Chapter 22

Rain's POV

We pull up to Pai and Sky's penthouse, the city quieter now, lights softer, the chaos of the night finally settling.

Phi moves to get out with me.

I glare at him immediately. "Stay," I order him.

He pauses, one foot already out of the car.

"You're not picking Kaia up stained with blood."

He exhales, annoyed, like I'm being unreasonable.

I don't budge. We stare at each other for a second. Then he huffs and leans back into the seat, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Fine."

"Good."

I step out, shutting the door behind me.

It's late.

Late enough that I know Kaia is already asleep.

I'd planned to just let her stay here tonight, pick her up in the morning, let her rest...

But now?

After tonight?

I just want my daughter.

I need that softness.

The elevator ride up is quiet, reflective.

My mind drifts back over the evening— The irritation from earlier. Him getting home late. Me snapping. Him trying.

The gala. The smiles. The way he stayed close, steady, present.

The man.

Phi's eyes when he saw.

The blood.

I exhale slowly as the elevator doors open.

The penthouse is warm, lived-in, soft lighting spilling into the foyer.

And then...laughter.

The TV is on low, some overly dramatic scene playing, I hear kissing sounds echoing faintly not from the tv.

I call out as I step inside, kicking off my shoes. "I hope you guys are decent before I go blind."

I round the corner into the living room.

Pai is sprawled comfortably across the couch, head in Sky's lap while Sky is running his fingers lazily through his hair, a glass of wine in his other hand.

There's another glass on the table.

Of course.

I take in the scene and snort. "Glad to see you skipped out on the gala for this."

Pai doesn't even move, just lifts his glass slightly in acknowledgment.

"Some of us have priorities," he says lazily.

Sky rolls his eyes but smiles, looking over at me. "You're back early."

I shrug, walking further in. "We did our part. Smiled, donated, saved the pangolins."

Pai chuckles. "Ah, yes. The endangered pinecones."

"Don't start," I mutter, but I'm already smiling.

Sky studies me for a second longer, more observant than Pai.

"Everything okay?" he asks quietly.

I pause then nod. "Yeah."

It's not a lie but it's not fully the truth either.

"Kaia asleep?" I ask instead.

Sky's expression softens immediately. "Yeah. She crashed a few minutes after the call. Completely out."

Pai finally glances up at me. "You sure you want to move her? She's dead weight when she's like that."

"I know," I say softly.

But I still head toward the room anyway.

Because I want her. Because tonight was... a lot and because I need something gentle to hold onto.

As I walk down the hallway, I can already picture her—Curled up. Peaceful. Safe.

And for a moment, Everything else fades.

I walk into the room they made for her.

Sky and Pai had proudly shown it to me years ago—custom wallpaper, soft pinks and creams, a miniature bookshelf, a little canopy bed like she's royalty. I'd rolled my eyes so hard that day.

"She's not moving in," I'd told them.

"She might," Pai had replied smugly.

She loves it here.

She loves anywhere she's adored.

And she's adored everywhere.

She's curled up now, right in the center of the bed. Hair fanned across the pillow. One tiny hand gripping her plushie.

I soften instantly.

I sit on the edge of the bed and stroke her cheek gently, then lean down and kiss her temple.

She stirs mumbling something incoherent.

Then sinks back into sleep.

My chest tightens.

I slide my arms under her carefully, lifting...

...And immediately regret it.

She is dead weight. Completely limp, heavy in that way only sleeping children can be.

Behind me, Pai snorts.

"Move," he says, already stepping forward. "I'll help. Where's your husband?"

I step aside reluctantly as he scoops her up easily.

"In the car," I mutter.

Sky raises a brow at me as we move toward the door.

"You're mad at him again?"

"When am I not?" I shoot back quietly.

Sky hums knowingly but doesn't push.

Pai carries her like she weighs nothing, careful and steady as we head down the hallway and into the elevator.

We ride down in comfortable silence. Kaia's head lolls against Pai's shoulder, mouth slightly open, completely unaware of adult drama and endangered pangolins and blood in the night.

The elevator doors open to the parking level.

Phi is already out of the car. He doesn't waste a second, he walks straight to us and takes Kaia from Pai without a word, adjusting her gently against his chest.

"She was good?" he asks quietly.

Pai and Sky nod.

"She always is," Sky says warmly.

"How was the gala?" Pai adds.

Phi just shakes his head ignoring the question.

That's it. No elaboration. No sarcasm. He turns and walks back to the car with our daughter in his arms.

Pai watches him go, unimpressed.

"Your husband is so rude."

I snort softly. "He's tired," I say, though it's only half the reason.

Pai crosses his arms. "He didn't even say thank you."

"He'll send wine tomorrow," I reply dryly. "Or buy more stocks for emotional damages."

Sky laughs quietly.

I lean in and hug him briefly. "Thank you," I say sincerely. "For everything."

Sky squeezes me back. "Anytime. Go home. Both of you."

I nod and head toward the car. Phi is already inside, Kaia settled against him, his large hand spanning protectively across her back.

The sight does something to me every time.

Mafia lord. Architect.

Cold. Lethal. Powerful.

And then...this.

He glances up at me as I get in.

Our eyes meet for a second.

No words, but the tension from earlier hasn't disappeared.

It's just waiting.

I close the door. "Drive," Phi tells the driver quietly.

And we head home.

...

By the time we get home the house is quiet.

Phi steps out first, Kaia still asleep against his chest. I follow him up the stairs, a few steps behind, watching the broad line of his back, the careful way he holds her.

All that violence in him and then this softness.

We go straight to her room.

He doesn't turn the main lights on, just the small lamp by her bed. Warm glow. Soft shadows.

He bends carefully and lowers her into the mattress gently.

She stirs for a second, brows pinching, tiny fingers twitching.

His hand immediately moves to her hair, smoothing it back from her face.

"I'm here, tiger," he murmurs, voice low and impossibly gentle. "Dada's here."

She settles instantly.

He stays there a moment longer than necessary, brushing his thumb over her cheek, adjusting the blanket around her shoulders.

He leans down, presses a long kiss to the top of her head.

Breathes her in.

And I know what he's whispering.

I love you.

I'll protect you.

I'll burn the world down for you.

And I know he would.

Then, he straightens slowly and turns toward me.

The lamp light catches the angles of his face, softer now, the sharp edges filed down by fatherhood and exhaustion.

I'm still standing by the door.

Watching and waiting.

It's been a long day.

Too many emotions, too many spikes of adrenaline, too much blood and too many smiles.

I stretch my hand out to him. He looks at my hand for a second, then at me. And he walks over and takes it.

His fingers curl around mine, warm and solid and grounding.

We step out together, closing her door quietly behind us.

The hallway feels cooler, quieter.

I lean into him as we walk toward our room, resting my head briefly against his shoulder.

"I'm tired," I admit softly.

His thumb brushes over my knuckles. "I know."

We reach our bedroom.

And for once—I don't want chaos. I don't want intensity. I don't want him feral and possessive. I just want him.

To crawl into bed. To breathe. To reset.

I squeeze his hand once more before letting go and moving inside.

...

After we shower, the night finally quiets.

No noise or expectations.

No eyes on us.

We settle into bed, the sheets cool against my skin, the faint scent of soap and him wrapping around me as I move closer without thinking.

I nuzzle into him, pressing my face into his neck, breathing him in like I need to reset my lungs after everything that happened tonight. His arm comes around me immediately, pulling me in tighter, anchoring me there.

Relieved.

Like he's been waiting for this exact moment all night.

I breathe him in slowly, deeply, letting it settle in my chest.

My fingers drift over his chest, tracing idle shapes, familiar patterns I've drawn a hundred times before.

He kisses the top of my head softly.

"Tonight was weird," I whisper.

He hums. "It was."

I lift my chin, resting it on him so I can look at his face.

He looks down at me. Eyes steady. Quiet and Present.

We just... stare at each other.

We stay like that for a moment—just looking at each other in the dim light, the world narrowed down to this bed, this space, this version of us that no one else gets to see.

I open my mouth to speak—

"Do you want me to apologize?" he asks first.

It catches me off guard.

I still and search his face.

Then I shake my head slowly. "No."

He exhales. "Good."

I chuckle softly, pushing myself up, moving over him until I'm straddling his waist. His hands come to me instantly, settling at my hips.

He stares at me for a while and then says "You're so fucking beautiful," he murmurs.

And it hits me.

Not the words—I've heard them a hundred times.

It's the way he says it.

Different from how he used to say it, how others say it.

How the man from tonight said it.

Like he still can't believe I exist, like I'm his. All his.

Heat creeps up my neck before I can stop it. I flush.

Actually flush.

I duck my head instinctively, trying to hide it, and he laughs under me, low and warm.

"Baby."

His fingers slide under my chin, lifting my face back up, gentle but insistent.

"Don't hide from me."

I meet his eyes again.

He draws me down by the back of my neck and kisses me.

Slow and Soft.

His lips move against mine like he's relearning me, like he's reminding himself I'm here, I'm safe, I'm his.

And because I need him to know— "I love you," I whisper against his lips.

I feel it. The way his breath leaves him like he's been holding it all night.

So I say it again.

"I love you," I repeat, softer this time, brushing my lips against his again. "I love us."

My hand slides up to his jaw, holding him there, making sure he hears me.

"I'm never leaving you."

His eyes close for a second, like something heavy just slipped off his shoulders.

For a second—just one—but it's enough.

Enough for me to see how much he needed that.

How much he always needs it, even if he never asks.

I kiss him again, slower, softer.

"I love you more, beautiful," he murmurs when we part.

I smile, settling back down, laying my head over his chest again.

His hand moves slowly along my back, up and down, steady.

He presses a kiss into my hair.

Another.

And then he starts murmuring things into the quiet—soft promises, quiet reassurances, love spoken in the way only he does when there's no one else around to hear it.

And tonight...That's enough.

I don't respond, I don't need to. I just hold onto him tighter, my fingers curling into his skin, grounding myself in the solid weight of him beneath me.

Tonight isn't about sex.

Not about the way he looked at me in that ballroom.

Not about the violence or the blood or the sharp edges of who we are.

Tonight...

It's this.

This quiet. This softness. This certainty.

Because no matter what happens out there—no matter how dark it gets, how messy, how dangerous— At the end of everything, after the chaos and the blood and the noise— We always come back to this.

Me in his arms, wrapped in his warmth. His safety. His love.

And that's how I fall asleep.

Phayu's POV

Rain doesn't fall asleep all at once.

I feel it happen.

I always do.

It starts in the way his body gives in to me—slowly and softly, like he's letting go of something he's been holding all day. muscles loosening, the tension leaving him piece by piece. His weight settles heavier against my chest, his leg loosens where it's hooked over mine, his fingers—still curled into me—slacken just enough.

His breathing changes next.

Deeper. Slower. Warmer against my skin.

And then he's gone.

I don't move. I never move when he falls asleep like this.

My hand keeps tracing the same path along his back, up and down, steady, deliberate, like if I stop he'll slip away from me somehow. It's instinct now —muscle memory—something I started years ago and never stopped.

I lower my head and press my lips into his hair, breathing him in deeper than necessary.

He smells like me.

Like home.

For some reason, he feels softer these days.

We've been together almost a decade and it's like I discover new things about him every day. Like he trusts me with more of himself without even thinking about it. Lets me see everything—his moods, his thoughts, the quiet parts he used to guard so fiercely.

I guess that is what people say about marriage, loving your partner through all the stages and changes they go through.

Every version of him I've ever had—I've loved.

But this one? It does something to me I don't have words for.

My hand stills for a second on his back, then resumes, slower now, more deliberate.

Eight years.

The number sits heavy in my chest.

Eight years since I first saw him.

That club. Too loud and crowded with too many people.

And then there was him. Blonde. Bright. Untouchable.

I remember it too clearly—the way the room shifted without actually changing. The way everything else dulled around him like my mind had already decided nothing else mattered.

I didn't question it, i didn't hesitate.

I've never been the kind of man who waits.

A week later, at his birthday— I told him.

I don't do soft beginnings. I told him exactly what I wanted. Exactly what he would be to me.

Mine.

And then after our first date, he ran.

Of course he did.

Anyone with sense would.

A man like me isn't something you walk toward easily.

I offer possession. I offer intensity. I offer a life that doesn't come with safety nets.

He ran because he understood that.

Because he felt it too.

And still, he came back.

That's the part that never stops hitting me.

He chose me.

Out of everything he could've had. Out of every easier, softer, safer option—he walked back into my arms.

And stayed.

Through everything. Through the parts of me that aren't easy to love. Through the things we've seen, the things we've done.

Most couples would've shattered under half of it.

We didn't.

We adapted. We sharpened. We held tighter.

My arm tightens around him unconsciously now, pulling him closer into me, like I need to reaffirm he's still here, still solid, still mine.

He says he's never leaving me.

I believe him.

I believe him because I know him.

Because Rain doesn't say things he doesn't mean.

Because when he gives himself, he gives fully.

But belief doesn't quiet the part of me that's always watching.

Always ready. Always prepared to destroy anything that tries to take him from me.

Or Kaia.

My jaw tightens at the thought of her.

The past year alone has been enough to break anyone.

Her kidnap and the moment I knew with absolute certainty that I would burn everything to the ground if it meant protecting her

We survive everything. We always do.

New contracts. Expansion. Pressure. Deals that mattered on paper and meant nothing in reality.

Wins that felt empty.

Losses that stayed.

But none of it—none of it compares to this.

This exact moment...Rain in my arms.

Trusting me enough to fall asleep like this, completely unguarded, completely mine.

My hand moves up his back again, slower now, almost reverent.

I tilt my head and press another kiss into his hair, lingering there.

"You're mine," I murmur quietly.

Whether the world understands it or not.

Whether it survives us or not.

I shift slightly, pulling the blanket higher over him, tucking it around his shoulders carefully so I don't wake him. My hand settles flat against his spine again, holding him there.

I stay awake longer than I should.

Watching him. Listening to him breathe. Letting the reality of him sink into me, layer by layer.

Because no matter how violent the world gets—no matter how far things spiral—we always come back here.

To this bed. To this quiet.To this version of us that no one else sees.

And I will protect this—Him—With everything I am.

Even if it means becoming something worse than I already am.

I close my eyes finally, pressing one last kiss into his hair.

And I hold him tighter as sleep starts to pull at me too.

*********

The next morning...

Kaia's voice wakes me.

That's the first thing that tells me something is wrong.

Not the light. Not my body clock. Not the faint noise of the house starting up.

Her.

"Dada... wakey wakey..."

It's loud for a whisper. Urgent in that way only she can manage—half conspiratorial, half chaos.

My eyes snap open fast.

Wrong.

She's never up this early on a school day.

My hand moves automatically—checking the space beside me.

Rain is still here.

Then I reach for my phone. The time hits me like a punch.

Shit.

I must've snoozed the alarm.

"TIGER?" I rasp, still waking, voice rough.

She grins like she's just accomplished something monumental and immediately leans down, planting a messy kiss somewhere between my cheek and mouth.

"Good morning, Dada! I'm home!"

I blink, dragging myself upright, my brain catching up in fragments.

Late.

We're late.

Beside me, Rain stirs.

And it takes him all of five seconds.

I watch it happen—the way his eyes open, the way his expression shifts, the way everything clicks into place at once.

"Shit."

I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "Rain—"

"Dada!" Kaia yells immediately, scandalized. "Papa said a bad word!"

Of course she heard that.

And just like that...Chaos.

"Oh god, Phi, we're late!" Rain scrambles upright, already halfway out of the bed.

"I knooow," I groan, swinging my legs off the mattress, my mind already running through timelines, logistics, damage control.

Kaia, however—She's thrilled.

"Dada! Papa! We're late!" she chants like this is the best thing that's ever happened to her.

"Yes, Tiger," I mutter. "We are."

Rain looks at me, already moving, already calculating.

"Breakfast," he says, "or you're getting her ready."

"Getting her ready," I answer immediately.

No hesitation.

Breakfast is a battlefield I do not have time for this morning.

I drop down into a crouch in front of Kaia, hands on her shoulders, grounding her attention.

"Okay, Tiger," I say, steady, focused. "We've got a mission."

Her eyes light up instantly.

Good.

"We need to move fast. Fast like a tiger, yeah?" I continue. "No fussing. No choosing. In and out."

She nods seriously, already locked in.

"If we get you to school on time," I add, lowering my voice like it's a secret, "you get ice cream tonight."

Her gasp is immediate.

"Deal?" I ask.

She straightens, all business now. "Yes, Dada. Deal."

I smirk.

"Good."

I scoop her up in one smooth motion, throwing her over my shoulder.

She squeals, delighted, completely unbothered by the chaos we're in.

I stride toward her room, already shifting into execution mode.

Behind me, I hear Rain moving fast—drawers opening, footsteps slap against the floor, already managing the rest of the morning.

This...this is our life.

...

I get her into her bathroom fast.

No wasted movement. No hesitation.

"Teeth first," I say, already reaching for her toothbrush.

She climbs onto the little step stool like she's done this a thousand times—and opens her mouth dramatically.

"Ahhh."

"Not a doctor," I mutter, but I start brushing anyway.

She talks through it. Words spilling out around foam and mint and giggles.

"I had a dream," she mumbles.

"Mm."

"Me and Uncle Sky were baking but the cookies were flying—like actually flying—and Uncle Pai was chasing them but he fell—"

"Don't laugh," I warn, even though I'm already fighting it.

She laughs anyway, toothpaste threatening to spill out.

"And then Papa came and he looked sooo pretty in the pictures and I showed Uncle Sky and he said Papa always looks pretty—"

My hand stills for half a second.

Of course he did.

I rinse her mouth out, wipe her face down quickly.

"Okay. shower. Quick."

"No bubbles?" she asks, scandalized.

"No bubbles," I repeat firmly. "The Mission, tiger. Arms up," I tell her.

She obeys immediately.

Good girl.

I take off her sleep wear and she sighs like I've personally betrayed her, but she lets me get her in, wash her down fast, efficient, in and out.

She keeps talking.

About Sky. About Pai. About the rooftop.

About how she felt like she was "in heaven" again.

I listen.

Even while I move fast.

Even while I'm rinsing her hair, wrapping her up, lifting her out.

I wrap her in her big bunny towel, the one with the ears that flop down the back, and carry her straight into her closet.

"Monday," she reminds me seriously.

"I know."

I let her down and she moves immediately, scanning her options like she's curating a look for a runway.

Her uniform always stays the same

"This," she says, pulling one out.

"Good."

No debate.

No time.

I get her dressed quickly—shirt, skirt, socks, shoes—her tiny foot pressing against my thigh as I pull them on.

I grab her bag, check it automatically.

Homework.

Books.

Everything in place.

Good.

We're moving.

We're making it.

I turn toward the door.

Done.

Or so I think.

"Dada?"

I stop.

Turn.

She's standing there, arms crossed, giving me a look.

A very specific look.

"What, Tiger?"

She points.

At her hair.

Fuck.

Her curls. Wild. Untouched. Completely forgotten.

I groan under my breath. She giggles immediately.

We pivot back, Straight to her little vanity.

I lift her into the chair, grabbing the comb and brush like I know what I'm doing.

She starts immediately.

"I want braids and then like two ponytails and then sparkles—"

"Baby," I cut in, already working through her curls, "we're going for efficiency this morning. Work with me."

She pouts. Hard.

But she nods.

Good girl.

I work fast. Careful but fast.

Detangling, gathering, smoothing.

I don't do this often enough to be confident—but I'm not incompetent.

I pull it into a bun. Secure it. A bit of gel to tame the edges.

I pause.

Assess.

Not bad.

Actually...Good.

"Alright," I murmur, stepping back slightly. "Look at you."

She beams at her reflection.

Pure pride.

"You like it, baby?" I ask.

She nods enthusiastically. "Yes!"

I grin. "High five."

She jumps up in the chair, slapping her hand into mine. Perfect.

"Let's go."

I take her hand and lead her out of the room, pace quick again, back to mission mode.

And then—Rain's voice cuts through the hallway.

"Time for breakfast, baby!"

I glance down at Kaia.

She looks up at me, equally focused.

Mission part two.

And suddenly—We're back in motion again.

Rain's POV

Mornings like this...I almost regret not listening to Phi.

Not fully.

Just... a little.

Because this is exactly the kind of morning where normal people would let the house run itself. Where staff would step in, take over, make everything smooth and seamless and efficient.

No scrambling, no chaos, no rushed brushing and half-buttoned shirts and missing socks.

Just pure ease.

Phi has told me before. More than once.

Let them help. That's what they're here for.

And sometimes— Sometimes I think maybe he's right.

Because right now, I'm moving fast across the kitchen, pulling things out, setting things up, my brain running through a mental checklist of time, traffic, how much we've already lost.

But at the same time—I don't let go.

I won't.

Because this? This is ours.

Our mornings. Our chaos. Our daughter.

And I trust him. I trust my partner. I trust him with everything that matters.

So I don't hand it off. I don't step back, I keep moving.

And then i hear...Footsteps.

I look up and the tension in my chest eases instantly.

They come down together.

Kaia first, practically bouncing down the last step, Phi right behind her, one hand loosely hovering at her back like he's ready to catch her even though she doesn't need it.

She's...Perfect.

Bathed.

Dressed.

Uniform neat, shoes on properly.

And her hair...

I blink.

Her curls are pulled into a tight bun, smooth, not a single strand out of place.

I stare for a second.

Impressed.

And a little amused.

Because this—This is exactly why you marry a man who wants to be a father.

Who enjoys it. Who doesn't just step in when needed, but takes ownership of it like it's instinct.

Phi doesn't even look proud.

He looks relieved. Like he just completed a high-stakes operation.

The moment they reach the kitchen island, he lifts Kaia easily and places her into her seat.

I step forward and lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"Good job," I murmur.

He nods once, exhaling like he's finally allowed to breathe.

"Mission accomplished," he mutters.

I turn back to the counter, already plating Kaia's breakfast.

Oatmeal. Fruits. Orange juice.

Simple. Easy. Fast.

The kind of meal that keeps her full without turning this into another battle.

Phi leans in and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

"I'll go change," he says quietly. "I'll take her."

I nod without looking up.

I hear footsteps again before I can respond.

Saifah. Win. Of course.

They walk in like—and the energy shifts immediately.

Kaia lights up. "Uncle Win! Fah-fah!"

She beams at them, oatmeal forgotten for half a second.

They grin back, equally soft for her in a way they're not for anyone else.

Then their eyes flick to me. To Phi. To the general state of...Us.

"You guys woke up late?" Saifah asks, amused.

Phi doesn't even acknowledge it. He just walks past them, already heading upstairs, focused on getting ready.

They chuckle. Win steps forward, already reaching for Kaia.

I don't even look up properly.

I just grab the nearest thing and smack the tablecloth lightly against his hand.

"Don't," I say flatly.

He pauses mid-reach.

"She's eating," I continue, finally looking at him. "We're late. Go away."

There's a beat, then Saifah laughs.

Win lifts his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."

Kaia giggles at the interaction, completely entertained, and goes back to her oatmeal like nothing just happened.

And just like that, the chaos continues.

Kaia finishes half her bowl.

Half.

In this house, under normal circumstances, that would earn negotiations, bribery, at least three different distractions to get another spoon in.

But today—Today, it's a win.

A big one.

"Good girl," I murmur, wiping the corner of her mouth gently as she leans back in her chair, satisfied, already mentally checked out of breakfast.

I move quickly, packing her lunch.

Sandwich. Cut neatly.

Snacks—more than necessary, because I know how she is, and I'd rather she come home with leftovers than hear she didn't eat enough.

Juice.

Everything goes into her bag in practiced order.

Done.

I sling it over my shoulder and step around the island, lifting her easily into my arms.

She curls into me for half a second, arms looping around my neck before she pulls back, already excited again.

"Dada's taking me," she reminds me.

"I know," I say softly.

We step out toward the car and then Phi steps out just as we reach the driveway.

And...

I pause.

Because...

Of course he looks like that.

in his usual school drop off outfit —Joggers. Black tank top. Slides.

Effortless. Devastating. Like he didn't just wake up late and run through a full morning operation with a five-year-old.

Kaia lights up instantly.

"Dada!"

She wiggles out of my arms before I can stop her and runs straight to him.

He catches her easily, "Ready, Tiger?" he asks.

She nods enthusiastically.

I don't say anything. I just... look at him.

And he feels it. Of course he does. His gaze lifts from Kaia to me, and the second he sees my face—that look—He smirks.

Slow and dangerous.

I narrow my eyes slightly.

He shifts Kaia onto his hip, then walks her to the car, placing her into her seat, securing her in with practiced ease.

Then he turns back to me. "Don't look at me like that," he says casually. "We're late, baby."

I scowl.

He chuckles. "Say bye to her."

I roll my eyes but move anyway, stepping to Kaia's side.

I reach in and gently clean her cheeks again, wiping away the last traces of breakfast like I always do.

"Be good at school today, okay?" I murmur softly. "I love you."

She nods seriously. "I love you too, Papa."

I lean in and hug her, pressing a kiss to her cheek, holding her just a second longer than necessary.

Then I step back.

Phi's already in the front seat.

He winks at me.

I narrow my eyes further. "No fast and furious, Phi."

He grins.

"We're late, baby."

"Still."

He just laughs, that low, easy laugh that means he's already decided he's not listening to me.

He blows me a kiss and then the car pulls out.

Fast.

Too fucking fast.

I stand there, watching as he speeds out of the estate like I didn't just tell him not to.

I blink once. Then scoff under my breath. "Unbelievable."

But I'm already smiling as I turn back toward the house.

Because I know She's safe.

With him—She always is.

I sigh as I step back inside.

The house feels... quieter now. Emptier. That loud, chaotic energy that filled every corner just minutes ago—gone in an instant, like it was never there.

I pause in the kitchen doorway.

Warzone.

Absolute warzone.

Bowls left out. A spoon abandoned on the counter. Juice ring on the marble. A chair slightly out of place like someone got up too fast.

But the maids are already there, moving efficiently, restoring order like nothing happened.

Like chaos is just something that passes through this house and gets erased before it can settle.

I nod at them absently and move past, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

The smell hits first. I take a sip as I lean back against the counter for a second, letting the quiet settle into my bones.

No Kaia's voice.

No Phi's footsteps.

Just stillness.

I push off the counter and head upstairs, coffee in hand, already knowing what I'm about to walk into.

Because Kaia and Phi together—On a normal day?

Chaos.

Today? Rushed chaos. Which is worse.

I push open her bedroom door.

And...Yeah.

I was right.

Her pajamas are flung across the bed like they were peeled off mid-run. The duvet is half hanging off the mattress, pillows displaced like they fought back.

I step further in.

There's a trail of water from the bathroom to the closet.

Of course there is.

I glance toward the bathroom—towel probably abandoned somewhere, floor still damp from a rushed bath.

Then the closet—Socks.

Different pairs.

Everywhere.

Her little hair things scattered across the vanity—brush not put back, gel left open, tiny clips knocked over.

I stand there for a second.

Just... taking it in.

And then I sigh.

But I'm smiling.

Because I can see it...I can see them in it.

Phi moving fast, trying to keep up. Kaia talking nonstop, probably spinning in circles while he tried to dress her.

The rush. The laughter. The chaos.

All of it.

I set my coffee down on the dresser and start cleaning. Picking up her pajamas first, folding them absentmindedly before placing them back properly.

I fix the bed next, smoothing out the sheets, fluffing the pillows, restoring some order to the storm they left behind.

I grab the socks, pairing them and placing them back where they belong.

Then I move to the vanity, capping the gel, lining up her brushes, setting her little clips back into their containers.

I step into the bathroom last, grabbing the damp towel, wiping up the water trail, restoring the space piece by piece.

It's quiet work.

Simple and grounding.

I glance around the room when I'm done.

Clean again. Calm again. But still holding traces of them.

I pick up my coffee and take another sip, leaning lightly against the doorframe.

And I smile to myself.

Because I wouldn't change it.

Not for anything.

Phayu's POV

Rain told me no fast and furious.

Not this morning.

Which is exactly why, We're fast and furious.

The engine hums under me, smooth, powerful, responsive. The road out of the estate opens up just enough and I take it, pushing a little harder than necessary, the car cutting clean through the early traffic.

Behind me, Kaia is living her best life.

"Dada!" she laughs, gripping her little seatbelt strap. "The car is moving fast like the cars at the track!"

I grin, one hand steady on the wheel, the other tapping lightly against it.

"Yeah, baby," I say, taking a sharp turn just smooth enough to not jolt her. "Those are race cars."

She gasps, delighted."Yesss"

"And you know I'm the fastest, right and that's because?"

She leans her whole body toward me as much as the seat allows, eyes bright and she lights up immediately. "Because you're the storm."

"You got that, baby!"

She throws her hands up in the air as much as she can.

"And I'm little storm!"

I laugh, full this time.

"That's right. My little storm."

She cheers, completely hyped, and I shake my head slightly, easing the car through the final turn toward her school.

We pull up—a few minutes late.

Not bad.

Not bad at all.

I park quickly and get out, moving around to her side, opening the door and unbuckling her.

She's already halfway out before I can stop her, feet hitting the ground with purpose.

"I'm late!" she declares dramatically, already about to bolt.

I catch her immediately, hand closing around her arm just enough to stop her momentum.

"Hold on," I say, pulling her back gently.

She pouts. "Dadaaa, I'm late!"

I crouch slightly, adjusting her uniform—straightening her collar, smoothing her skirt, fixing the strap of her bag.

"Well, Tiger," I say calmly, "you're already late. You can't be any later."

She blinks, considers it. Then nods like that makes perfect sense.

"Come on," I add, taking her hand. We walk in at a brisk pace.

The school is already buzzing—kids settling, voices overlapping, teachers calling out instructions.

Her classroom door is open. Most of her classmates are already in.

She spots them immediately.

Her hand slips from mine as she moves to run—I catch her again.

"Dadaaa!" she whines, impatient now.

I drop down to her level, one knee hitting the ground, bringing myself eye to eye with her.

"Not even going to tell me bye?" I ask, mock wounded. "You're breaking my heart, Tiger."

She rolls her eyes.

Five years old and already dramatic.

Then she steps forward and wraps her little arms around my neck.

"Bye, Dada. I love you."

I pull her in properly, one arm around her back, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Love you too, baby," I murmur.

I pull back just enough to look at her.

"Be good, okay?"

She nods.

And then, quieter, with a hint of mischief— "If anybody messes with you," I add, stroking her cheek, "you tell them the storm is coming for them."

She giggles immediately.

"Okay!"

She leans in and kisses my cheek this time, quick and messy.

Then she pulls away, waving as she backs toward the classroom.

"Bye, Dada!"

I watch her go.

Watch her slip into her seat, already talking to the kid next to her like she was never late, like she owns the room.

I stand there for a second longer than I need to.

Just... watching.

Making sure she's settled. Safe.Happy.

Her teacher catches my eye and nods politely.

I nod back once.

Then I turn and walk out.

Back into the world that waits outside, already quieter without her.

By the time I get home, the house is... reset.

Like the morning never happened.

No trace of the chaos. No echo of Kaia's laughter bouncing off the walls. No sign of the rushed footsteps, the shouting, the half-finished breakfast.

The kitchen gleams like nothing ever touched it, like there weren't small hands grabbing at spoons, like Rain wasn't rushing between counters, like I didn't tear through it half-dressed with a five-year-old and a mission in my head.

I head upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Because I know after chaos, Rain always restores order. It's instinct with him, one of his ways of showing care..

And there he is.

At the bed.

Hands smoothing over the sheets, fixing what we ruined earlier, like he's stitching the morning back together, aligning everything like it matters—like this small act of control balances out the rest of our lives.

He turns when he hears me. "That was fast."

I don't answer.

I just exhale and walk straight toward the bed—

"Phi—" he snaps immediately, rushing forward. "Phi, wait—"

Too late.

I drop.

Flat on my back. Right onto the freshly made sheets.

Already undoing everything he just did.

He stomps his foot and for a split second, He looks exactly like Kaia.

Same frustration. Same disbelief.

I grin.

He starts cussing me out under his breath, already moving to fix it.

"I just made that," he mutters, annoyed. "You're going to have to make it again."

I say nothing.

I just reach out, grab his wrist, and pull.

He stumbles forward, caught off guard, landing beside me with a soft huff.

"Phi—"

He tries to push himself up.

I don't let him.

I shift, rolling us, flipping us easily until I'm on top of him, my weight pinning him down into the mattress.

He glares up at me. Annoyed.

I stare right back. Smiling.

He tries to hold it.

Really tries.

But I lean down slightly, close enough that he feels it, hears it— "We survived this morning, baby."

That's it.

That's all it takes.

His glare cracks then breaks completely.

And he starts laughing. Full. Unrestrained.

"God, this morning was crazy, Phi," he says, still catching his breath.

"I know," I murmur, shaking my head. "Kaia was about to start picking hairstyles. I had to tell her—deadass—'we're working on efficiency today, baby.'"

He laughs harder at that.

"And my tiger?" I continue, softer now, a hint of pride slipping through. "She got with the program real fast."

Rain smiles at me. That soft, fond smile that hits deeper than anything else.

For a moment—It's just us.

There's no longer pressure or expectations or chaos. Just this.

I lean down and kiss him.

Then again, Slow at first. Then deeper. Like slipping into something we've done a thousand times but still feels new.

My hand slides along his side, anchoring him, keeping him right where I want him.

His fingers curl into my shirt.

He kisses me back just as easily—Until—He pulls back.

Breathing slightly heavier now.

"You've got work, Phi," he says, voice soft but firm. "You're already late enough as it is."

I groan, dropping my forehead briefly against his shoulder.

"Fuck," I mutter.

I lift my head, looking at him again.

"You sure we can't have a quickie?" I try, half-serious, half-hopeful. "I promise I'll be fast."

He snorts immediately."Nope."

"Get off," he adds, pushing lightly at my chest. "Go have your bath. I'll put out your clothes and make you breakfast."

I stare at him for a second.

Then sigh dramatically. "My balls are the same shade as the Sky."

He rolls his eyes.

"Go."

I lean down one last time, stealing a quick kiss before pushing myself up off him.

"Fine," I mutter, heading toward the bathroom. "But I'm collecting later."

He doesn't even look up.

"You always do but get to work first."

I smirk to myself as I disappear into the bathroom.

Rain's POV

By the time breakfast is done, the house has settled.

I move around the kitchen with practiced ease, plating food, pouring coffee, resetting the last of the morning into something that feels intentional instead of rushed. It's how I deal with it. I don't leave chaos behind.

I'm just setting his plate down when I hear him.

I don't need to turn immediately, I already know what I'm going to see.

But I do anyway.

And...There he is.

Fully dressed.

All black. Of course.

Like the morning didn't happen. Like he didn't have a five-year-old on his shoulder thirty minutes ago, negotiating hairstyles and bribing her with ice cream.

He looks— Composed. Devastating. Like he walked out of a different life entirely and stepped into this one without missing a beat.

It does something to me every time.

He crosses the space between us easily, and I don't even think before I step into him, wrapping my arms around his waist, grounding myself in him the way I always do.

His cologne hits me first. I lean up onto my toes and kiss him.

"I'm really rethinking that quickie," I murmur against his lips. "Why do you look so hot, Phi?"

His mouth curves against mine.

"I don't mind pulling all my clothes off again," he says, voice low, amused, already leaning into me like he means it.

Then he exhales lightly.

"But too late, baby. I've got an impromptu meeting I can't avoid."

I pull back just enough to pout at him, rolling my eyes.

"Fine," I mutter. "You owe me."

That only makes his grin widen.

"Owe you what?" he asks, clearly entertained.

His hand slides along my waist, pulling me closer like he's not done with me even if he's about to leave.

"Might I remind you," he continues, voice dipping lower, "you could have been moaning under me right now if you didn't want to act so responsible."

I scoff, but there's no real heat in it.

"Someone had to be," I shoot back, tapping his chest lightly. "Or we'd still be in bed and Kaia would be running the house."

"She already does," he says without missing a beat.

I laugh despite myself. Then I smooth his jacket, fingers lingering longer than necessary.

"You still owe me," I repeat quietly, softer now.

His gaze drops to my mouth.

Then back to my eyes. "Later," he says and he doesn't linger.

The moment he sits, he eats like a man who understands time is already slipping through his fingers— barely tasting anything, just getting through it because he has to.

I lean against the counter, watching him for a second.

The shift is always jarring.

One moment he's on top of me, laughing, teasing, all heat and softness—and the next, he's this. Controlled. Moving with purpose. Already halfway out the door in his mind.

Halfway through his plate, I hear footsteps.

I don't even need to look.

Saifah. Win.

Right on time.

I roll my eyes, already reaching for extra plates before they even open their mouths.

They walk in —relaxed, unbothered, scanning the kitchen like they're deciding what they're about to demand.

Win opens his mouth—Of course he does. And before he can get a word out— "Whatever you want," Phi cuts in flatly, not even looking at him, "make it yourself. You're not Kaia, stop making demands from my husband."

Win pauses.

Then grins and rolls his eyes.

"Good morning to you too."

Saifah snorts under his breath, already grabbing something for himself.

I slide the plates onto the counter anyway, because despite everything, I'm not about to let them starve in my kitchen.

"You're welcome," I mutter dryly.

Win salutes me lazily. "You love us."

"Debatable."

Phi doesn't engage.

Instead, he reaches for me and pulls me in without warning, dragging me down into his lap

I don't resist. I settle into him, one hand bracing against his shoulder as he leans in, his mouth finding my neck immediately.

"Got plans today?" he murmurs against my skin.

I tilt my head slightly, giving him better access without thinking.

"Nope," I say, voice softer now. "Doing a bit of work for the Burmese ports."

His hand tightens slightly at my waist.

"Then I'll pick Kaia up," I continue. "Might take her to the open market after. Let her pick a few things."

He hums against my neck, lips brushing slowly, thoughtfully, like he's mapping something out in his head.

Behind us—Win makes a very exaggerated gagging sound.

"Jesus," he mutters. "It's too early in the morning."

Saifah chuckles, leaning against the counter. "You'd think—"

Phi doesn't even turn. "Out," he says simply.

Win raises both hands in mock surrender, still grinning.

"Alright, alright."

But he doesn't actually leave.

I huff a quiet breath, fingers sliding into Phi's hair briefly before I nudge him back slightly.

"You're going to be late," I remind him.

He ignores that completely, pressing one last slow kiss to my neck before finally leaning back just enough to look at me.

"Market?" he repeats.

I nod.

Something soft flickers in his expression. "keep me updated."

"Always do."

He studies me for half a second longer, then exhales.

He doesn't let me go immediately.

Even after I shift, even after I try to slide off his lap, his hand stays firm at my waist—keeping me there like he's not done yet.

I glance at him.

He's leaning back now, one arm hooked lazily around me, the other resting against the table. But his eyes—His eyes are steady.

Focused.

On me.

"We good? Last night?" he asks, casual, soft — the little ritual he still performs even after almost ten years.

Almost a decade—and he still does this. Still makes sure nothing lingers, nothing festers, nothing gets left unsaid between us.

I chuckle softly, reaching up to brush my fingers lightly along his jaw.

"We're good, Phi."

It's absurd and lovely that he still asks. It's the way he checks the seams between us, makes sure nothing's fraying.

His shoulders ease slightly, barely noticeable unless you're looking for it.

Then his gaze darkens just a fraction, something shifting under the surface again. "I still need to fuck you," he says, low and dangerous. "It's been too long. You know how I get when it's been too long."

Heat blooms under my ribs. My hands go to stand, to peel away, because responsibility and meetings and the day are waiting — because we have lives that require functioning adults.

He doesn't let me. One hand lands at my hip like a claim the other circling my throat, anchoring me.

The touch is casual and absolute; it hushes the sensible part of my brain.

"Phi," I say, rolling my eyes because that's the currency between us — banter layered over wanting. "It's always 'too long' in your dictionary." I shoot back, bracing a hand against his chest as I try again to push up.

He doesn't budge.

Of course he doesn't.

I sigh dramatically.

He tilts his head, amused, but the grin doesn't reach indulgent. He doesn't care, he's content to wait like this, have me like this until I give in..

"Tonight," I say firmly, meeting his eyes. "You can collect."

There's a beat.

Then...that slow smile spreads across his face.

Satisfied. "Tonight," he repeats.

Not a question.

I shake my head, finally managing to pull free this time, stepping away before he decides to prove a point in the middle of the kitchen.

"Go to work," I add, pointing toward the door. "Before you make it worse."

Behind me, I hear Win snort.

"Too late for that," he mutters.

I ignore him.

Phi just watches me for one second longer... then gets up after me, and I pointedly ignore the very obvious hard-on straining his pants.

Because if I linger on it, I'm not responsible for what happens next.

Still—There's a quiet, smug satisfaction that settles in me. That after all these years, I can still do that to him. Still affect him like this.

I turn before he catches it fully on my face and walk him out, the two of us moving in sync like we always do.

At the car, he doesn't let it end easily.

His hand comes to my waist, pulling me in, and then he's kissing me—deep, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.

And for a split second, I almost give in.

Almost say fuck it and drag him back upstairs, forget the meeting, forget the day—

But I don't.

I pull back first, breath just slightly uneven, fingers still curled into his shirt.

"Have a good day," I murmur softly, brushing my thumb along his jaw. "Okay?"

I lean in one last time, softer now.

"I love you."

He looks at me like he always does when I say it—Like I'm his entire life and I just reminded him.

"I love you more, beautiful," he murmurs, quieter than before. "Call me."

I chuckle under my breath. "I will."

And then—A honk. Annoying, completely deliberate.

I turn slowly, already knowing—Win.

Of course.

He's leaning out the window like he has no sense of self-preservation, grin wide and unapologetic.

"We have to beat traffic, loverboy—let's go!"

I glare at him.

The kind of glare that should mean you value your life, correct?

He just grins wider. Phi groans beside me, dragging a hand down his face.

"Why haven't I fired or killed him?"

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I step back, giving him space to leave.

"Because he's also Kaia's godfather."

Phi pauses and considers it.

Then exhales like that's the only reason keeping Win alive.

"Unfortunately" he mutters.

I smile and he leans in one last time—quick, instinctive—and presses a brief kiss to my temple before pulling away.

Then he turns, gets into the car—And just like that—He's gone.

And the quiet settles in again.