Chapter 24

By the time we make it to the car, Phi's already back in control of everything.

He gives instruction to his driver to join mine, then slides behind the wheel himself and starts the car before I've even fully buckled in.

I glance at him as we pull out.

His jaw is tight, hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead.

I know it's probably nothing serious. I know that. This isn't the first time Kaia's gotten sick—she's a child, children pick things up, burn hot, bounce back.

But I still don't like it, not even a little.

Phi must feel the tension rolling off me because one of his hands leaves the wheel for a second and reaches over, covering mine where it's twisted tight in my lap.

He squeezes. "She's fine, baby."

I nod quickly. "I know."

But I still look out the window too hard. Still count every red light like it's personally delaying us.

"Still," I mumble.

He doesn't tell me to calm down, doesn't try to argue me out of it, he just keeps driving.

By the time we reach the school, I'm already halfway out of the car before the engine fully cuts.

The teacher is waiting near the office, and the moment she sees both of us together, her eyes widen slightly.

Phi in black, still somehow looking lethal even half-dressed in a rush. Me beside him, hair still damp, shirt buttoned wrong in my panic.

Her smile turns a little shaky.

"Oh—it's nothing serious," she says quickly, lifting both hands a little like she can already feel the mood coming off us. "I think she just needed a break from class activities—"

"Take us to her." Phi's voice is calm.

Too calm.

The teacher nods immediately and turns.

We follow her down the hall and into the school clinic— Where my apparently sick daughter is sitting on the little bed, swinging her legs and chattering away happily with the school nurse.

I stop.

Blink.

Kaia looks up first.

Her whole face lights up. "Papa! Dada!"

And just like that, she tries to climb off the bed.

The nurse catches her gently with a hand to her shoulder. "Easy, sweetheart."

My chest finally loosens, just a little.

She looks fine—Maybe a bit flushed, softer around the eyes—but fine.

Completely fine enough to be talking the nurse's ear off.

Phi steps in first, all that hard tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction the second he sees her upright and animated.

"Tiger," he says, moving straight to her.

Kaia beams up at him. "I'm in the clinic."

"I can see that," he murmurs dryly, already reaching for her, his palm pressing to her forehead.

I move in beside him, hand coming to her cheek. "Hi, baby," I say softly.

She leans right into my touch. "Hi, Papa."

The nurse smiles politely at us, but I can tell she's trying not to look too relieved now that we're not storming the place.

"She was feeling a little warm and tired after activity time," she explains. "No concerning symptoms otherwise. She's been alert, drinking water, and very talkative."

"Very talkative" is an understatement.

Kaia grabs Phi's wrist and announces proudly, "I told her that Uncle Win taught me how to hold a knife and scissors properly but Papa says only during art and in the garden ."

I close my eyes.

The nurse blinks.

Phi, bastard that he is, nods solemnly. "That is correct."

I shoot him a look.

He ignores me and scoops her into his arms anyway, holding her close while checking her again with that quiet, hyper focused way he gets when it comes to her.

"You feel okay, baby?" he asks.

She nods. "A little sleepy."

I brush her curls back and kiss her temple. "Then you're coming home with us."

Her eyes brighten instantly. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I say.

Phi settles her against his chest and glances once at the nurse, once at the teacher still hovering in the doorway. "Thank you for calling."

The teacher visibly relaxes. "Of course."

Kaia wraps her arms around Phi's neck, then reaches one hand for me.

.......

Phi buckles her in himself, crouched down in front of her like there's nothing else in the world more important than getting the straps just right.

He kisses her forehead when he's done, one hand smoothing her curls back before he closes the door.

I don't go back to the front seat, I slide in beside her instead.

I just want to be near her.

Phi notices immediately. glances in through the open door, one brow lifting slightly, but I don't look at him. I'm already focused on Kaia, already reaching for her.

She sees me beside her and grins, bright and pleased, and both her little hands grab one of mine. That alone makes something in my chest ease.

Phi shuts the door quietly and circles back to the driver's side without saying a word.

Kaia starts talking before he's even fully in the car.

Apparently the nurse gave her a sticker. Apparently Lily cried during music because her ribbon came undone. Apparently Rocky spilled juice on his shoes and she "didn't laugh that much, Papa, only a little." She tells me all of this with big eyes and warm cheeks, her voice soft and steady now, still just a little tired around the edges.

I nod and hum in all the right places, brushing my thumb over the back of her hand while she talks.

Then, halfway through telling me about the sticker, she pauses.

Her little face scrunches up in thought.

And then she asks, completely innocent, "Why did you and Dada come together, Dada didn't go to the office?"

Silence.

I freeze.

In the front seat, Phi makes a sound that is suspiciously close to a cough and not at all close to an actual cough.

I look up slowly, he catches my eyes in the rearview mirror, and the bastard is trying not to smile.

Kaia blinks between us, waiting.

I clear my throat. "Well..."

Phi answers before I can.

"Because," he says smoothly, eyes still on the road, voice perfectly calm, "I had to check on Papa first."

Kaia gasps softly. "Was Papa sick too?"

I open my mouth— "He was," Phi says with a solemn nod, like this is a serious medical discussion. "Very needy. Extremely clingy. Couldn't be left alone."

I stare at the back of his head.

Kaia turns to me with immediate concern, clutching my hand tighter. "Papa! Are you feeling better now?"

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I nearly laugh.

"I'm better now, baby," I say carefully. "Dada took very good care of me."

Phi's shoulders shake.

Kaia nods like that makes perfect sense. "Good. Because when I'm sick, Papa stays with me too."

"Exactly," Phi says.

I narrow my eyes at him, but he only glances at me in the mirror, smug as hell.

Kaia leans into my side, satisfied with that answer, and then says brightly, "Next time Papa is sick, I can help too."

I laugh, soft and helpless, and lean down to kiss the top of her head.

"Deal," I murmur.

From the front seat, Phi grins.

And somehow, despite the panic from earlier, despite the rush and the worry and the half-buttoned shirt and whatever else our daughter definitely should not know—the car feels warm again.

I lean in close, resting my head beside her car seat, and Kaia immediately tips toward me too, all soft curls and warm cheeks, her little fingers threading through mine like she needs the contact as much as I do.

She starts playing with our hands, turning them over, pressing our fingertips together one by one.

"How were you feeling, baby?" I ask softly. "Does anything hurt?"

She shakes her head gently, still focused on our fingers.

"No, Papa. I just feel really tired and my head hurt a bit." She shrugs, like that's all. "But it's better now."

I hum, relief loosening something tight in my chest, and kiss the top of her head.

"Okay," I murmur. "You tell me if it comes back, alright?"

She nods seriously for all of half a second before she's talking again, slipping right back into her school stories like nothing happened.

I smile and listen, smoothing my hand over her curls every now and then, just grateful to hear her chatter.

Then from the front seat, Phi glances at us in the mirror and asks, casual like he didn't spend the last half hour ready to tear through the school walls,

"Wanna get ice cream Tiger?"

Kaia gasps, then cheers so loudly I laugh.

"Yes!"

Her whole body lights up, tiredness forgotten for the moment as she bounces as much as the seatbelt allows.

Phi's mouth curves, small and satisfied, and he changes direction without another word.

I catch his eyes in the mirror for a second.

He looks calmer now. So do I.

And beside me, Kaia squeezes my fingers and starts telling me, very urgently, exactly what flavour she wants and why sprinkles are medically necessary when you've been in the clinic.

********

By the time we get home, the doctor is already waiting in the front hall.

I stop short the second I see her.

Then I look at Phi.

He just shrugs, calm as ever, like there's nothing at all unusual about summoning a pediatrician to the house over a low fever and a nap.

Of course he called her.

At some point between the school, the clinic, and the ice cream stop, he must have decided he didn't trust the too hot, then suddenly fine switch. And honestly?

Neither do I.

Kaia is fast asleep by the time we pull in, slumped in her car seat with sugar dried at the corner of her mouth and sticky streaks across both hands. There's a faint smear of pink on her cheek from the ice cream, and for a second she looks so small it makes my chest ache.

Phi rounds the car the moment we park and opens her door carefully.

I head toward the doctor first.

"Hi," I say quietly, lowering my voice out of habit. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," she says gently.

I explain quickly—school called, warm, headache, tiredness, then she perked up again after we picked her up, but I want her checked anyway. The doctor nods through it, already in work mode.

Behind me, Kaia stirs as Phi lifts her out of the seat.

"Dada?" Her voice is thick with sleep, small and confused.

He presses a kiss to her head, holding her close against his chest as he carries her toward the house.

"We're home, tiger," he murmurs. "The doctor is here to check you, okay?"

Kaia blinks.

Then her whole face crumples.

She clings tighter to his shirt, eyes suddenly glassy. "No injections, Dada," she whispers, voice wobbling. "I'm fine."

My heart twists immediately.

Phi stops walking.

So does the doctor.

He shifts her higher in his arms, one hand smoothing down her back. "Hey," he says softly, voice dropping into that warm, steady tone he only uses for her. "No one said anything about injections."

She looks at him suspiciously, lower lip trembling. "Really?"

"Really."

She turns her head toward me, seeking confirmation.

I step closer and brush the hair back from her forehead. "She's just checking you over, baby. That's all. No injections unless something is very wrong, and you don't look very wrong to me."

Kaia still looks unconvinced.

"Promise?" she asks.

Phi doesn't hesitate. "If anyone tries to surprise you with a needle, I'll throw them out of the house."

The doctor, to her credit, doesn't even blink.

I almost laugh.

Kaia sniffs and wipes one sticky hand across her cheek. "Even the doctor?"

"Especially the doctor," Phi says gravely.

That gets the tiniest smile out of her.

He carries her inside, and I follow with the doctor as one of the maids quietly appears with wipes and water already in hand. Kaia is still clinging to Phi, but less desperately now, her eyes heavy with sleep again as he settles onto the sofa with her in his lap.

The doctor crouches a little to bring herself to Kaia's level.

"Hi, sweetheart," she says kindly. "I'm just going to have a look, okay? No injections."

Kaia narrows her eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise."

She thinks that over, then nods once, still pressed tight to Phi's chest.

And Phi?

He keeps one arm around her the whole time, his hand moving slow and steady up and down her back, not taking his eyes off her for even a second.

The doctor asks Kaia a few questions, and to my smart girl's credit, she answers every one.

Mostly.

She tells her where her head hurt, whether her tummy feels funny, whether she was cold or hot, whether she feels dizzy now. She answers with sleepy seriousness, curled sideways against Phi like he's her personal shield.

And then, of course, she tries to fib.

Just a little.

"No, I wasn't really tired at school," she says, blinking up innocently.

Phi's hand stills on her back.

"Kaia."

That tone.

Soft, but firm. The one he almost never uses with her because he rarely has to.

She immediately looks at him, caught.

Then she sighs dramatically and corrects herself.

"...A little bit tired."

The doctor smiles like she's trying not to laugh, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek because honestly? Same.

Kaia keeps going after that, more truthful now under Phi's quiet stare, admitting that her head hurt a bit and that she wanted to lie down and that maybe, maybe, music class felt too loud.

By the end of it, the doctor straightens and gives us the answer I've been hoping for.

"She seems fine," she says, calm and reassuring. "I'd just keep a closer eye on her tonight."

I exhale slowly.

Phi doesn't.

I can feel the tension still sitting in him from across the room.

"It could be the start of the flu," the doctor continues. "Or she may simply be fighting something mild off. I'll write something for her just in case she starts running a fever again."

I nod immediately. "Okay."

"Plenty of fluids. Rest. Keep monitoring her temperature," she adds. "If she gets worse, call me."

Phi finally speaks. "She won't be going to school tomorrow."

The doctor, very wisely, just nods. "That would be sensible."

Kaia perks up slightly at that, her sleepy face brightening. "No school?"

Phi looks down at her. "No school."

She thinks about that for exactly one second. "Can I still have ice cream?"

I close my eyes.

The doctor laughs this time, openly.

Phi's mouth twitches as he presses a kiss to the top of her head. "We'll discuss it."

"That means yes," Kaia tells the doctor knowingly.

The doctor gathers her things with a chuckle while one of the maids steps forward to take the prescription note, and I walk her to the door, thanking her again.

When I turn back, Phi is still on the sofa with Kaia in his lap, one big hand spanning her back while she leans against him, drowsy but clearly very pleased with the no school development.

I move back toward them and sit beside them, smoothing my palm over her warm little shin.

"You hear that, baby?" I murmur. "You're on observation."

Kaia blinks slowly. "What's obsa... obsa..."

"Observation," Phi supplies.

I smile and lean in to kiss her temple. "It means we get to watch you veeeery closely. Like this."

And before she can even react, I lean right into her space, burying my face against her cheek and neck and making ridiculous little growling sounds.

She bursts into laughter instantly, bright and loud, squirming in Phi's lap.

"Too close, Papa!"

I laugh too, pulling back just enough to look at her, my nose brushing hers. "Too close? But I have to inspect you."

"Nooo," she giggles, trying to push at my face with her little hands. "Not like that!"

Phi chuckles softly, one hand steady on her back so she doesn't wiggle right off him.

"She does have a point," he says dryly. "Your medical methods are questionable."

I gasp and look at him. "Excuse me? I'm very qualified."

Kaia shakes her head emphatically, curls bouncing. "No, Papa's silly."

"Rude," I say, pressing one more exaggerated kiss to her cheek anyway.

She squeals and hides her face against Phi's chest, still laughing, and Phi just looks down at her with that quiet softness that only ever belongs to us.

Then he glances at me, mouth twitching.

"Alright, doctor," he says. "Anything else in your examination?"

I narrow my eyes like I'm deeply serious, then reach over and smooth Kaia's curls back from her forehead.

"One more thing," I murmur, brushing my lips there gently. "Prescription for cuddles."

Kaia peeks up immediately. "And cartoons."

Phi nods once. "Approved."

"And juice," she adds.

"Approved," I echo.

I smile and lean in to kiss her temple. Phi looks at me over her head, all that earlier panic banked down now. Still protective and alert. But calmer.

"We'll keep her with us tonight," he says.

Like that was ever going to be up for debate.

I nod. "Obviously."

Kaia smiles, small and sleepy, and curls further into both of us.

Phi cancels his meetings without a second thought.

One minute he's on the phone, voice clipped and cold, shutting down whatever important thing the rest of the world thinks matters, and the next he's with his laptop open, emails flying, phone buzzing every few minutes—but never far from us.

He works from the armchair by the couch while Kaia curls up under a blanket with me, and every time she shifts or sighs or coughs even a little, his eyes lift immediately.

He tries to act calm about it, like he's still working, still focused, still in control. But I know him too well. The tension is in his shoulders, in the way he keeps checking the clock, in the way his hand always reaches out whenever he walks past her—touching her forehead, smoothing her hair back, asking quietly, "How do you feel, tiger?"

By late afternoon, the front door opens again.

I look up, expecting one of the staff.

Instead, it's Papa.

I blink. "I definitely didn't call you."

He waves that off immediately, already walking in like the house belongs to him. "Her teacher did."

I just stare at him for a second, then laugh softly under my breath because honestly? I'm not even going to question it. One sniffle from Kaia and apparently the entire family mobilizes like a crisis unit.

Kaia, meanwhile, is absolutely basking in it.

She's on the sofa with her blanket wrapped around her legs, cheeks a little pink, hair messy from her nap, and the second she sees him she perks up like she's suddenly much less tired than she was thirty seconds ago.

"Grandpapa!"

He softens instantly, going straight to her, touching her forehead, kissing the top of her head, asking her a dozen questions in that low, warm voice that somehow still sounds vaguely intimidating even when he's being sweet.

And my daughter—my dramatic, ridiculous daughter—answers like she's a tiny queen receiving visitors while recovering from a grave illness.

Then, because apparently we're turning this into a full production, Saifah and Win show up too.

I don't even ask who called them.

They arrive carrying enough chaotic energy to wake the dead, and within minutes they've decided they're playing doctor.

"Patient Kaia," Win says solemnly, crouching in front of her with a her toy stethoscope, a gift from Dad,  held like a medical instrument. "On a scale of one to ten, how tragic is your condition?"

Kaia thinks about it very seriously. "Seven Uncle Win."

Saifah nods like this is devastating news. "Very severe."

"Does it hurt here?" Win asks, poking her side.

She giggles. "No."

Saifah nods like this is critical information. "Good. She will live."

Phi doesn't even look up from his laptop. "You're both idiots."

But I catch the way his mouth twitches.

Kaia gets her temperature checked three more times than necessary, has her heartbeat listened to, and is prescribed at least four completely fake treatments, including more juice, a cartoon marathon, and "no school forever," which I, the responsible parent shuts down immediately.

She still enjoys every second of it.

She naps after that, heavy and warm in my arms, then wakes up looking brighter. Better. Hungry, which makes all of us relax in that quiet way nobody admits out loud.

Dinner is simple.

She eats enough to make me feel human again.

Then she gets spoiled rotten.

Extra snacks. Extra cartoons. Extra cuddles. Absolutely no one says no to her, not even once. Not Phi, who keeps pretending he's still half-working while secretly watching every bite she takes.

Not Grandpapa, who stays longer than he probably meant to. Not Win and Saifah, who act like her personal entertainment committee until she's yawning so hard she can barely keep her eyes open.

By bedtime, she's all soft edges and sleepy eyes.

A bath and fresh pyjamas, clean hair, warm little hands.

And she ends up tucked between me and Phi in our bed. Her little body curls toward me first, one hand fisting in my shirt, but her foot hooks over Phi's leg like she needs both of us to fully settle.

Phi lies on his side facing her, one arm draped over her waist, his thumb rubbing slow circles against her back even after her breathing evens out.

I lie there and watch them.

The two loves of my life in one bed, both of them undoing me in completely different ways.

Kaia sighs in her sleep and presses closer. Phi adjusts the blanket higher around her without a word.

"She's fine," I whisper into the dark.

He doesn't answer straight away.

His hand keeps moving over her back once. Twice.

Then, quietly, "I know."

But he still doesn't stop checking.

And I don't ask him to.

I just reach across Kaia and touch his wrist lightly. He looks at me over her head. Tired and soft, still carrying that leftover fear neither of us has said much about.

I smile at him a little and he leans in and kisses Kaia's hair.

Then he kisses my forehead.

And finally, with our daughter warm and safe between us, the whole house seems to exhale

....

By the next day she's completely fine.

Crisis averted.

Right now, I'm curled in Phi's lap on the couch, half watching, half laughing as Kaia jumps around in front of the TV with her little karaoke mic, singing at the top of her lungs like she's headlining a sold-out arena.

Phi, meanwhile, is absolutely impossible.

Now that Kaia's clearly okay, my husband has apparently decided restraint is dead.

His mouth keeps finding my neck, his nose brushing slow against my skin, arms tight around my waist like he's trying to melt me into him while our daughter performs three feet away.

I can feel the way he's smiling against my throat before he even speaks.

"This is the longest any of them has ever asked for Kaia," he murmurs into my ear, voice low and suspiciously thoughtful. "Are you sure Papa hasn't called? Or even Sky?"

I snort and slap a hand lightly against his chest.

"You want to pawn your daughter off on her godfathers just so you can get laid?" I turn my head to glare at him. "You're unbelievable."

Phi doesn't even look ashamed.

Not a little bit.

He just lifts one shoulder and keeps nuzzling at my neck like that's a perfectly reasonable position to hold in a parenting discussion.

"I'm just observing a scheduling anomaly," he says smoothly.

I stare at him.

He stares right back, dark-eyed and completely serious in the most unserious way possible.

Onscreen, Kaia spins dramatically and points the microphone at us.

"This song is for my Dada and Papa!"

I clap immediately.

Phi does too, because whatever else he is, he's still helpless for her.

Kaia beams and launches into the next line with even more unnecessary passion.

I lean back against Phi and lower my voice. "You need help."

He kisses just below my ear, quick and shameless. "That's what I've been saying, touch my dick, it has a fever and a 'head' ache"

I snort and roll my eyes so hard trying to see a future without his nonsense.

Then Kaia gasps mid-song and points at us accusingly.

"No talking while I'm performing!"

I press my lips together.

Phi, the traitor, buries his face in my shoulder because he's laughing.

"Yes, boss," I say solemnly.

Kaia nods, satisfied, and goes right back to singing like she didn't just discipline both of us in our own living room.

Phi's hands settle at my waist again, calmer now, his chin resting on my shoulder as we both watch her.

And after a moment, quieter, he murmurs, "She's okay."

I turn my head enough to catch his eyes.

The leftover worry, the relief.

I soften instantly. "She is," I whisper back.

His grip tightens for a second, then eases.

In front of us, Kaia finishes her song with a wild final note and throws both hands in the air.

I clap loudly, Phi whistles.

And our little girl curtsies like she's royalty.

After dinner, after Kaia's bath, after the whole house settles into that softer night time quiet, I'm in her closet helping her into pyjamas.

Her room always feels extra warm after bath time—little socks half-paired in one basket, hair ribbons draped over the velvet stool, her tiny dresses hanging in neat little rows like a miniature boutique. She's standing on the rug in front of me, still pink-cheeked and sweet-smelling from her bath, while I pull one of her soft pyjama tops over her head.

She blinks up at me through damp curls and asks, casual as anything, "Am I sleeping with you and Dada again tonight?"

I open my mouth.

And before I can even answer, I hear Phi's voice from the doorway.

"Princess," he says, in that suspiciously calm tone that already tells me exactly where this is going.

I glance up.

He's leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, hair still a little damp, black lounge pants hanging low on his hips, t-shirt nowhere to be found because apparently even bedtime has to be a personal attack on me.

His face is composed, but I know him.

That man does not want to get cockblocked again tonight.

Kaia twists around to look at him, eyes bright. "Dada?"

Phi, bastard that he is, pushes off the doorway and strolls in like this is a routine domestic discussion and not him trying to negotiate his daughter out of our bed.

"I think," he says, crouching down in front of her, "that tonight Papa and Dada should have their bed back."

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts.

He looks right back at me with absolutely no shame.

Kaia gasps, scandalized, halfway into her shorts. "Why?"

Phi smooths the hem of her shorts down her legs with all the solemn dignity of a diplomat addressing parliament.

"Because," he says, "you are getting bigger, tiger. And when you sleep with us, you kick."

Her mouth drops open. "I do not!"

I snort before I can stop myself.

Phi glances at me without moving his head. "Tell her."

I lift one shoulder and keep brushing through Kaia's curls. "Last night, one foot was on my ribs and one was on Dada's stomach."

Kaia spins around to stare at me, scandalized. "That's because I cuddle."

Phi nods once. "Dangerously."

That gets me laughing properly.

Kaia huffs and folds her arms, tiny and offended in pink pyjamas and fluffy socks. "I am not."

Phi reaches out and taps her nose. "You are when you're asleep."

She narrows her eyes at him, then at me, clearly trying to decide who betrayed her most.

Phi watches her like a man waiting for the verdict of a life sentence.

Then, because he has absolutely no shame, he adds, too casually, "And if you sleep in your room all night..."

I look at him immediately.

He keeps going. "...I hear there may be pancakes in the morning."

Kaia's whole face changes.

The outrage vanishes. Suspicion fades. Interest blooms.

"Chocolate chip?"

Phi nods slowly, like this is costing him. "Maybe."

"And whipped cream?"

He sighs like this is costing him personally. "Fine."

I stare at him.

Kaia does not. Kaia is already glowing.

"Deal!"

She launches herself at him, and he catches her easily, standing with her hanging off him. He kisses her cheek, and she grins, all outrage gone now that bribery has entered the chat.

I shake my head and reach for the little jar of lotion on the dresser.

"You're unbelievable," I mutter.

Phi looks over at me, smug as hell, Kaia perched on his hip.

Kaia pats his cheek like she's granting royal approval. "Dada's very smart."

"I know," he says.

I laugh again despite myself, rubbing lotion into her hands while she chatters about what shape the pancakes should be. Hearts. No, stars. No, maybe castles because she's "still in my princess architect era, Papa."

Phi hums like this is a perfectly normal sentence.

I finish with her hair and take a second just to look at her.

Fresh from her bath. Safe. Healthy. Fine.

Yesterday scared the life out of both of us, even if it turned out to be nothing. Today she's glowing again, warm and dramatic and negotiating dessert for breakfast like the world has never touched her.

Exactly how I want it.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. "Alright," I say. "Story first. Then cuddles. Then we see how long you last in your own room."

Kaia grins.

Phi meets my eyes over the top of her head. I lift a brow at him and he gives me the faintest, most shameless smile.

Oh, he really does think he's getting lucky tonight.

+++++

Phi barely lets me finish Kaia's story before his hand closes around my wrist.

"She's asleep, Rain. Get your sneaky little ass up."

I look at him, offended on principle and fighting so hard not to laugh.

"You're not going to kiss her goodnight and tell her you love her?"

"She knows I love her. Let's go."

I snort under my breath. "Phi."

He rolls his eyes like I'm the difficult one here, but to his credit, he bends down anyway.

And just like that, he softens.

His whole face changes in that quiet way it only ever does for her. He leans over the bed, whispers his usual goodnight words, then presses two gentle kisses to her head. He pulls her blanket up under her chin, strokes his thumb over her cheek once, twice, lingering there for a second like he can't help it.

And damn him, that gets me every time.

Because one second he's a menace trying to drag me out of our daughter's room before I've even finished the last page, and the next he's this.

This man, this father, this soft, impossible heart hidden inside all that darkness.

My expression must give me away because the moment he straightens, it's like he remembers exactly what he was doing in here in the first place.

His eyes land on me and sharpen instantly.

"You," he says, low and decisive, pointing at me like he's issuing a direct order. "Get in bed and naked. Now."

I grin before I can help it, biting my lip as I start tiptoeing backward toward the door.

"And if I say no?"

He narrows his eyes and steps toward me.

"Rain..."

That tone.

I get to the doorway just as he nearly lunges after me—and Kaia stirs.

We both freeze. Completely still. Caught in the dark like two idiots.

Kaia shifts under the blankets, sighs softly, and turns her face deeper into the pillow.

We wait.

One second.

Two.

Then her breathing evens back out.

I slowly look back at Phi. He slowly looks at me.

I wink.

And run.

I slip out of the room barefoot, laughter already climbing up my throat as I dart down the hall, knowing—absolutely knowing—my husband is right behind me.

Because that's the thing about Phi.

He always chases.

I make it halfway to the stairs before his hand catches the back of my shirt and yanks me back with a startled laugh.

"Got you."

I squeal under my breath, twisting in his hold as he hauls me against him, one arm locking around my waist.

"Phi—"

"Running from me?" he murmurs against my ear, all false offense and real heat. "That's brave."

I turn in his arms, smiling up at him, breathless already from nothing but the chase and the look on his face.

"Maybe I wanted to be chased."

His hands slide down, firm on my hips, and his mouth curves in that slow, dangerous way that always makes my stomach drop.

"Oh, baby," he says softly. "I know."

He backs me into our room, kicks the door shut behind us with one bare foot, and the second the latch clicks, his hands are on my face, my waist, everywhere—like holding back for those few minutes nearly killed him.

He kisses me hard, deep and claiming and full of all the want he's been swallowing down since dinner.

I laugh against his mouth once, helplessly, and he smiles into the kiss.

"You're impossible," I whisper.

He walks me backward until the backs of my knees hit the bed.

"And you," he says, pushing me down onto the mattress with both hands on my shoulders, eyes black and bright, "are about to be stuffed full."

I prop myself up on my elbows and look up at him through my lashes.

"Bossy."

He starts untying the drawstring of his pants, gaze never leaving mine.

"Get naked, Rain."

The way he says my name—Like he's done being patient.

I sit up slowly, deliberately, letting him watch me peel my shirt over my head, and the sound he makes under his breath is low enough to curl through me.

Outside the room, the whole house is quiet.

Down the hall, our daughter is asleep.

And in here, my husband looks at me like he's been starving all night.

I look up at him, slow and sultry, letting my fingers trail over my own skin as I ask, "How do you want me?"

Phi stills.

For half a second, he just stares.

Then his eyes go even darker. "Dangerous question, baby."

I sit up higher on the bed, one knee folding under me, head tilting as I hold his gaze. "I asked."

His jaw flexes. He steps closer, unhurried now, like he's enjoying the anticipation as much as the answer.

"I want you spread out for me," he says, voice low and rough. "Pretty and open. Looking at me while I take my time."

My breath catches.

He comes to stand right at the edge of the bed, one hand sliding over my ankle, then up my calf, slow enough to make me ache.

"I want you soft first," he continues, eyes never leaving mine. "I want you melting for me, letting me do whatever I want with that beautiful body."

His hand reaches my knee and presses it wider.

"And then?" I whisper it.

He leans down, one palm flattening on the mattress beside my hip, mouth brushing mine without kissing me yet.

"Then I want you wrecked," he murmurs. "On your back, on your stomach, however I want you. I want you so fucked you can't remember your own name."

I shiver.

He finally kisses me then—slow, filthy—and when he pulls back, his thumb drags over my bottom lip.

"But right now," he says, voice dropping even lower, "I'll have you first like this"

He presses me gently onto my back.

"With my tongue first."

His hands slide to my thighs, guiding them apart.

"Then my fingers, then finally...my cock."

I shiver, and whisper... "I'm yours"

He grins, smug, like there's no question. 

"Mine"

*****************

PHAYU'S POV

I'm in my city office when my phone rings.

Rain.

I answer immediately. "Hi, beautiful."

There's no greeting from him this time, just a flat, unimpressed, "Phi. Kaia's school called again."

I close my eyes and sigh, leaning back in my chair.

Third time in two weeks.

Besides that first actual scare, the one that sent both of us flying out of a hotel half-dressed and half out of our minds, my daughter has apparently decided being "sick" is the greatest scam she's ever discovered.

Because now she knows.

She knows if she so much as coughs a little too sadly, her school calls us.

She knows one of us—or both of us—will come get her before school closes because neither of us has any self-control when it comes to her.

She knows it usually ends in ice cream, or pastries from Sky's bakery, cartoons at home under blankets, Win and Saifah swooping in to entertain her with whatever deeply inappropriate activity they've decided counts as childcare that day. Last week she came back talking about "supervised explosions," and I made a mental note to pretend I didn't hear that.

And she definitely knows it ends with maximum fussing and sleeping in our bed demanding cuddles like she didn't just scam her way out of science class, because apparently we are raising a tiny criminal mastermind.

The first time Rain told me she was faking it, I didn't want to believe him.

Didn't.

Wouldn't.

Because it's Kaia, and if there's even a chance something's wrong, I'll burn half the city to get to her.

But now? Now even I'm getting played.

On the other end of the line, Rain snorts softly.

"Do you believe me now?"

I drag a hand down my face and stare up at the ceiling. "That girl."

Rain laughs under his breath. "She's unbelievable."

"That," he says, "she got from you."

I huff. "Lies."

It's not lies.

Rain's voice cuts through my thoughts, "You're too soft with her. I'll take care of it."

I straighten slightly in my chair. "Rain."

"What, Phi?" His tone sharpens. "If you won't do the scolding, I will."

I sigh again, because he's right.

I don't mind the routine we've built.

Good cop, bad cop.

Or, more accurately: Rain with an actual backbone, and me with absolutely none.

I may be the storm to everyone else. I may run an empire built on fear, control, and precision.

But with Kaia?

I have no spine.

None.

All she has to do is blink those big brown eyes up at me, curl her little fingers into my shirt, and I'm done. Finished. Melted into a useless puddle of yes, tiger, of course, princess, whatever you want, baby.

Rain, though? He's the one who can see through her immediately and still love her enough to do what needs doing.

"Fine," I say finally, rubbing at my temple. "Let me know how it goes."

There's a pause.

Then Rain sighs, quieter now. "I will."

I'm about to hang up when he adds, "And Phi?"

"Yeah?"

"If she starts crying when I call her out, don't you dare swoop in and ruin it."

I snort despite myself. "No promises."

"Venice."

I grin, even though he can't see it. "Fine. I'll behave."

"For once in your life." And hangs up on me.

I lower the phone and stare at it for a second, already knowing exactly how this is going to go.

Rain will arrive at the school calm and beautiful and terrifying in that elegant, quiet way of his.

Kaia will put on the performance of her life.

And somehow, by tonight, she'll still end up spoiled.

Because she's ours and unfortunately for both of us, she knows it.

Rain's POV

As usual, Kaia is sitting in the school clinic, legs swinging off the little bed while she chatters away to the nurse about something extremely serious that sounds suspiciously like glitter glue war.

I stop in the doorway and just look at her for a second.

My daughter.

My tiny scam artist.

I sigh.

She spots me immediately and lights up, big grin flashing across her face— and then, just as quickly, she remembers she's supposed to be performing.

The grin drops.

Her shoulders slump.

She gives this dramatic little sniffle and then fake coughs into her hand.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek so hard I almost hurt myself.

I walk over anyway, calm, composed, and crouch in front of her, resting my hands on my knees.

"Baby," I say softly, because I'm still her papa even when she's being ridiculous. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

She shrugs, eyes suddenly wide and fragile in a way that would be convincing if I hadn't personally seen her laughing two seconds ago.

"I think I'm sick, Papa."

"You think so?"

She nods.

And honestly, kudos to me and the nurse, because neither of us bursts out laughing at this terrible, terrible acting.

I let out a slow breath instead and tilt my head.

"Kaia," I say gently, quietly enough that it doesn't sound like a public scolding, "what did we say about lying?"

Her whole face changes. It's not guilty yet, she glances at the nurse, then back at me, lips pressing together.

I wait.

That's the thing about being the strict parent. You don't need volume, you just need patience.

Her little shoulders sag.

And then, in the smallest voice, she mutters, "it's bad."

I nod once. "Yes. It is."

She starts picking at the hem of her skirt, not looking at me anymore.

I keep my voice soft. "Are you actually feeling sick, or did you want them to call me?"

That gets me a tiny, guilty glance.

Then she whispers, "Maybe both."

I almost laugh.

Almost.

Instead I raise a brow. "Kaia."

She sighs, dramatic as ever, and her head drops forward a little.

"I just wanted to go home."

There it is.

I shift closer and smooth her curls back from her forehead.

"Because you're tired? Or because you wanted the extra attention?"

She squirms.

The nurse is suddenly very interested in her paperwork.

Kaia peeks up at me through her lashes. "Maybe... the attention."

I inhale slowly not because I'm angry, not really. Just because I already know Phi is going to fold like wet paper the second I tell him this.

I brush my thumb over her cheek.

"Baby, listen to me. If you want extra cuddles, you ask. If you miss us, you say so. If you're having a hard day, you tell me. But you do not lie and pretend to be sick just to leave school early. Do you understand?"

Her eyes get shiny immediately.

God.

She got that from me too.

She nods, fast. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"I know you are."

"And I really miss you."

I feel that one right in my heart

So I lean in and kiss her forehead anyway, because I'm strict, not heartless.

"I know, my love. But this can't happen again."

She wraps her arms around my neck, little and warm and unbearably sincere now that the performance is over.

"Okay," she whispers.

I hold her for a second, then pull back just enough to look at her properly.

"So here's what's going to happen," I tell her.

Her mouth wobbles. "Am I in trouble?"

"Yes."

She deflates.

"But," I add, "I'm not taking you for ice cream."

That gets her full attention.

"No ice cream?"

"No cakes and sweets. No cartoons. No pretending today is clinic princess day."

Her lower lip pushes out.

I press a finger gently to it before it can become a full pout.

"You're still coming home with me," I say. "Because I'm not leaving you here after this conversation. But when we get home, you're having a quiet afternoon. And tonight, you're the one explaining to Dada why this was not okay."

Her eyes go huge. "Papa."

"Yes."

"No, Dada."

I give her a look.

She groans softly and lets her forehead drop to my shoulder.

The nurse coughs into her hand, definitely hiding a smile now.

She hates disappointing Phi, which is ironic because he never scolds her.

I stand, lifting Kaia into my arms despite myself, because consequences can still happen while she's being carried. She clings to me automatically, face tucked into my neck.

As I thank the nurse and sign her out, Kaia whispers into my skin, tragic and dramatic and very much my daughter,

"Dada's gonna be mad at me, right?"

I close my eyes for half a second.

Then I kiss her temple. "Unfortunately for both of us," I murmur, "your Dada has absolutely no strength when it comes to you."

That finally gets a tiny laugh out of her.

I strap her into her car seat myself, tightening the buckle just a little, smoothing down the front of her uniform when I'm done.

She doesn't look at me much.

Just sits there with her hands folded in her lap, quiet in that deliberate way she gets when she knows she's done something wrong and hates the feeling of it settling in.

She really doesn't like when I scold her.

And I hate doing it.

But I'm not about to make her feel okay about lying either.

I close the door gently and make my way around to the driver's seat, sliding in and starting the car.

Before I pull off, I send Phi a quick text.

Picked her up. She's fine. On the way home now.

His reply comes almost immediately.

Got it.

I put the phone down and drive out of the school gates.

Kaia stays quiet the whole time.

No chatter, no school recap, no made-up songs under her breath.

Just silence in the back seat, small and heavy and sad enough that it starts clawing at me too.

By the time we reach a red light, I can't leave it alone anymore.

I turn in my seat and reach my hand back toward her.

"Baby," I say softly, "I'm not mad at you, okay?"

Her little face lifts then, cautious, eyes already glossy.

"You're not?"

I shake my head. "No. I'm not mad."

She stares at my hand for a second before slipping her fingers into mine, holding on tight.

"I'm disappointed," I say gently, because I'm not going to lie to her while teaching her not to lie to me. "That's different."

Her mouth trembles. "I just wanted to come home."

I nod slowly. "I know."

"And I wanted you."

That...is unfair and completely honest.

The light stays red.

The whole world feels paused around us.

I squeeze her hand. "You always have me," I tell her quietly. "You never have to trick me to get me, okay?"

She sniffs and rubs at one eye with her free hand. "But you and Dada come fast when I'm sick."

Oh, baby.

I breathe out slowly, because there it is. The logic. The little child logic that makes perfect sense when you're five and emotional and trying to solve longing with the only pattern you've found.

I keep my voice gentle.

"Yes. We do. Because if you're sick, we come. Always." I tilt my head, trying to catch her eyes properly. "But if you miss us, or school feels hard that day, or you want to sleep in our bed, you can say that too. You can tell the truth."

She looks at me for a long second. "Even if it's silly?"

I smile. "Especially if it's silly."

The light turns green, but the car behind me hasn't honked yet, and for a second I just stay there looking at her.

Then I lean over and kiss the back of her hand and turn back around, easing the car forward.

From the back seat, her voice comes small and careful.

"I'm still sorry, Papa."

"I know, my love."

A pause.

Then, even smaller: "Do you think Dada will still do pancakes tomorrow?"

I let out a soft laugh despite myself.

This girl.

"I think," I say, glancing at her in the mirror, "Dada was always going to do pancakes tomorrow."

And finally—finally—I get a little smile.