentration. The room quiets into something soft and safe.

And then, after a while, I ask casually, "Tiger, where's papa?"

She doesn't even look up. "In the kitchen with P'Cherry," she says, shrugging.

I nod and glance toward the door, lips twitching.

Of course he is. Where else would Rain be—calmly plotting my emotional waterboarding with the housekeeper, probably.

So I say carefully, "Um... baby, Papa's mad at me."

That stops her mid-stroke, purple pencil hovering in the air. She turns in my lap, brows furrowed, eyes wide.

"Papa's mad? Why?" Her voice is small, laced with the kind of confusion that cuts deep.

I exhale slowly, run my palm down her back. How do I begin to explain that I messed up? That I stormed into her school like a territorial lunatic and intimidated her little friend—one I refuse to label as anything more than that.

"Well..." I clear my throat, looking anywhere but at her for a second. "Because Dada made a choice Papa didn't like."

She squints. "A bad choice?"

"...Yeah. A bit bad."

She gasps. "Did you say sorry?"

I almost smile at that—almost. "Not yet. But I will. Soon."

She nods with all the seriousness of a tiny empress. "You should. Papa doesn't stay mad forever, but you have to say sorry from your heart. And maybe bring flowers. Or juice. Or both."

I stare at her for a beat, then kiss her cheek.

"Smart girl."

She grins.

And suddenly, I really, really want to get out of this doghouse.

Kaia falls asleep on my chest not long after she finishes her latest drawing. Her little breaths even out, warm against my collarbone, and I sit still for a few moments, just holding her—trying not to think about how badly I've messed up this time.

Eventually, I get up carefully and settle her on the couch, tucking her in with she and Rain's soft blanket . I press a kiss to her forehead just as Rain walks in.

He sees her first, of course. Always does. His gaze softens for a fraction of a second, then shutters again when it slides to me.

"I can take her upstairs," he says, voice even, eyes still fixed on Kaia. "In case you get a call or a meeting."

I shake my head. "None for the rest of the day."

He nods, distant. "What do you want for dinner?"

I step toward him, cautious. "Baby... are you gonna look at me?"

His jaw tightens, a breath hitches. But his eyes stay glued to a spot just past my shoulder. "No need to. What do you want for dinner?"

I reach out, palm warm on his cheek. "You want to cook for me, but you won't even look at my face?"

He lets out a short scoff. "You're still my husband. Unfortunately" he adds that last part as a dig.

"I'm sorry, baby," I say softly. "You already yelled at me."

That does it. His eyes snap to mine, blazing.

"I banned all her uncles and her grandpa for two weeks. What makes you think all you get is yelling?"

I wince, not even trying to defend myself. "Because I'm your husband?"

He gives me a look that could gut a man. "You're gonna eat whatever I give you," he mutters, turning on his heel and walking out.

Fair. Honestly, I'm lucky it's food and not arsenic.

Rain's POV

I storm back into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge with more force than necessary. I'm half-tempted to just toss him a box of cereal and call it a night—God knows he deserves it. But like I said... he's still my husband. Unfortunately.

I start pulling out ingredients for dinner, slamming them down on the counter one by one. Garlic. Chicken thighs. Greens. Rice. I don't even know what I'm making yet but I need the motion, the distraction.

P'Cherry's watching me from the far end of the kitchen, silent, sipping her tea. It's the silence that sets me off.

I turn to her, irritated. "Why are men so fucking dense, P'Cherry?"

She shrugs, not even blinking. "You're one. You should know."

I glare at her. She sips again, entirely unfazed.

God, I hate it when she's right.

Phayu's POV

Dinner is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that has weight, like static before a storm. Like last night when Rain found out about the party—but worse, because now it's laced with his silence, his pointed refusal to look at me unless it's for Kaia's sake.

Kaia's the only one filling the air, slurping her noodles, giggling between bites while Rain patiently wipes her mouth and refills her juice. We talk to Kaia. Not to each other. We orbit her like nothing's wrong—like this isn't punishment in real time.

"Dada," she says sweetly, eyes darting to Rain. "I think Papa wants more wine."

I clear my throat and nod. "Of course." I reach for the bottle and pour a modest splash into Rain's glass. He mutters, "Thank you," tight as wire, and I resist the urge to say anything that'll make it worse.

Kaia giggles again. "Oh! Dada spilled his sauce—silly Dada." I blink, glance down. A small smear of red on my lower lip. I reach for a napkin and dab at it.

Then she grins wide, tilting her head. "You missed, Papa! You gonna help him clean it?"

Rain freezes with his wineglass halfway to his lips. His eyes flick to me—briefly. Then he sets the glass down, lips twitching like he's deciding whether to laugh or strangle me. Kaia waits expectantly, eyes bright.

Silence.

And then Rain exhales, slow, and says flatly, "Silly Dada should use a mirror."

Right. Fair. Still—ouch.

After dinner, the maids come to clear the table while Rain takes Kaia upstairs to get her into pajamas. I stay behind, setting up the living room, dimming the lights, queueing up the movie she picked earlier—something animated and bright. Despite everything, I'm looking forward to it. These are the moments I live for.

A few minutes pass, and then I hear the familiar sound of Kaia's feet padding down the stairs, followed by Rain's softer steps. She bounds into the living room first, climbs up on the couch and declares, "Movie time! Dada, Papa, sit here!"

I don't hesitate. I go to her, sit where she pointed, and pull her gently into my lap. Rain, predictably, hesitates. He eyes the space beside me, then the space further down the couch. And of course, he chooses the one that puts distance between us.

Until Kaia turns, whining, "Papa, closer!"

Rain sighs, just enough to let me know he's still annoyed, but he shifts closer. I take my chance. I reach behind Kaia and gently draw him in, fingers curling at his waist. He stiffens. Glares.

I raise an eyebrow, then look down at our daughter nestled between us. He knows better. He won't make a scene, not with her watching.

I'm counting on it.

Kaia's already absorbed in the screen, settling into the pillows, one arm wrapped around my wrist like a tether. I don't say anything, just rest my hand behind Rain, leaving it there. A silent dare. He can be mad, punish me all he wants later—but not here. Not now. Not when we're like this.

I'll use every second I have until bedtime.

Predictably, Kaia knocks out thirty minutes into the movie, her soft breaths warming my chest as she curls tighter in my lap. I shift a little, trying to nudge her upright—just enough to maybe rouse her.

Rain's hand slaps mine away. Sharp. Precise.

"I cannot believe you're trying to wake your daughter just because you're using her to get to me," he hisses, eyes blazing.

I blink at him. If he thinks I'm going to deny it, he's delusional.

I am obsessed with my husband and will use every tactical advantage, including our daughter's very warm, very clingy body draped over mine. I shrug.

He stares at me like he's about to launch a shoe at my head. "Unbelievable," he mutters, gathering Kaia up into his arms, her little head resting on his shoulder immediately.

I move to stand, but he snaps, "You can come after I put her to bed."

I hold up my hands and sink back into the couch. Message received.

But as he walks away, Kaia stirs, her lashes fluttering against his neck as she mumbles softly, "...Dada?"

He freezes mid-step, turns slowly with our daughter curled against his chest, and levels me with a look of absolute betrayal.

I bite back my grin.

His mouth twitches. "Of course," he mutters, barely audible, but he doesn't stop me when I rise to follow. Doesn't stop Kaia's hand from reaching out over his shoulder. Doesn't stop the smug satisfaction I wear like second skin as I walk behind him into her room.

She's already halfway back asleep when he lays her down, but her tiny hand finds mine, and I kneel, brushing her hair back.

"Sleep well, tiger," I whisper.

Rain tucks her in with all the care in the world. Doesn't look at me once. Walks right past me like I'm air.

But he doesn't tell me to leave.

So I don't.

Rain's POV

I hate him.God, I love him, but I hate him.

I need to ask Dad if he ever wanted to throttle Papa this badly. Not just annoyed—murderous. Did he ever pace the floor trying not to launch a shoe or a knife? I'd believe it. But how bad did it get? Because this—this is blistering.

It was easy to ban Papa and Kaia's uncles. They don't live here. They're not in my bed. They don't breathe down my neck and make my body betray me with one look.

Phi, though? Phi lives in my skin. We live inside each other's ribs. There's no separating us. We're knotted by history, child, blood, sex, and a love so sharp it could slice through bone.

And the worst part? He knows.He knows I can't stay away from him. He knows how this ends.

Just like the devil himself, he appears in the doorway of the closet as I'm counting backwards from ten to stop myself from grabbing a weapon. Wouldn't be the first time I threw something or shot at him.

He leans against the doorframe, like he's some kind of fucking tragic hero. "How can I make this better, Rain?"

I don't answer.I don't look at him.

I start unbuttoning my shirt with short, clipped motions. I want a scalding shower, a clean bed, and peace. Things I deserve. Things he doesn't get to taint.

He doesn't move. He just watches. Waiting.

Of course he is.Because he knows. He knows I'll forgive him. The question is when, and on whose terms. Not today.

I get naked, slow and unceremonious—not for seduction, not for him. But I hear it anyway. The sharp pull of his breath.The silence that follows as his eyes track every inch of my skin.

He doesn't move.Doesn't follow me into the shower.And that... that restraint? That's how I know he's sorry.He wants to. God, he wants to. But he doesn't. He gives me space.

The water scalds. I want it to. I want it to peel off the frustration, the anger, the ache of being married to someone I can't live with or without.

When I'm done, I towel off. I take my time. Skincare, light serum, lip balm. All routine. All painfully normal in the most abnormal house, with the most insane husband, after the most ridiculous day.

But he's still there.Standing like a statue just outside the threshold, eyes glued to me like I might disappear if he blinked.He's always been like that. Watching me like I'm a dream he can't believe stayed.And tonight, I won't reward him for it.

I slide into one of his shirts—too big, still warm from yesterday, still smells like him. Of course it does.I don't fight it. I need comfort too.But when I climb into bed, I don't let him have an inch.

I turn my back on his side.No goodnight. No glance.

Let him feel it.Let him know what it costs to cross me.

Phayu's POV

Marriage is hard.Not in the textbook way—money, cheating, miscommunication—no. With Rain, the logistics are easy. We're synced like clockwork. We run a household, a corporation, a criminal syndicate, and a family like it's second nature.

But the hard part is this. When he's mad. When he doesn't look at me. Doesn't talk to me. When his silence is precise and practiced—calculated to gut me.

I watch him turn his back in bed like he's drawing a line in the sand. I don't cross it. Not tonight.

I go into the closet. Go through my nightly routine like it matters. Like a shower and brushing my teeth will reset the damage.When I'm done, I stand there for a beat, looking at our bed.He doesn't shift.Doesn't glance.

So I walk out.Go to Kaia's room. She's bundled into a tangle of blankets and dreams, breathing deep.I crouch beside her, whisper our usual words—soft, low promises she won't remember but I always keep—and kiss her forehead.

Then I head to my office.The door clicks shut. The silence is heavy. And not two minutes later, my phone buzzes.

Saifah.I pick up. "I'm in."Not long after, he and Win come through the door like they're entering a funeral.

They take one look at me—sleepless, rumpled, mood dark enough to swallow light—and Saifah mutters, "Damn, you're going through worse than we are."

I don't even deny it.Because I am.

Rain banned them. Gave them a timeout.Me? He cut me off.

And I'd take a bullet over his silence any day.

"You guys don't get Kaia, I don't get Rain," I mutter, staring into the amber swirl in my glass.

They don't understand how loud that is in my head.I've had hits ordered on me, stabbed, shot, nearly bled out in alleys, but this?This quiet punishment from the man I love? It scrapes bone.

I down the rest of my whiskey.

Win and Saifah curse under their breath, slumping into the chairs like they just got sentenced. Win goes straight for the whiskey, pours three fingers for each of us. He hands me a glass, and I take a long sip, letting the burn settle where guilt already sits.

"How the fuck are we supposed to stay away from Kaia for two weeks?" Win hisses. "The only time we don't see her is if we've got a job in another country. Besides—we train her. How's that supposed to work?"

I scoff into my glass. "Rain will probably take over her training himself. He's petty like that."

They both groan—loud, pained.It's not dramatics. They're genuinely suffering.

I glance at them. They're not posturing. Not trying to worm their way back in or shift blame. They look like men who've lost something precious. Because they have.

And I know—deep in my chest—that if we rewound time and offered them the same choice again, they'd do it all over.

Still march into that school. Still stand beside me.Still do the most irrational, overbearing, uncle-coded shit for the girl who owns their entire soul.

And maybe that's why, even in this wreckage, I'm grateful.

Grateful for men who'd die for my daughter.Even if it means they have to live without her for now.

We drink more, wallowing like old men too tired to change and too proud to admit we're already fucked. It's quiet now—Win has gone still, his glass half-full, Saifah tapping his foot like he's counting the days until he's allowed back into Kaia's sunlight. I check the time and sigh—it's late.

I stand, nod at them. "Don't wait up."

"Didn't plan to," Win mutters. But I see it—his shoulders drop just slightly, like my leaving means they've lost their buffer against reality.

I head upstairs. First stop: Kaia's room.

She's bundled up, one leg kicked out from under her blanket like always. I fix it gently, brush her hair from her face, and kiss her cheek. My heart swells and aches all at once. She's the light of this entire goddamn family. The reason we all orbit.

Then I walk down the hall to our room.

The light's off, but I know Rain well enough to know he's still awake. His presence fills the silence. I don't even need to see him—I can feel him, curled up on his side of the bed, stiff with resentment or just exhausted from being mad at me.

And maybe that's what hits the hardest.He didn't come downstairs to get me.Didn't throw open the door and demand I return to bed like he used to, like he always does.

He just... waited.

And somehow, that restraint cuts deeper than any fight we've ever had.

I slide in slow, cautious. The sheets are cool where he's not been curled. His back rises and falls steady, silent. And I can't take it—this distance. Not from him. Not after the week we've had.

So I inch closer, press my chest to his back, my forehead tucked into his nape. My arm drapes over his waist, pulling him in.

He stiffens.

But he doesn't pull away.

Doesn't push me off.

That alone feels like mercy.

I hold him tighter, burying my face against his skin. He still smells like lavender soap and warmth. Still feels like home, even when he's furious with me. Even when I deserve it.

I whisper into the silence, low, barely a breath:

"I'm sorry."

Still, no words from him. But he doesn't move. Doesn't tell me to go.

And I take that—for now—as something.

I whisper into his hair,again "I'm really sorry, baby. I miss you."

He doesn't say anything at first, just sighs and turns in my arms. His face settles against mine, eyes searching. I stroke his cheek, feel the tightness slowly ease from his jaw. His lids flutter for a second before he mutters, "You are so infuriating."

I nod, quietly. "I know, baby."

"You reek of whiskey."

"I can go brush my teeth if you want."

He rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching like he's trying not to smile. I know he doesn't really mind the whiskey. It's the cigars he hates—says they cling to my skin and hair like regret.

And I lean in, softer now. "You haven't kissed me all morning."

His eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. "You think you deserve one?"

"No," I admit. "But I need one."

His eyes flick back to mine, heavy-lidded and unreadable. "I wanted to strangle you all morning."

I nod. "Fair."

He exhales, long and tired, then drags a hand up to the back of my neck, fingers slipping into my hair. "You don't make it easy."

"I know."

"You weaponised our daughter."

"I absolutely did."

He glares, but there's no real venom in it anymore. Just worn-out frustration, love simmering underneath.

His fingers brush over my jaw, slow, absent. "I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

"You embarrassed her. You cornered a child. You lied to me."

"I know, Rain. I do."

Silence stretches between us. He studies me like he's searching for more than just guilt. Maybe regret. Maybe understanding. Maybe the part of me that knows better but does worse anyway.

"I hate that I can't stay mad at you," he mutters, voice frayed at the edges, and it cracks something open in my chest.

"I hate that I keep giving you reasons to be."

He stares at me for a beat too long. Then, without a word, he hooks his hand around the back of my neck and kisses me. Familiar. Like he's remembering the taste of something he refuses to give up, no matter how much I drive him insane.

When we pull apart, he says, "You're still on thin ice."

"I'll take what I can get."

"Mm." He turns, tugging the blanket higher over us both. "You can start making it up to me tomorrow. And don't even think of using Kaia again to weasel your way in."

I smile into the pillow. "I wasn't going to."

"You were absolutely going to."

"Okay, yeah. But not anymore."

"Good." He slides his hand under my shirt, palm flat on my chest. "Now shut up and Brush your teeth."

I grin, forehead pressed to his. "Yes, sir."

I quickly slip out of bed and head to the bathroom, rinse thoroughly, brush with the same mint toothpaste he likes, and scrub until the faintest trace of whiskey is gone.

When I return, he's still in the same position, arms folded, back curved toward my side of the bed, pretending like he doesn't care I left. I slide in behind him, pressing a kiss to the top of his shoulder before whispering, "Wanna kiss me to see if it's all better?"

He snorts without turning, rolls his eyes just enough for me to catch it, and then finally twists around, muttering, "All better."

But the moment his lips meet mine, I groan—low and relieved—because it feels like coming home. I chase his mouth, hungry and shameless, my hands already gripping his waist, pulling him flush against me.

He moans softly into my mouth, fingers threading through my hair like they've missed being there, like they never want to let go again.

But then he breaks the kiss, breath ragged, eyes narrowed with warning. "You're still not forgiven," he growls. "Go to bed before I make you take the couch."

I blink, lips swollen, heart pounding, and even though I know he means it—knows I'd never actually leave—I sigh dramatically and roll over, throwing one arm behind my head. "Fine. But I'm dreaming of making it up to you."

"Keep dreaming," he mutters, pulling the blanket up to his chin like the drama queen he is. But a beat later, his foot nudges mine under the sheets. Just once. Then again. And then stays there. Holding me. Like always.

I shift slightly to make room as he turns again, face thunderous even in the dim light. "Can I at least hold you?"I ask, voice careful, already bracing for rejection.

"No," he snaps.

I groan under my breath. "Baby, you don't sleep well unless I do. You can wake up tomorrow and punish me all over again, but if you don't sleep well, you're going to be cranky, and you know how me and Kaia feel about cranky Papa—"

He whips around with a sharp glare that shuts me up instantly. I lift both hands like I'm surrendering to armed forces, and he exhales tightly before turning back around, spine rigid with irritation.

I lie there in silence, staring at the ceiling, thinking about every decision that led me to this moment: the school stunt, the mafia-style intimidation, dragging half the city's most dangerous men to interrogate a five-year-old. Brilliant.

Five minutes of him tossing and turning, huffing, shifting, then still again—and then finally, finally, I feel his weight shift toward me. He slings an arm over my chest, burrows his head into the crook of my neck, and exhales with an almost reluctant softness.

"Just to sleep," he warns, voice low and sharp against my skin. "If you try anything, I'll stab you."

I bite back a smile and wrap my arms around him, pulling him close. "Noted," I whisper, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Just sleep."

He doesn't answer. But he doesn't move away either.

Rain's POVThe night went... as normal as it can, when you share a bed with a six-foot heat-seeking menace you love but don't particularly like at the moment. He held me all night like nothing happened, like he hadn't dragged an entire mafia ensemble to a kindergarten crush's front door.

And now, I'm in the kitchen, nursing black coffee while Kaia swings her legs at the counter, halfway through her breakfast.

She hums something tuneless, sticky fingers around her toast, while I prep her lunchbox and triple-check her reading log.

Then I hear him. The heavy thump of footsteps, the soft hiss of the sliding door, and when I glance up, there he is—P'Phayu. Fresh from the gym, bare chest glistening, towel over his shoulder, gym shorts hanging criminally low on his hips. And not one ounce of remorse on that stupidly handsome face.

I look down. Immediately. I will not be distracted.

Too late.

Kaia screeches, delighted, "Dada!"

And just like that, she launches off her seat and barrels toward him, arms outstretched, uncaring that he's sweaty and shirtless. He crouches easily to scoop her up, chuckling, like the image of a mafia warlord turned golden retriever.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. He always gets to be the fun parent. The sweaty, irresponsible, recklessly charming fun parent.

He presses a kiss to her cheek and she giggles, clinging to his neck. I clear my throat and return to zipping her lunch bag, pointedly not looking at him.

He doesn't speak to me. Good.

I don't speak to him. Even better.

But when I glance up again, just a flicker, he's already looking at me.

Still not forgiven.

Then I say, "You need to drop her, she can't go to school reeking of your sweat."

Kaia clings tighter, giggling. "Dada, you're sweaty!"

PhI just chuckles, kisses her cheek, and sets her gently in her chair like she hadn't just been using him as a jungle gym. Then, because he's incapable of leaving well enough alone, he walks to my side of the kitchen counter, bare chest still glistening, eyes warm.

"Good morning, beautiful" he says, soft and smug, and leans in to kiss me.

I dodge him.

Kaia gasps—loudly. "Papa! Are you still mad at Dada?"

I glance at her, then at him. He's already looking at me like he's scored a checkmate. He knows how I feel about letting her see even a crack in the foundation between us. I told him last night—stop using her against me.

And yet, here we are.

Phi grins like the smug bastard he is, Kaia is blinking her big eyes, and I grit my teeth because now I look like the villain in my own kitchen. I should've let him suffer in silence for at least another twenty-four hours, but no—our daughter had to be watching.

So I do the only thing I can do to keep the peace. I lean in and press a quick kiss to his lips, murmuring, "Morning."

It's barely a brush, but it's enough for Kaia, who lights up, swinging her feet and humming in contentment.

Phayu, however, grins like he just got forgiven for everything. Bastard.

I shoot him a warning glance. He just stretches, muscles flexing under the sheen of sweat, and walks over like he owns the fucking house.

He leans down again, closer this time, and whispers so only I can hear, "Told you she's my secret weapon."

I elbow him in the ribs, hard enough to make him grunt, and turn back to Kaia. "Finish your eggs, baby. Your dada needs to go take a proper shower before I douse him myself."

Phi laughs and backs away, victorious, and Kaia just beams like the peacekeeper she thinks she is.

Kaia claps her hands. "Now Dada go bathe! You stink."

I nod. "Go. I'm not sending her to school smelling like testosterone and gym mats."

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Yes, sir." And then, the audacity—he winks at me before heading upstairs.

Kaia kicks her feet under the table. "Papa, are you still a little mad?"

I exhale slowly, wiping toast crumbs from her cheek. "A little."

She grins. "He'll say sorry again."

I smirk faintly, eyes on the stairs. "He'd better."

I'm cleaning Kaia's mouth with a warm cloth, wiping off the remnants of egg yolk from the corner of her lips when she suddenly asks, "Papa, where's Uncle Win and Fah Fah?"

My hand stills.

I swallow. "Um... they're busy with work, baby. Just for a few days."

Her face falls.

Fuck.

I hadn't thought this part through. I was angry—furious—and I didn't consider her. Didn't think about how much they mean to her.

She'll go to school, distracted by play and her friends, maybe forget. But the moment she comes back home and doesn't find Win sneaking her snacks or Saifah lifting her up to touch the ceiling, it's going to hit her again.

She has me. She has her Dada. But her circle's been smaller for years, built on people who orbit her like planets.

Now I've cut her off from half her sky.

And soon enough, she's going to remember Pai and Papa too.