Chapter 17

I leave Kaia with P'Cherry downstairs and head up to grab a new shirt and my sunglasses. I'm halfway to the closet when the bathroom door swings open and Phi steps out, steam trailing behind him. He's got a towel in his hand, rubbing it through his hair—nothing else on him.

Of course he smirks when he sees me.

I ignore him. Or try to.

I step into the closet, grabbing the sunglasses first, then a fresh shirt. I take my time buttoning it, smoothing the fabric. I know he's there before I feel him—close, but not touching. His heat. His presence. He's always been the kind of man who fills space just by existing in it.

He leans in, voice low behind my ear. "Seven years and you still get more beautiful."

I swallow but don't answer. I tuck in the shirt, fluff my hair a little, and turn—only to come face to face with his chest. His abs. His cock. All of him, shameless and infuriating.

"Move," I say tightly.

He tilts his head, grin lazy. "You can walk around me, baby."

I look up at him, unimpressed. "Phi, I have to take your daughter to school."

He doesn't budge. Of course he doesn't.

This is a game to him. But my patience has limits.

He Just stands there, heat radiating off his damp skin, towel slung low and cock unapologetically half-hard between us. His eyes drag slowly over my face, like he's memorizing me all over again.

"You sure you want me to move?" he murmurs, voice dark and intimate. "Because the last time I looked like this in front of you, you were on your knees."

My jaw clenches.

"Phi."

His smirk grows. "Rain."

I exhale, before stepping around him. Our shoulders brush. His skin is hot, the scent of his soap still clinging to the air. My heart does a traitorous skip. I ignore it, grab my phone, and walk out—fast.

"I'm taking your daughter to school," I throw over my shoulder. "Keep your dick to yourself."

Behind me, he laughs, low and satisfied. "Tell her I'll be down soon."

I don't reply.

...

I'm strapping Kaia in when I spot them—Win and Saifah, hovering just past the edge of the driveway like oversized puppies. They're pretending to be casual, but I know exactly what they're doing. They want her to see them. And of course she does.

"Uncle Win! Fah Fah!" she squeals, trying to wriggle out of the harness.

They wave, guilty smiles plastered on their faces. "Kai bear," Win says, like they didn't both get put on a very clear, very strict ban. I shoot them a look sharp enough to cut steel.

"Fine," I snap.

They light up like idiots and jog over, taking turns ruffling her hair, kissing her hands like she's royalty. Kaia beams. I don't have the heart to ruin it. Not today.

But I still shoo them off. "Enough. Time to go."

Just as I'm circling to the driver's side, Phi appears on the front steps in joggers and a tank, looking like the kind of man who should be banned on principle. "I haven't said bye to her," he calls.

Unbelievable.

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts, slide into the driver's seat, and close the door. He opens the back again, leans in to kiss her forehead and whisper something that makes her giggle.

By the time he makes it around to my side, I've already started the engine. I wind the window up in his face and drive out without sparing him a glance.

Fuck him.Fuck all of them.

Phayu's POV

I'm still grinning like an idiot, arms folded, watching the taillights of our car disappear down the drive. He didn't even glance at me. Slammed the window up like he was sealing a tomb. That dramatic little shit.

Saifah sidles up beside me, scratching his head. "Damn. He's strict as fuck."

Win whistles low. "We thought we were in trouble. You? You're in exile."

I snort, not the least bit ashamed. "He'll calm down."

Win raises an eyebrow. "Before or after he poisons your dinner?"

Saifah claps a hand on my shoulder. "You really used Kaia to get to him yesterday?"

"Worked, didn't it?" I smirk.

They groan in unison, muttering something about me being suicidal.

But I don't care. He kissed me this morning. Brief. Irritated. But he did. Which means I'm wearing him down. Slowly. Strategically.

He'll come around.He always does.Eventually.

Rain's POV

We're halfway to school, traffic light enough that my thoughts drift—right back to Phi, like always. I miss him. And this punishment? It's not one-sided. He's suffering, sure, but I feel it too. I'm stubborn, but I'm not heartless.

"Papaaaa."

Kaia's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Sorry, baby—what did you say?"

She huffs, swinging her legs in the car seat. "I asked if tigers can live in cities."

I smile faintly. "Only special ones like you."

She giggles, but then her tone shifts, a little more thoughtful. "Papa?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You know sometimes when I don't listen and you get mad?"

My chest tightens. "Yes, baby."

"And I say I'm sorry, and I promise not to do it again, and you kiss me and tell me you love me?"

I already know where this is going. The phrasing, the delivery—it's got Phi's scheming fingerprints all over it. I grip the wheel tighter and glance at her through the mirror.

"Yes, baby," I answer softly.

She nods, satisfied. And I brace myself.

"And you say that's okay, Kaia—we make mistakes, or sometimes our feelings are too big and we can't hold it? And you always teach me to forgive?"

My grip on the wheel tightens. I don't answer right away, too busy trying not to curse in front of my daughter.

My jaw ticks. My eyes stay on the road.

Goddamn it, Phi.

"Yes, baby," I manage, tone even. "I do say that."

She hums, pleased with herself. "So maybe you can say that to Dada too?"

Checkmate.

I don't answer immediately. My throat tightens fragile, irritated and fond and wrecked all at once. She sounds so earnest. So rehearsed. Like she's been told to remember every word. And yet—I can hear her heart in it too.

Of course. Of course she'd say that. And of course he used our daughter to parrot my own damn words back to me like a miniature grief counselor with pigtails and a glitter backpack.

"Did your Dada tell you to say that?" I ask dryly.

A pause. Then, earnestly, "He misses you, Papa. And he's sorry. So maybe I can help."

I sigh again, this time less annoyed, more resigned. My daughter is five. Her father is decades older going on five. And I'm just here, the exhausted referee of this ridiculous little family.

I breathe out slow, dragging my irritation down into my lungs and locking it there with the rest of the madness this man causes me.

"People who are sorry usually don't use their kid as a hostage negotiator."

She giggles, completely unbothered. "But I'm really good at it!"

Yeah. That's the problem.

I glance at her in the mirror again. Her big eyes watching me, expectant, loving.

"Okay, baby," I murmur. "We'll talk about it."

She beams.

Goddamn it, Phi.

Phayu's POVI'm in my office, pacing behind my desk. Working from home feels less like a decision and more like an exile. I check the time—Rain should be back from school drop-off by now. I tap into security feed. Car's in. Ten minutes ago. Shit. Maybe Kaia forgot what she was supposed to say?

Then the door opens.

He walks in, composed in white, eyes unreadable. "Send me the updated route plans for the new product." No greeting. No glance.

I blink. "Okay."

He turns, already halfway back out.

"Wait, Rain," I say quickly.

He stops, pivots slowly. "What, Phi?"

His tone's flat but not cold—worse, it's detached. I step around my desk. "Baby, how long are you going to do this for? You've made your point."

He smiles, precise and humorless. "Papa and her uncles are banned for two weeks. What makes you think you get a pass on day two?"

I exhale, throat tight.God, I miss him. But I walked myself into this one.And he's going to make sure I walk every inch of the way back.

Papa's POV

I'm parked outside Kaia's school, engine off, sunglasses on. Rain may have banned me, but he knows damn well that asking me to go two weeks without seeing my granddaughter is a suicide mission. Good thing her security detail knows me—they've learned not to ask questions when I show up anywhere unannounced.

I've already called ahead. Her teacher's walking her out to me shortly for a "quick hello." That's what I told them. It's not a lie. It's just strategic phrasing.

Then another black luxury car pulls up beside mine. Tinted windows. I tense, sinking a little lower in my seat. If it's Rain or, God forbid, Sky—I'm in for it.

But then the window rolls down and—

"Is that...?"

I lower my own sunshade and peer over.

It's Pai.

He's halfway through adjusting his collar, looking just as guilty. I burst out laughing, knock on his glass. He lowers it and we stare at each other for a beat before I say—

"You sneaky shit."

He grins, eyes wide, clearly as caught red-handed as I am. "I could say the same to you."

I sit up fully, sunglasses off. "What, your baker left you off your leash today?"

He shrugs. "Sky thinks I'm at a supplier's meeting."

I snort. "Rain thinks I'm dead to him. So I figured, might as well haunt the only person in this city who still likes me."

Pai chuckles, tapping his wheel. "You think she'll tell?"

I shrug. "She's five. She might. But she loves us. Maybe we bribe her with cookies."

We share a complicit look.

Kaia's teacher steps out, holding her hand as she skips along toward us. She spots us both and lights up instantly. "Grandpapa! Uncle Pai!"

Pai mutters, "We're so screwed."

I grin. "Worth it."

I crouch low and wrap her up in my arms the second she reaches me. "Urgh, I missed you, princess. Been counting the hours." I squeeze her tight, kiss her hair, and she giggles against my chest. Pai crouches beside us, planting a kiss to her head. "Hi monkey."

She immediately launches into one of her famous tirades, not even stopping to breathe between sentences. "Papa is mad at Dada and he didn't even kiss him at breakfast and when Dada got sauce on his face Papa didn't even clean it, I had to tell him to clean it and Papa only gave him more wine instead of kissing him and Papa says he's still mad and Dada said he misses Papa—"

Pai looks at me, half-concerned, half-amused. I raise a brow.

"And when i was going to school Papa did not even Kiss Dada one time Grandpapa"

I blink. Pai coughs.

"...Sounds like true love," I mutter, smoothing her curls.

She nods seriously. "Papa's very dramatic."

We both burst out laughing. "Where'd you even learn that word?"

She shrugs. "Papa says it all the time."

I usually come with gifts, but I know if I did today, she would take it home and Rain will know I was here.

I hold her a little longer, savoring her warmth, her tiny hands clutching the lapels of my jacket. "I'll see you sometime again, okay?" I whisper against her temple, brushing a kiss there like it'll shield her from the madness of the world—including the wrath of her papa.

"Love you, Papa. Love you, Uncle Pai!" she says with that unfiltered affection that cuts straight through the ribs. Pai's eyes go soft, but I know he's already thinking about how far he can stretch this without Sky catching wind.

The real problem isn't Kaia.

The trick to keeping something from Rain is knowing Kaia—never tell her it's a secret. If it's not a secret, it won't feel like one, and if it doesn't feel like one, she won't think to announce it. I've been coming here since she was in diapers. No one will bat an eye.

Pai though? He's not as practiced. If Rain finds out, he's on his own. I'm too old to be covering for idiots in love.

Phayu's POV

The day drags much like the one before—quiet, cold in places it never used to be. Rain doesn't come to my office, doesn't even text. Lunch is delivered by the maids, and I don't miss the precision of the seasoning. He cooked. Still mad, but still feeding me. It guts me more than yelling would.

Later, he's picked up Kaia like always, breezes in with her laughter wrapped around his fingers. We eat. We speak. To Kaia. Not to each other.

Afterward, he goes upstairs, and I volunteer for Kaia's bedtime—partly because I miss her, partly because I miss being touched by someone who doesn't look at me like I've personally offended God.

She's in the bath, babbling as I wash her hair. Then pajamas, brushing her teeth, and finally, we're in her room. She's cuddled under her pink comforter, bunny beside her, and I sit at the edge of the bed, one of her favorite book sin hand—The Dragon Who Wanted to Be Small.

Before I even get past the title, she peeks up at me.

"Papa's still mad at Dada, right?"

I exhale, the book lowering slightly. Her eyes are wide, honest. Too sharp.

"Yeah," I admit. "He is."

"But... you said sorry."

"I did."

"And you brushed your teeth and didn't smoke again?"

I blink, caught. "How do you know about that?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Papa said your mouth smelled like monster feet."

I press my lips together to stop a laugh. "Well, I haven't smoked since."

"And you showered after exercise?"

"Yes, baby."

She seems satisfied for a second before pouting. "Then why is he still mad?"

I smooth my palm over her curls, my voice low. "Because sometimes when someone's really hurt, even if you say sorry, they need time to feel better."

Kaia hums, thinking it over. "But... you're trying?"

"Every day."

She yawns. "Don't stop, okay?"

"I won't."

Kaia looks thoughtful, then asks, "So what do we do while we wait?"

I kiss her forehead. "We keep being kind, we keep trying. And we don't give up."

She nods solemnly. "Okay. I'll help you, Dada."

My throat tightens. "Thanks, Tiger."

Another pause. Then, "Tell Papa you only made a mistake."

My throat gets tight. "I'll tell him."

She yawns wide, already drifting. "Tell Papa I miss our cuddles too..."

"I will," I whisper. "Sleep, my girl."

She's already half-asleep, bunny tucked to her cheek. I lean down and press a kiss to her temple.

"I love you, Tiger."

She mumbles it back, and I sit there for a while, in the dark, just listening to her breathe. Wondering when my husband will come back to me fully. Wondering if maybe—just maybe—he's waiting for me to earn it.

By the time I return to our bedroom, the hum of Rain's voice filters out from the closet—soft, melodic, casual in a way that tells me he knows I'm near and doesn't care.

I step inside, and there he is, in front of the mirror, combing his hair back, wrapped in his white silk robe, skin glowing like he's been carved from the moon.

He looks like sin wrapped in grace.

I move to stand behind him, eyes locking on him through the mirror. "Baby."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't blink. Just keeps brushing.

"Rain." My voice sharpens, steel threaded through it now.

That gets him. His eyes meet mine in the mirror—cold, composed, but not unfeeling. Never unfeeling. I know him too well.

There's a beat of silence before I speak again, jaw tight. "There's a limit to how long I'll let you ice me out. I apologized. I stayed away. I gave you space. You need to meet me halfway."

He sets the brush down, slow and deliberate, still looking at me in the mirror. "Halfway would mean you understood why I'm mad."

"I do," I say firmly. "You think I overstepped."

"You did overstep," he snaps, finally turning to face me. "You humiliated our daughter."

"I protected her."

"You made a spectacle."

"She's five."

"And one day she'll remember."

That lands.

I exhale, hand dragging down my face. "I made a bad call. A stupid one. I let the part of me that only knows how to destroy things take the wheel. But Rain, I never—never—act without thinking of her first."

His voice drops. "Then think harder. She adores you. She watches everything. Don't let her grow up learning fear when she could've learned trust."

"She's five, Rain," I grit out. "And I do trust her. That was never the question, I don't trust what's around her. Anything outside this family, outside what we can control, is a risk—and I will treat it like one. I'm sorry you didn't like how I handled it, but I won't lie and say I'd do it differently. Except—maybe—I'd tell you first."

Rain stands sharply. His eyes flash. "Then why are you even asking why I'm mad? Is that what this was to you? Protection? Because it looked a hell of a lot like intimidation. To her teachers. To her classmates. To the damn child. You're justifying dragging a parade of mafia-trained men into a kindergarten? Into her space? Really Phi?"

"She didn't mind," I say. "She told me the kid's even more careful now. And yeah—it was a show. That was the point. People need to know who she belongs to."

"And what? That's supposed to make her feel safer?"

"It's supposed to make people think twice," I snap.

I feel my own control fray. "The boy's fine. She's fine. Hell, she said he's more polite now. That's the point. I sent a message."

He laughs bitterly, no humor in it. "You think you're teaching respect. You're teaching fear."

"Maybe I am, because If someone like Kora had seen what kind of family Kaia really has backing her, maybe she wouldn't have dared to take her in the first place."

He freezes. The weight of that name lands between us like a gunshot.

And I know, in the quiet that follows, this conversation isn't about school or crushes anymore. It's about the past. And the fear neither of us will ever shake.

And for a moment, I wish I'd kept that last part to myself. But it's the truth. My guilt. My rage. My fear. All of it lives under my skin now, and Rain—Rain's the only person in the world who sees it for what it really is.

Rain's expression softens just slightly, grief and fury tangled. "You don't get it, do you? Kaia doesn't need a fortress. She needs a father who makes her feel safe and seen. You keep shielding her from the world like this, and you'll teach her to fear it."

"She's going to remember that a boy she liked had to be warned off. That her affection came with consequences. You think she'll tell us next time?"

I rake a hand through my hair, frustration rising fast. "What the fuck are you even saying, Rain? I didn't touch the kid. I didn't put a gun in his face. I asked him why he liked our daughter and told him not to hurt her. That's it. You're acting like I committed some cardinal sin—what I did was show up. For our daughter."

His expression doesn't shift. It just chills. That's worse.

"You showed up like a warning," he says. "Like a fucking threat. Not a parent."

I clench my jaw. "She's five."

"She's learning," he snaps back. "And what you taught her when you showed up? It wasn't love. It was control. And if you think she didn't feel that? You're not watching her the way I am."

I exhale hard, my voice dropping. "And if something had happened to her again? If someone had looked at her wrong and I hadn't done anything? You'd still hate me for it."

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to. Because we both know that part's true.

"I will not apologize for looking out for my daughter, Rain." My voice is flat, resolute. "No matter how I do it—she's mine. And I will die before I let anything touch her. I don't care if it's a crush, a stranger, or someone we thought we knew. I showed up at her school with her godfathers. Big fucking deal."

I see Rain's jaw flex but I keep going.

"We're the mafia. You and I. That line you keep chasing—this fantasy of normalcy? That ship sailed long before Kaia was born. I'm not going to parade her around like some glass doll, but I will damn well make sure everyone knows who she belongs to. That she's not to be touched. Not to be toyed with."

I step closer, quieter now. "I won't interrupt her world. I won't make her feel like she's not just another five-year-old. But what I will do is make sure every person around her thinks twice before stepping out of line. That's my job."

He doesn't move, but his eyes burn.

"I'm sorry about how I did it. If I could go back and do it in a way that didn't piss you off, that didn't make you shut me out like this—I would. But it's done, Rain. And I'm not sorry for the message."

His voice is soft but nonetheless, brutal.

"You can protect her from bullets and blood, Phi. I know that. But her heart?" He shakes his head, eyes fixed on mine. "You can't protect that."

I open my mouth, but he doesn't let me speak.

"She's going to get hurt. Whether she's five or fifteen. It's going to happen. And you showing up at her school with a wall of men behind her only teaches her one thing—that love is dangerous. That her feelings come with a warning label. You think that makes her stronger? It won't. It'll make her quiet. Afraid."

I clench my jaw, but I don't interrupt.

"You need to find another way to show up for her," he continues, voice low and bitter. "And no, you don't get to stop her from having boyfriends either. You can't control that, Phi. You try to—and one day, she won't tell you anything at all."

It lands like a gut punch. Because he's right. And that's exactly what I fear.

I bite down the surge in my throat, fists curling slightly. He isn't wrong. That's the worst part. But he's not entirely right either.

He goes on, tone softening but eyes still sharp. "Papa put you through hell when you wanted me. I watched you climb every mountain he set on fire, and you never once complained. I know you're capable of restraint. I'm trying to be better for our daughter, Phi. I thought you were too."

I shake my head slowly, because he still doesn't get it. "No, Rain. I didn't mind what Papa did. I earned you. Every trial, every scar, every time he looked me in the eye and told me I wasn't enough—I took it. Because you were worth it. Because I had to be worthy."

"And seven years later," I murmur, "I'm still proving that. To him. To myself. To you. To Kaia."

Rain's jaw tightens, eyes narrowing.

"She knows I'll do anything for her," I continue. "That her happiness comes before everything—before work, before pride, before reason. So don't stand there and tell me I failed her when all I did was show up. Again. Like I always do."

I take a step forward, voice lower. "So maybe it's not me who doesn't understand her, Rain. Maybe it's you who doesn't see how much she loves that I fight for her."

He looks at me, wounded and furious.

And maybe, just maybe, a little afraid I might be right.

He flinches—just slightly, but I see it.

His jaw tics. "Don't do that. Don't turn this into a question of whether I know my own child."

"I'm not," I reply, quieter now, but no less firm. "I'm saying you're looking at it like it's black and white. Like she's fragile. She's not. Kaia's fierce and stubborn—just like you. You think she doesn't know who I am? She knows. She knows what I'm capable of, and she still chooses me. That's trust, Rain."

He crosses his arms, eyes cold. "Trust that you're going to embarrass her next time she likes someone? That you'll send a message every time someone gets close?"

"No," I grit out. "Trust that I'll always be there. That she'll never be alone. That no matter who's in her life, her father—her dada—will never let her fall."

Rain exhales sharply, like I've winded him. "You still don't get it. It's not about fear or trust. It's about space, Phi. About letting her grow. Letting her feel things that we don't control. You swore to protect her, not to shape the world into something it's not just to keep her from bruising."

I step closer, heart pounding. "I'm not trying to shape the world, Rain. I'm trying to shield her from it."

"Then you're going to end up raising a daughter who doesn't trust the world, who doesn't trust herself." He looks at me, hurt buried deep under anger. "And that's not strength. That's a cage."

Silence stretches. Thick. Tense. And I hate it.

I don't want to have this fight anymore, I especially don't want Kaia waking up because of it.

"I'm sure you asked her about that day," I press, my voice tighter now, jaw set. "I'm sure you looked her in the eye and asked how she felt. You always ask her, She'sin tune with her feelings Rain, because you taught her how to.  And still—she got home from school and ran straight to me. Still told us how Rocky stood up for her and Lilly on the playground."

I pause, letting the words hang.

"That's not a child who was humiliated. That's not a girl who felt violated or ashamed of the people who love her. That's a little girl who felt safe enough to smile about it. Who came home proud."

Rain's lips part slightly, but I don't let him speak.

"And maybe that's what's hard for you to accept," I continue, softer now, but still firm. "That just this once—my way, the one way you hate, the one that comes with threats and shadows and bloodstained loyalty—worked. No one got hurt. No lines were crossed. A point was made. The boy got the message."

I shake my head. "And for the last time, I am sorry I didn't loop you in. That was the part I got wrong. I see that. But you've made your point too, Rain. You've punished everyone, especially me. Enough."

He says nothing.

So I add, voice quieter, raw: "Stop punishing me for showing up the only way I know how."

He doesn't speak. Just stands there, eyes locked on mine, unreadable. No anger, no softening—just that damn quiet that always makes me feel like I'm drowning.

I exhale, short and bitter. There's nothing left to say. Nothing he's ready to hear.

So I turn.

"I am not walking away from you; I'm just going into the office. No point getting in bed now when I can't even hold you"

I walk out, the sound of my footsteps swallowed by the silence of our bedroom, and I don't look back.

By the time I reach my office, my hands are trembling. Not from rage. Not anymore. Just tiredness. Bone-deep and bitter. I open the cabinet, grab the first bottle I see, and pour a glass full, no hesitation. No pause for ice or moderation.

I down it in one go. The whiskey scalds my throat, lingers like fire behind my ribs.

It doesn't fix anything. But it numbs the sting. Just a little.

Rain's POV

Goddamn it. He's right.

And I hate that.

Hate how the truth settles in my chest like lead, how it strips away the anger I've been clinging to.

I had every right to be mad—of course I did—but maybe I pushed too hard. We're both obsessive in our love for her, just in different flavors of madness. Mine is control. His is chaos. And she's wrapped around both.

I tighten my robe, curse under my breath, and swallow the pride burning my throat as I head downstairs.

He's in his office, the low light catching the amber swirl of whiskey in his glass. He's barely drinking it, just staring into it like he's trying to find something. I don't knock, just step in. He lifts his head when he hears me, but says nothing. Doesn't need to. His eyes track my every step as I walk over and slide into his lap.

His arms come around me immediately. Familiar. Firm. Possessive. His head drops against my chest like he's been holding himself up all day just waiting for me to come fix it. I stroke his hair—soft and damp from the shower—and press a kiss to the crown of his head.

"I'm sorry."

He freezes. Then slowly lifts his head, eyes wide like he can't believe I'm the one saying it.

"Don't make me say it again," I mutter, fingers brushing down his jaw.

He huffs out a laugh, disbelieving and soft, and I trace the stubble on his cheek, my thumb resting at the corner of his mouth. We've been in the same bed every night, but I've missed him like we've been countries apart. Missed his weight. His warmth. His absolute goddamn certainty.

I lean in and kiss him. His lips are warm, tinged with whiskey and heat and desperation. He kisses back like he's been waiting days for it.

Because he has.

We pull apart slowly, breath mingling in the heavy stillness between us. He holds my face like he's grounding himself with the weight of it, eyes soft and serious.

"I'm sorry, baby," he says.

I nod. "I know."

But he shakes his head, not accepting that as enough. "You need to come up with better ways of punishing me than taking yourself away from me. You know what it does to me."

And I do. God, I do.

Because nothing in this world gets to Phayu except me. Not blood, not bullets, not betrayal. Just me. And when we had Kaia, I thought maybe that would balance things out—that the love would spread evenly.

But I know it doesn't.

That visceral need for me is still there. Deep in his bones.

Sometimes he says it does, that he gets me, but I know him. I know when he says sorry just to keep the peace, to hold the relationship steady even if the cracks are showing.

So I pull away. Not because I want to hurt him but because it's the only way I know how to make him feel it. The only way I take back the control I gave him without realizing. Every inch he claims, I let him. Until I don't. Until I have to remind him what it costs.

And like clockwork, seven years in, bruised and still in love, he says it again.

"Don't deny me access to you."

And like I always do, I whisper the only thing I can.

"I'll try."

He doesn't fight me on it, because he knows we're still going to have this conversation again.

I can't kill him. I can't starve him.

We're going to be together for the rest of our lives. I could come up with more creative ways to punish him, but nothing unravels Phayu except me.

His tongue drags slowly up my neck, warm and deliberate, making me shiver. "You always look like an angel,"he breathes against my skin. "So fucking unreal."

I chuckle under my breath. He says that every night I'm in this robe, fresh from a shower, skin dewy and soft from the creams he buys and replenishes without me asking. He's obsessed with how I look like this—bare, clean, effortless.

Especially when my hair's down, still damp, catching the light just right. Kaia inherited the same shade, and to his credit, he never once complained. If anything, he looks at us both like we're heaven-sent and he doesn't know what he did to deserve it.

I lean in, lips brushing his ear. "Wanna go upstairs and have makeup sex?"

His eyes darken immediately, the tension from the past days crackling beneath the surface, ready to burn.

He doesn't hesitate—not even a beat. He rises with me in his arms and I giggle, legs wrapping around his waist, arms instinctively locking around his neck. He kisses me again, deep and hungry, like he's been waiting all week to breathe.

When he pulls back, his voice is low, already fraying at the edges. "You're in for a long night, baby."

I drag my tongue across his bottom lip, deliberately slow. "I can't wait," I murmur against his mouth.

That earns me a wicked smirk. His grip tightens just a fraction as he turns and strides out of the office, his pace unhurried but full of intent, each step echoing with the promise of everything he's about to give me.

He carries me up the stairs, past the silent hall, past Kaia's room, into the sanctuary of ours—door clicking shut behind us.

He carries me to bed gently, and lays me down with reverent hands. The silk of my robe fans out around me in soft, shimmering folds, and for a moment, he doesn't touch me. He just looks—like he's never seen me before, like I'm a vision conjured from prayer and longing.

Then, quietly, he says, gutted. "So ethereal. Sometimes I feel like I need to cleanse my hands and my soul before I touch you."

He climbs onto the bed, slow and silent, kneeling between my legs like he's come to worship. His palms slide up the insides of my thighs, warm and steady. His lips brush my ankle—barely a kiss—and then move up. Soft, slow. The inside of my calf. The back of my knee. The curve of my thigh.

"All the men I've killed," he murmurs between kisses, "all the ruins and chaos and destruction... and I get to come back home to this. To you."

My breath stutters. I reach for him, but he doesn't let me pull him up. Not yet. He presses his cheek against my thigh, like he needs the contact, the grounding.

"You're not a reward," he says. "You're a mercy."

He parts my robe, kisses just beneath my hip. I gasp, hips jerking. He holds me still with one hand, the other dragging up the length of my ribs, careful, reverent.

"I love you," he says. "And I don't think you understand what that means coming from me. 7 Years and I'm still in awe of having something so precious.."

His mouth moves lower. My fingers sink into his hair. He doesn't rush.

"But you keep choosing me," he says. "Even when I've drowned cities in blood. Even when I come home shaking from the weight of what I've done."

"Because you're mine," I whisper. "And I'm yours."

He kisses higher, dragging the edge of my robe aside with his fingers, baring more of me inch by inch like he's unveiling a relic too holy to touch without trembling.

His breath ghosts across my thigh, his hands firm around my hips, grounding me, pinning me—in possession and in reverence. He treats me like something divine and dangerous all at once.

"You don't even know," he breathes against my stomach, "how much I ache for you. Every time you walk away, every time you ice me out—" he looks up, his mouth still moving along my skin, "—you make me desperate, Rain. Like a sinner waiting at the altar."

I thread my fingers into his hair, soft and damp from his earlier shower, and tug gently until his face meets mine. His eyes burn—hunger, love, guilt, worship all colliding into one unbearable gaze.

"I'm here now," I whisper. "I'm sorry. You don't have to wait anymore."

He exhales, almost like a prayer, and crashes his mouth to mine. The kiss is hot and bruising, unrelenting, teeth and tongue, apology and need. I arch under him, the silk of my robe sliding down my shoulders as his hands roam—greedy, shaking.

He whispers between kisses, "Tell me you forgive me."

I gasp against his lips. "Show me why I should."

That's all it takes. He groans, deep and broken, like I've snapped the last of his restraint. He pushes the robe off entirely, spreads my legs and sinks down between them like he's kneeling at a shrine.

"Then let me worship. Let me pray"

"Let me beg" he whispers again, this time against the base of my cock, reverent, steady. His breath fans hot across me and my spine arches, my hand shooting to his hair. A shiver carves down my back as he presses a kiss to the tip—soft, unhurried, maddening.

"Phi—" I choke out, but he just hums, mouth brushing the side of me like benediction.

"You taste like mercy," he says into my skin. "Like something I don't deserve."

Then he takes me in slow—no teasing now, no games—his lips sealing around me with purpose. Heat, wet and all-consuming, makes my vision blur. He groans around me when I twitch in his mouth, and it vibrates up my spine like he's stringing me with tension.

"Fuck," I breathe, my thighs trembling. He slides down further, hollowing his cheeks like a man dying of thirst, like he's devoting himself to the altar of my pleasure.

His fingers splay on my hips, holding me still, but it's no use—I'm already a mess, already arching for more, already whimpering his name like prayer answered too soon.

Every time his tongue circles the head, I see stars. Every time he moans, I want to fall apart.

I tug his hair tighter. "Phi—please—"

He pulls off just long enough to meet my eyes, voice thick. "Let me finish what I started." Then he sinks back down, and I let go, let him have all of me.

"You let me have all of this—" his voice is hoarse, trembling with hunger as he drags his mouth up my stomach, biting into the words like confession, "—all of you, and then you take it away. You make me delirious, make me insane, make me starve."

His palm slides up my thigh, spreading me wider, forcing me to feel how close he is, how wound tight his body is with need.

"You love it, don't you?" His eyes blaze as he hovers above me. "You know I'd always starve for you. I'd always be desperate for you. And I don't mind, baby."

He leans down, lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"I'd spend the rest of my life wanting, needing, and taking."

His teeth graze my jaw and I gasp. He groans, dragging his cock along my inner thigh, the weight of it a threat and a promise.

"And you," he growls, biting into my lower lip, "you're going to give me everything. Over and over."

He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head, one hand. The other strokes my cock

"No running. No turning away." A kiss, slow and consuming. "You're mine to ruin."

Phayu's POV

He's spread open beneath me like temptation personified—arms pinned above his head in one hand, lips parted and kiss-swollen, chest rising fast under me. And I feel it again, raw and scorching—that violent, possessive craving for him.

Not just his body, not just the tight heat I'm about to sink into, but all of him. His mouth when he's laughing, arguing, singing with Kaia, talking strategy or threatening grown men, his hands when they push or cling, the way he flinches and softens under my touch.

No blade could break me. No bullet has come close. But this man? He could shatter me with a word, a look, and he knows it. Has known it for years now.

I want to make him feel how much I hate needing him like this. I want to make him feel how much I worship him anyway.

I reach for the lube, slicking my fingers, and kiss him hard, tongue dragging over his as I press one finger in. He gasps into my mouth, his legs twitching, back bowing. I don't give him time to adjust. He's had days of space. That's more than he deserves.

Another finger, a deeper kiss, and he moans against my tongue, already trembling.

"You don't get to run," I whisper into his mouth. "You made me wait. Now you're going to take it."

His hips jerk, his fingers curling tight in my hold, and I groan at how tight he still is for me, still mine even when he's furious, even when he's punishing me with distance.

I scissor him open, his thighs falling wider for me as he whimpers, breath stuttering.

"That's it," I murmur, biting at his throat. "You're going to come undone on me. Again. And again."

I've got plans for him all night.

When I'm sure he's ready—wet, pliant, trembling beneath me—I slick my cock, slow and deliberate, letting him watch as I drag it along his rim. Not pressing in yet. Just letting him feel the promise of it.

I look down at him—flushed, bound in my grip, legs spread for me—and I bare everything. The ache. The desperation. The hunger I've carried since he pulled away from me.

This is what his silence did. What his punishment made of me.

I lean closer, just enough so he sees every flicker in my eyes. "Ready, baby?" I whisper, voice hoarse.

He nods, eyes wide, throat working.

"Don't take your eyes off me."

And I don't blink, don't breathe, as I slide inside him in one long, slow push. He moans, eyes fluttering, fingers tightening in my grip. I grit my teeth, nearly undone by the way he takes me—tight, perfect, like I was made to fill him.

His breath catches, his chest heaving.

"Eyes on me," I warn again, rougher now. And when they meet mine—glassy, dazed, loving—I press deeper, hips flush against him.

"Just like that," I growl, "you're mine again."

....

Rain's POVI wake up sore, deliciously so—thoroughly used, entirely ruined. The sheets are cold, the space beside me empty. Phi had to leave before dawn, something urgent at one of the construction sites outside the city.

He'd whispered into my hair, said he'd kiss Kaia on his way out, told me to tell her he loves her in case she didn't remember. I barely managed a grunt, too wrecked from the night before to move.

Now, with the morning sun slipping through the curtains, I lie alone and aching. I miss him.

I reach for my phone, call him without thinking, and a few seconds later his face fills the screen.

He's in black, always. Hair tied back, shirt sleeves rolled. He's got that quiet intensity about him—jaw clenched, voice already frayed from work—but his eyes soften when he sees me.

"Hi beautiful," he says, low and warm.

"You left," I murmur, curling into the sheets.

"Didn't want to wake you," he replies. "You looked too beautiful to touch. I kissed Kaia. She didn't even open her eyes."

"You tired?"

"Exhausted. I didn't get much sleep." He smirks faintly, like he knows exactly why.

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the flutter in my chest. "Kaia's gonna ask where you are."

"Tell her I'll be back before dinner. If the meeting doesn't run late."

"And if it does?"

He shrugs. "Then I'll take the next flight back. I'm not sleeping away from you tonight."

I smile, soft. "You're still in trouble."

He laughs, full and low. "Good. I like it when you make me work for your forgiveness."

"Don't worry," I say, stretching into the empty space he left behind. "You've got a lot to make up for."

His voice drops, that dangerous tone I know too well. "You're not getting any sleep for the next one week."

I grin. "You promise?"

"I swear on your favorite poison."

"Be safe, okay? We love you."

His eyes soften instantly, that hard edge from work bleeding away. "I love you both so much more," he says, then adds with a smirk, "and if you're too sore, get Saifah or Win to take Kaia to school."

I roll my eyes. "They're still banned from her, remember?"

He chuckles, the sound deep and knowing. "But you forgave me."

I snort. "You were very convincing."

"Convincing enough to lift the ban?"

"Don't push it, Phi."

His grin only grows. "Can't blame me for trying."

"Go," I say softly. "We'll be okay."

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, like he's trying to memorize my face, then nods.

"I'll call you later," he says.

"You better."

"I always do."

And then the screen goes dark.

...

Not long after, Kaia bursts into the room with her bunny clutched tight, hair wild, voice bright—"Papaaa!"

She clambers onto the bed and starts planting kisses all over my face."Morningggg," she sings, giggling.

I laugh, pulling her into my arms and kissing her cheeks in return."Morning, baby."

She looks around. "Where's Dada? In the gym? I wanna say hi."

And my smile falters."No, baby. Dada had to leave really early for work. But he kissed you before he left and said he loves you so, so much."

Her face falls just a little, but she nods, curling into me."I love him too."

"I know you do," I whisper, hugging her tight. "He knows too."

...

The rest of the morning passes in controlled chaos—well, as controlled as it can be when your body's sore and your child is five and full of nuclear-level energy.

At some point, with Kaia buzzing from one room to another and my legs still not fully back online, I cave and shoot a message to Saifah and Win.

Can you drop Kaia at school today?They reply in under ten seconds.

YES. SAY LESS. ON THE WAY.

When they arrive, I crouch in front of Kaia, brushing her hair back gently."You okay for Uncle Win and Fah Fah to take you to school today?"

She lights up immediately, bouncing on her toes. "Really?!"

But then her smile falters. "Are you sick, Papa?"

I laugh softly, cupping her cheeks."Um... a little, baby. I just need to rest this morning, but I promise I'll pick you up after school. Okay?"

She stares for a second, like she's assessing the situation, then nods and wraps her arms around my neck.

She kisses me over and over—forehead, cheeks, nose— "I love you, Papa."

I squeeze her back."Love you more, princess. Have a great day."

I turn to face Saifah and Win, both of them kicking their feet like schoolboys caught in the middle of something and pretending to scratch the backs of their necks like that'll save them.

I narrow my eyes. "Just take her to school. No snacks. No detours."

They grin like devils.Win salutes. "Aye aye, Papa Rain."Saifah snickers. "Scout's honour."

I roll my eyes so hard. "Not funny."

Kaia, of course, is over the moon. Saifah sweeps her up into his arms, and she squeals, clinging to him like he's her personal theme park ride. She giggles the whole way to the car, chatting about her bunny and what she's going to tell Rocky today.

I stand at the door, arms crossed, watching as Saifah straps her into the car seat like the overzealous uncle he is, triple-checking the belt while Win taps the steering wheel impatiently.

Win throws me a grin through the window. "We got this."

"I'll be checking with her teacher," I say flatly.

He just winks and drives off.God help me.

And just like that, my tiny hurricane is gone.

Win's POV

Rain glared at us like we were about to smuggle contraband across international borders instead of just dropping off a five-year-old at school.

"Just take her to school. No snacks. No detours."

He might as well have said no breathing.

Kaia kicks her feet behind us, humming a little song and already talking about how she wants to tell Rocky about the stars. Saifah glances back at her through the mirror, then looks at me.

"We're not making any stops," he says, low.

I nod.

A beat of silence.

Then I say, "But if we just happen to drive past the donut truck..."

Saifah sighs.Kaia cheers.We are so getting banned again.

We make it to the school on time—barely—but high on sugar and victory. Kaia's grinning, cheeks full of jelly from the donut she swore she wouldn't tell Rain about. She pinky-promised Saifah. Which means she'll absolutely confess at the worst possible moment.

We both hop out the car, mission mode. Saifah goes around to get her out of her seat while I grab her bag from the back.

"Uncle Win," she says sweetly as she hops into his arms, "my hands are sticky."

"Of course they are," I mutter, pulling out wet wipes from the emergency stash in the door. "You're your father's child."

Saifah chuckles as we wipe her clean, and then we start our checklist.

Uniform? Perfect. White and crisp, bows even, pinafore straight.Shoes? Glittery.Hair? Curls tamed, two glittery pins on either side like Rain insists.Bag? Heavy enough for a five-year-old spy.Mini blade? Right where it should be—in the hidden zip pocket we stitched in during one of our paranoid-uncles sewing nights. It's dull enough not to cut unless she's really desperate. But sharp enough to matter if needed.

Kaia's already pointing at kids she knows at the gate. But she turns back to us. "Did you put in my jelly?"

"Check your lunchbox," Saifah says, and she unzips it right there.

I lean down. "You've got the usual, your emergency whistle, your special knife, and—yes—the jelly."

She beams. "Okay. Love you!"

She hugs us both tight—arms around Saifah's neck first, then mine. Her little fingers pat our cheeks like we're her bodyguards off duty.

Kaia turns back at the last second, grinning, and just as she's about to bounce up the steps

"Kaia," I call out, voice sharp enough to freeze her mid-hop. She blinks at me innocently.

I narrow my eyes. "And stay ten feet away from Rocky. No googly eyes. No hand-holding. No sharing cupcakes. No—"

"I like sharing cupcakes," she pouts.

"I don't care if you share them with Lilly," I counter. "But not with Rocky."

Saifah mutters under his breath, "Poor kid is testing this family."

Kaia frowns harder. "But he helped me yesterday—"

"From what? A falling leaf?" I deadpan.

"From two boys who were being mean," she huffs, chin high like her papa.

"Exactly," I say. "You let him feel like a hero one time and next thing you know, he's proposing marriage during snack break."

"Uncle Win!" she whines.

Saifah snorts beside me, failing to hide his laugh.

I lean in, serious now. "Ten feet. I'm tracking it."

She squints at me suspiciously. "You are going home now."

"That's what you think."

She gasps and runs off, spinning around dramatically like we're the evil kings in her bedtime fairytales.

"Love you!" she shouts.

"Ten feet!" I shout back.

We wave her off until she disappears into the classroom block.

Then I glance at Saifah.

"She's still got the blade?"

He nods. "Course."

"She'll snitch about the donuts."

"Definitely."

We look at each other and sigh.

"Still worth it."

Rain's POV

I'm in Phi's office—his chair now mine by default when he's away—legs crossed, coffee in hand, half my mind on my inbox and the other half tuned to Kaia's classroom app. Peaceful. Almost suspiciously so.

Then the door creaks open, and in tumble Win and Saifah like two oversized puppies.

"Hey," Saifah offers, scratching the back of his neck like a child expecting detention.

I look up slowly over the rim of my mug. "You're ten minutes late. What did you do?"

"Nothing," Win says too fast.

I blink once. "Where's Kaia?"

"In class," Win assures, sliding into the seat across from me like we're in a negotiation room.

"She was on time," Saifah adds.

I set my mug down. "And?"

"She had her knife," Win says. "We checked."

"She was smiling," Saifah adds.

Win nods. "No cupcake sharing."

I arch a brow. "So you did threaten Rocky again."

"No threats," Win says quickly. "Just...reminders."

I lean back, pin them both with a look. "Ten feet, P'Win?"

"Fourteen, technically," he mutters, then glances at Saifah. "She walked the extra four on her own."

I exhale and return to my screen. "You two have a death wish."

Saifah grins. "Nah. We've got Kaia. That's better."

Then Win clears his throat and says "Uh we're sorry you know, for going to Kaia's school"

I narrow my eyes. "No, you're not. You're sorry because of the ban"

Win shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck again. "Okay, maybe we're sorry and we want the ban lifted."

I level him with a look. "Try again."

Saifah chimes in, "We are sorry, Rain. It wasn't cool. We should've told you. But we really just wanted to... scare the shit out of a five-year-old boy who might someday break her heart."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Win leans forward, surprisingly earnest. "Look, I've taken bullets and knives for this family, but nothing—and I mean nothing—terrifies me more than Kaia saying we're not her favorites anymore. We screwed up. Let us fix it."

I tilt my head. "By staying away until your sentence is over. That's how you fix it."

Saifah groans dramatically. "Come on, Rain. We're dying."

"Good," I deadpan, taking a sip of my coffee. "Maybe next time you'll think before joining a mafia-led kindergarten intervention."

Win sighs. "So... is that a no?"

I smile sweetly. "That's a get out before I extend it to a month."

...

The rest of the day passes without much fuss. I take a few calls, answer some emails, even get one or two check-ins from Phi—brief, thoughtful, annoying. Always making sure I don't stay too mad.

By the time it's time to pick up Kaia, I'm halfway through another coffee and debating if I should let the maids cook or do dinner myself.

I head out, slip into the car, and as I'm buckling in, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. Of course. Win and Saifah. Hovering near their own car like suspiciously dressed hawks pretending to be helpful.

They jog over anyway, grinning like idiots, clearly hoping charm will work where logic failed. Win taps on my window like a child begging for screen time. I lower it halfway.

"We were just... in the area," he says casually, as if that's believable.

Saifah leans in too, hopeful. "Thought we'd offer to pick up Kaia for you. You know, in case your back's still sore. Give you a breather."

I don't even blink. I shut the door and start the engine.

They don't move.

"Rain," Win tries again, "we're just trying to help."

I glance at them, deadpan. "You're still banned."

And with that, I drive off—ignoring Saifah's exaggerated sigh and Win's kicked-puppy face in the mirror.

I get to Kaia's school expecting the usual—her sprinting into my arms, a string of excited chatter spilling from her lips—but she walks out slowly, her bag slung low, her steps hesitant. My stomach twists.

I crouch the moment she gets to me. "What's wrong, baby? Did someone hurt you? Did someone say something?"

She looks up, eyes glossy, and nods—just once. "Is Dada really coming home today?"

My frown deepens. "Of course he is. He promised you, didn't he?"

And then she throws her arms around my neck, clinging tight. Her voice is muffled but clear enough to knock the breath out of me. "Dada is sorry. Please don't diborce him."

I freeze. Her little fingers tighten around me, and I pull her away gently, hands cupping her cheeks. "Kaia. Baby. Where did you hear that from?"

Her lip quivers. Tears brim. She shakes her head and buries herself in my chest again.

"Kaia," I murmur, rubbing her back, trying to keep my voice steady. "Talk to me."

But she just clings harder, refusing to say more.

I sigh, scoop her into my arms, and walk to the car. I buckle her in, pressing a kiss to her temple. She doesn't speak. Just stares out the window, shoulders hunched.

I drive home in silence, jaw tight, heart hammering. Someone has been feeding her stories, planting fears, and I don't know who yet—but I need to get her home. I need her to feel safe. I need her to know we're okay.

When we get home, she doesn't bounce in her seat like she normally does. No excited kicking. No "we're home!" When I unbuckle her and lift her out of the car, her arms curl around my neck, but her head stays low on my shoulder.

Win and Saifah are by the entrance, clearly waiting to catch a glimpse of her like always.

"Kaia," Win calls, soft and hopeful. "Kai bear?"

"Fah fah's missed you," Saifah adds.

She doesn't even lift her head. No wave. No giggle. Just a quiet grip on my shirt.

I give them a tight shake of my head, silencing them instantly, and carry her upstairs without a word.

She doesn't squirm. Doesn't ask to go to her room or for her bunny. I walk straight into our bedroom and sit with her on the edge of the bed, heart twisting as she clings tighter.

Whatever this is—whatever she heard—cut deep. And I'm going to find out exactly who planted that fear in her heart. But first, I have to get her to look at me. To believe me. To feel safe again.

"Kaia, baby." I cradle her face gently. "Look at me. I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong."

She hesitates, eyes glassy, lips trembling. And then she whispers, "Rocky said... his parents are getting a diborce because his mama is mad at his daddy and they're always fighting. And now his daddy went away... and he's not coming back."

My heart drops. The weight of her fear crashes into me all at once.