Chapter 27

Rain's POV

The next morning, I wake up early.

Not with an alarm, not most days. My body just knows when the house is still and the world hasn't started asking things from me yet.

It's my favorite kind of quiet—soft, private, the kind that belongs only to me for a few minutes before the day begins properly.

Phi is still deep asleep beside me.

One arm is thrown across my waist, heavy and possessive even in sleep, his hand spread over me like his body refuses to loosen its claim no matter how unconscious he is. I look down at it and smile to myself before I turn properly toward him.

God.

He's beautiful.

He always is, but sleep does something unfair to him. It smooths the hard lines out of his face, softens the tension he carries awake in his jaw and brow, makes him look younger somehow.

Less like the man who terrifies rooms when he walks into them, more like the man I met years ago beneath all that darkness and control.

His hair is half across the pillow, half over his face, and his lips are parted slightly as he breathes, slow and deep. He's snoring too—softly, barely there, but enough that if he were awake I'd never let him live it down.

I reach out automatically and brush the hair back from his face.

It's something I do almost every morning if I wake first. One of those small intimate things that build a life with someone without you noticing.

He doesn't wake right away, just breathes deeper and shifts a little closer, his hand tightening once on my waist like even asleep he can feel me moving.

Another morning.

Another day beside the love of my life.

The father of my child.

The man who drives me mad and loves me too much and sleeps with one hand on me like the world might try to steal me if he doesn't.

I lean in and kiss the top of his head.

Once.

Then again, because I can and that gets a reaction.

His brows twitch first, then his lashes lift slowly. Dark eyes blink open, still thick with sleep, and land on me without any confusion at all.

There is something so intimate about being the first thing he sees in a day. Something I never get tired of.

He hums low when I kiss him again, and again, because waking him this way is one of my favorite indulgences.

Then he shifts, strong hands finding me, pulling me over him until I'm half sprawled on his chest, duvet tangling between us, his body warm and impossibly solid beneath mine.

"Good morning," I whisper.

He drags one hand through my hair, pushing it back from my face the same way I did for him, thumb brushing my temple.

"Morning, beautiful."

I chuckle, soft and fond. "You want to sleep some more? It's still early."

He nods immediately, eyes already heavy again. "I feel tired, baby."

That pulls something gentle out of me. "Okay," I murmur. "You don't have to be up early. Just breakfast, and then the guys will get here."

The change in him is instant. He stiffens under me like I poured cold water over his chest.

His eyes open fully now, vivid and annoyed as the memory fully forms.

Right, today.

Kaia's big day out with him and the rest of her male entourage.

I bite back a laugh, but not well enough. His glare slides up to me and I snicker outright.

Then, because I'm not stupid, I lean down and kiss him before he can start.

"It's too early to be difficult," I murmur against his mouth. "Go back to sleep. I'll work out a bit, get breakfast started, then go get Kaia."

He groans, full and aggrieved, and drags me back down onto his chest like I've personally wronged him.

"Five more minutes."

I laugh into his skin because he sounds exactly like Kaia did last night, same tone, same little plea, same absolute certainty that if he says it sweetly enough the world should bend.

"You two are actually the same person," I tell him.

He says nothing. Just tightens his arms around me and buries his face in my hair, already making good on his own request by sinking back toward sleep.

And because it's early, because his body is warm, because I know once the house wakes it'll be all noise and movement and men and my daughter demanding things from everyone at once—I let him.

I relax against him and let him hold me. His breathing slows again under my cheek. His fingers move once at my back, then still.

I lie there listening to his heartbeat, thinking about breakfast, about Kaia, about the ridiculous outing ahead, about how much money I already know they're going to spend.

I think about the fact that I will complain and still secretly love seeing her come home glowing from being doted on.

After a while, when I'm sure he's drifted back under, I start to ease away.

Gently.

Very gently.

It still earns me a low protest from him, half groan, half sleepy growl, and I can't help it—I shush him the exact same way I shush Kaia.

"It's okay, I love you" I whisper, smoothing his hair back. "Go back to sleep."

He does and I slip out of bed carefully and reach for my robe, tying it around myself as the room stays dim and warm around us. I'm halfway to the closet when I hear his voice behind me, rough with sleep and just loud enough to stop me.

"Love you, baby."

It hits me the same way it always does and I turn back, smile into the half-dark.

"Love you too, Phi," I whisper.

And then I leave him there—beautiful, warm, still half reaching for me in his sleep—while I go downstairs to start our day.

.....

The house is still quiet when I come back up, hushed in that expensive, protected way our home gets before the day properly begins.

A few maids are already awake and moving softly through the corridors downstairs, a couple of guards trading low words by the entrance, but for the most part the whole place is still holding its breath.

I'd taken my time with it.

The gym first. Treadmill until my thoughts stopped racing and until my body felt properly awake. A little yoga to stretch out the tightness that always sits in my hips and shoulders after days like yesterday.

Then the pool, because once I'm in the water everything else falls away—no husband, no child, no schedules, no business, just my own body cutting through something clean and relaxing.

I enjoyed it.

The peace.

The fact that for one small pocket of the morning, no one needed me.

By the time I get back upstairs, and in and out of the shower, my skin is still warm, my hair tied back, house clothes soft against my skin.

Phi is still asleep and that surprises me more than it should.

He must've been more tired than he let on.

I pause in the doorway for a second and just look at him. Still half on his stomach now, one arm thrown across my side of the bed, brow smoothed out by sleep, hair spread across the pillow.

He looks younger like this. Softer. Less like the man who walks into rooms and leaves everyone braced, more like the one who mumbles for five more minutes and kisses me awake like he can't help himself.

I keep quiet and move gently though the room.

There'll be enough noise soon, So I leave him sleeping and head for Kaia's room.

Her door opens without a sound, and her room is still dim except for the soft spill of dawn through the curtains.

She's a little mound under her blanket, hair everywhere, plushie tucked under one arm like she fell asleep mid-conversation and never got around to letting the world go.

I move to her bedside and switch on the lamp.

"Wakey wakey, Princess," I murmur.

It takes time to wake her up.

She's just like me on mornings she doesn't feel like participating in life—deeply offended by the concept of waking up at all. She squirms, buries deeper, makes a tiny protesting sound into the pillow that says she's heard me and rejects my entire agenda.

I smile despite myself and sit on the edge of her bed.

A few soft kisses to her temple. My fingers stroking her hair back.Little whispers against her cheek.

"Come on, baby."

A sleepy hum.

"Time to wake up."

Another hum. More offended.

I slide a hand under her shoulder and help her up slowly until she tips into me, all warm limbs and sleep-heavy weight. I draw her into my lap and start rocking her gently the way I always do when she wakes soft like this, my hand moving up and down her back.

"Good morning, baby," I whisper. "Did you sleep well?"

She nods against me, yawning so hard her whole body shakes with it, then nuzzles deeper into my chest like she can somehow avoid the morning by making herself small enough.

I chuckle and kiss the top of her head.

"It's a new beautiful day with you, my heart. I love you, my baby girl," I murmur.

This part is ours, always has been.

When it's this quiet, when it's just me and her in the half-light before the house wakes up, I tell her the things I need her to grow up knowing in her bones.

"Thank you for being the best girl in the whole world. You're so smart," I whisper into her hair. "So beautiful. So strong."

She doesn't answer, just breathes against me, but I know she hears. Even half asleep, she hears.

"You make me and Dada very very happy. We're so lucky to have you and to love you"

I keep going, the words coming soft and steady, the same way they always do when I'm pouring them into her—not because she lacks love, but because I never want her to have to wonder where she stands with us.

I want it overdone. Obvious. Something she can carry even when she's older and angry and pretending she doesn't care.

I whisper the things I want to build her out of.

Love.Safety.Worth.Certainty.

That she is wanted. That she is ours. That nothing about her has to be earned.

After a while—after enough kisses to her forehead and enough stroking her back that her body finally stops fighting the day—she blinks up at me.

Big brown eyes and Sleep-puffy face.

"Good morning, Papa," she says, voice soft and tiny.

My heart gives in the way it always does. "Hi, baby."

I bop her nose lightly, and that finally gets a little smile out of her.

There she is.

"Come on," I say gently. "Let's get the day started, hm?"

She watches me, still waking.

"You brush your teeth, have your bath, eat your breakfast..." I smooth her hair behind her ear. "And then you go shopping with Dada, Grandpapa, and your uncles."

At that, she wakes faster. The sleepiness starts slipping off her face, replaced by remembering.

Today.

Her big day.

"You'd like that, hm?" I ask.

Now she's smiling properly, slow and pleased, and she nods.

I kiss her head and stand, helping her onto her feet. "Good girl."

She sways once, still not fully attached to the waking world, and then reaches for me with one hand automatically.

And together, we start the day.

As I get her into the bathroom, she blinks up at me through that last veil of sleep and asks, "Where's Dada?"

I smile, already helping her out of her nightgown. "He's still sleeping, baby. Dada's tired. It's just me and you for now."

She nods like that makes perfect sense and lifts her arms when I need her to, pliant and warm and still half wrapped in dreams.

I brush her teeth while she leans against the sink, more cooperative than usual because she's still waking up.

I bathe her next—quick, warm, gentle—and by the time I'm toweling her dry she's properly here with me, awake enough to start asking what earrings she should wear later, whether Grandpapa will let her pick another tiara.

By the time I get her downstairs, the house is awake.

And I know if Phi stays asleep too long, I'm going to have to manage Kaia carefully, because she'll miss him in that loud five-year-old way and then take matters into her own hands and march upstairs to wake him herself.

Absolutely not.

So I keep her with me.

I cue up our morning playlist—a soft one, the one that still relaxes us—and set her up at the island while I get breakfast going.

I'm strategic about it.

Something healthy for her, because once those men get her out of this house she's going to be drowned in sugar, bribed with pastries, and handed snacks like she's a visiting dignitary with no pancreas.

So I make her rice porridge, Soft boiled eggs, fruit on the side.

Milk, juice, and water because she'll insist on all three if I let her, and this morning, I do.

For me and Phi, I start ours beside it—same porridge base but richer. Pork, eggs, garlic, scallion and chili. Fruit on the side to make me feel like I'm still a responsible adult.

Hot coffee already brewing because if that man wakes up after sleeping in and doesn't smell coffee within ten minutes, he'll act betrayed.

Kaia chats the entire time. About today. About what she dreamed. About whether Dada snores. About how she thinks Grandpapa might buy her "just one tiny thing" and how she definitely won't ask for more, which means she absolutely will.

We laugh and She tells me one of her plushies had an argument overnight.

I tell her that sounds like a management issue. She informs me very seriously that Bunny is no longer allowed in meetings.

And I'm in the middle of laughing at that when I feel it—that shift in the room, the one I always notice before I even look.

Phi.

I glance up.

And there he is, coming down the stairs. Hair still a little sleep-soft, face calmer than it usually is at this hour, dressed comfortably but still somehow looking like a problem in human form.

He's slower than usual, still carrying the heaviness of real rest in his body, and for one second I just watch him—and Kaia sees him a second later.

"Dada!"

Her whole face lights up.

And just like that, the morning is complete.

Phi goes straight to her first.

He crosses the kitchen in that easy, heavy-limbed way he only has first thing in the morning, and Kaia lights up so hard it's almost ridiculous.

He ruffles her hair as he leans down and kisses the top of her head.

"Morning, Tiger. Sleep good?"

She grins, nodding around a mouthful of porridge before swallowing fast so she can get the important part out.

"Missed you, Dada. You slept too much."

He chuckles under his breath, all rough warmth and zero shame. "I was tired, baby. I'm here now."

Then his eyes drop to her face and he makes that little sound he always makes when she's somehow managed to wear half her breakfast.

He reaches out and wipes at the porridge staining her cheek with his thumb. "You're messy, Tiger."

She just beams up at him like being fussed over is the point of breakfast.

And yeah, for her, it probably is.

He straightens then and turns toward me, and the whole room shifts with it. He doesn't say anything at first, just walks over and puts a hand on my waist and draws me in without asking.

Then he kisses me, long, deep and entirely too dirty for a kitchen at this hour, especially with our daughter three feet away and the staff pretending they can't see a thing.

It's not rushed either, which makes it worse. Deliberate and possessive. The kind of kiss that makes my stomach dip even when I know exactly who I married.

When he finally pulls back, his mouth brushes mine again as he murmurs, "Hi, beautiful."

I'm dazed and smiling, before I can stop it.

"You're up," I say softly, my hand coming up to his face automatically. His skin is still warm from sleep, his jaw rougher this morning, his eyes steadier now that he's found me properly. "Feel better?"

He nods once and kisses me again like one answer isn't enough. "Needed that."

I hum and stroke my thumb across his cheekbone. "If you don't rest, your body will choose when to rest, Phi."

He rolls his eyes like I haven't been saying that to him for years. Like he hasn't heard it so many times he could recite it back to me.

Which means, of course, he doesn't take it seriously enough.

He reaches past me with his free hand, grabs an apple from the bowl on the counter, and bites into it while he's still half wrapped around me, one arm heavy at my waist, keeping me tucked in close like he's not done with me yet.

"I have you to keep me alive," he says around the apple.

I roll my eyes  "Pathetic line."

He gives me that look over the edge of the apple—wolfish, smug, far too awake all of a sudden—and I know he's going to stand there all morning if I let him, eating fruit and looking unbearable while I still have actual things to do.

So I step out of his arms before he can pull me back in again.

He lets me go, but only because he knows I'm not really going anywhere.

Kaia, who has been watching this entire exchange with the delighted interest, kicks her legs under the chair and announces, "Dada, Papa said you were tired."

Phi glances at her and lifts a brow. "Papa says many things."

"I do," I say, turning back to the stove. "And they are correct."

He snorts and leans against the island now, one hand reaching for a coffee cup, the other idly brushing the back of my hip as I plate his breakfast.

...

Eventually Phi gives up pretending he's going to eat like a normal person and tugs me straight into his lap instead.

No warning.

Just one hand at my waist, a hard pull, and suddenly I'm half sitting on him with a bowl in one hand and coffee in the other, trying not to spill anything while he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"Phi," I mutter, but there's no heat in it.

He just shifts me more comfortably against him and starts eating around me like this is a perfectly reasonable breakfast arrangement.

Naturally, his daughter takes one look at that and decides exclusion is abuse.

She starts fussing immediately from her chair. "Papaaa. Me too."

Phi shakes his head at once. "Absolutely not."

I laugh, because of course that only makes her more dramatic.

"Me too," she insists again, arms already reaching.

"Your father is ridiculous," I tell her solemnly.

"I know, but I wanna" she says, equally solemn.

Phi glares at both of us.

I set my spoon down, lean over, and lift her out of her seat before he can object properly.

Then I settle her on my lap too, wedged between me and the edge of the counter while Phi makes the kind of put-upon face that would almost convince a stranger he isn't secretly obsessed with this exact sight.

"This is absurd," he mutters.

It is.

Completely.

I'm half on his lap, our daughter is on mine, and the three of us are eating breakfast stacked together like a family with absolutely no sense of boundaries.

And I'm having fun.

So is Kaia.

She leans back into me, stealing bites from my bowl and reaching occasionally for Phi's plate when she thinks he's not looking.

The whole thing is ridiculous enough that I start laughing, and then she laughs too, and eventually even he gives in and kisses the side of my neck like he's punishing me for enjoying myself.

....

After breakfast, Phi cleans up. Plates stacked. Counters cleared. A few instructions to the staff that somehow still sound lazy because he hasn't had enough coffee to become properly tyrannical.

While he does that, I put the playlist back on and dance with Kaia in the kitchen.

Her little hands in mine, bare feet slipping on the tile while she twirls herself dizzy and I catch her before she crashes into a cabinet. She laughs so hard she can barely stand.

I spin her once, twice, and she squeals for more, curls bouncing, mouth open in that pure, delighted grin that always makes me feel like the room is suddenly brighter.

Phi keeps glancing over while he wipes down the counter.

And then...the cavalry arrives.

One by one.

Win first, already looking offended by the concept of morning. Saifah after him, no better, both of them in casual clothes that still somehow scream armed escort disguised as family outing.

Then Sky and Pai, with Sky looking far too pleased with himself because he's on my side today and he gets to punish his husband too. Finally Papa, warm and elegant and already clearly ready to spoil our daughter within an inch of her life.

The energy in the house changes immediately and I watch Phi's face carefully because I know him too well not to.

I see the exact moment the annoyance comes back. A slight narrowing of the eyes as he takes in the full group.

The whole squad.

All here. All about to take his daughter out. All somehow necessary and yet deeply irritating to him.

I snicker under my breath and he looks at me.

I widen my eyes innocently.

"You're enjoying this," he says flatly.

"Very much."

Because I am. I absolutely am.

I've planned my day already.

Sky and I are staying home.

Cocktails. Desserts. Massages. Peace.

No shrieking over toys. No public meltdowns. No tiny opinions about dresses. Just me, my best friend, and a shamelessly indulgent day while Kaia goes out with her father, her grandpapa, and the collection of godfathers she has wrapped around her little finger.

It's a perfect arrangement.

A win-win.

******

After breakfast, they all file out.

The Kaia Redemption Tour.

And not a single one of them is happy about it.

Especially Phi. Which is hilarious, considering he's fucked me into 12 ways to sunday, like his dick alone could change my mind.

Sorry, sweetheart—stellar effort, really—but not good enough. Actions have consequences, even if they're covered in tattoos and make me moan.

Kaia, though? She's floating. Giddy. Been talking about this all week. Her uncles and Dada are taking her shopping—for Rocky's birthday.

That detail alone is what's making them all look like they're marching off to war.

I sip my coffee from the front steps while Sky stands next to me, arms crossed, both of us watching the circus unfold.

Phi straps Kaia into his car, tight-lipped.

Papa and Pai get in with him—three lethal men in one luxury SUV, defeated by a five-year-old girl and her crush. Win and Saifah are already sulking in the second car like they've been sent to detention.

Sky leans over, "They look like they're headed to a hostage exchange."

"They are in their heads," I say, and grin.

They try, one last time—mumbled offers to split duties, do a half-day, just nails maybe?—but I wave them off. No.

No shortcuts. No list needed.

Kaia's had outings like this with all of them plenty of times —without my knowledge sometimes— but this one's special. This one's for Rocky's party.

Dresses. Shoes. Accessories. Spa treatment. Hair. Nails.

They're going to glam her up like she's going to the goddamn Met Gala.

Because if they want to intimidate a five-year-old boy at his own party, they're going to do it while personally styling the girl he likes.

Let their vanity clash with their protectiveness. Let them suffer.

Phayu's POV

I've barely shut the car door when Rain appears at my window, smug as hell, like he doesn't already hold the power of God and vengeance over us today.

I eye him warily. "What now?"

He leans down, all saccharine and teeth. "You're not gonna kiss me goodbye before you leave?"

I narrow my eyes. A Trap. But I lean in anyway, because he's still my husband and I'm weak for him. His grin widens against my lips like he's won something and then—of course—he drops it.

"Rocky's favorite color is blue. You can get her blue headbands."

I pull back slowly, he's still smiling. I swear If I didn't love him, I'd have shot him in the damn mouth.

Instead, I just slam the door, start the engine, and see him cackling as he saunters back to Sky, both of them looking like they run a cartel for emotional warfare.

Blue fucking headbands....I swear to God.

We've barely left the driveway and Kaia's already chatting away in the backseat, swinging her legs, eyes lit with excitement.

Papa's beside her, unwrapping a candy like she's royalty and he's her butler. When he leans back with a sigh and mutters, "If I didn't know better, I'd say Rain was the spawn of the devil himself—he's so evil,"

I snort before I can stop myself. "He is your son."

Papa mock shivers. "Exactly. That's how I know."

Kaia giggles in the back, oblivious to the quiet war being waged in her name. I glance at her through the rearview mirror—her curls perfect, cheeks glowing, dressed to be spoiled senseless.

And it hits me again—this entire day is not for her, not for us.

It's to prep her for some boy.

Some five-year-old punk named Rocky. I don't care how many juice boxes they've shared—he's not getting a free pass just because my daughter's got a soft heart.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and my jaw ticks.

Let him try to hold her hand again. I'll make sure the next party he attends is in a neck brace.

+++++++++++++++

We get to the mall and...nope.

It has been chaos.

Third boutique. Third. And we've already bought enough dresses to clothe an entire pageant lineup, but apparently, none of them are the dress.

Because it's not about what looks good anymore. No, now it's personal.

Pai thinks the pale blue silk makes her look like "a Disney duchess." Saifah says the glittery one with the bow screams "trust fund kid with attitude." Win wants the blush tulle because "it swishes."

Papa's just offended nobody's taking his pick seriously—even though it has a cape.

They're arguing over aesthetics for a five-year-old. For a birthday party.

Kaia's twirling in front of a mirror, oblivious, radiant, loving the attention like the tiny monarch she is.

Meanwhile, I'm sitting on a ridiculous velvet stool, praying for divine intervention and drafting the slow, painful death Rain deserves for orchestrating this.

Because none of this is about the dresses. It's about Rocky. And Rain knew it would break us.

That little pretty bastard.

Oh and asking Kaia? useless.

Absolutely fucking pointless.

Because my daughter—my sweet, treacherous little traitor—loves everything. Every dress, every shoe, every sparkly, rhinestone-encrusted abomination that makes its way into her royal dressing room.

She's living her dream, arms full of dresses, spinning like she's in a commercial.

And we? We're on the brink of a civil war in a designer store.

Papa's threatening to walk out if we don't "start respecting his fashion authority," Win and Saifah are standing chest to chest over a pair of sequined flats, and Pai is researching color theory to prove that blush pink is more emotionally resonant than baby blue.

I reach for my phone like it's a flare gun and FaceTime Rain.

He picks up on the second ring. He's in a robe, cocktail in hand, legs kicked up. Sky's curled next to him watching some pastel-filtered romcom like it's world cinema.

"Hi daddy," he drawls, smug as fuck.

I turn the camera around to show the warzone we're in. "Input. Now."

He sips his drink, squints at the screen, and then just grins. "You're doing amazing, sweetie."

That's it. That's the whole response.

No opinions, no vetoes, no lifelines. Just vibes and betrayal.

I end the call before I say something that gets me banned from my own house.

And Kaia? She just asks if she can get two of the dresses. The one with the diamonds and the one with the stars. And all five grown men nod like she's spoken gospel.

I swear on everything, I'm going to kill Rain. Slowly.

I would rather be in a gunfight. At least in a gunfight, everybody knows what the objective is. Here? The objective seems to be letting a five-year-old turn us into part of the entertainment.

Kaia, meanwhile, is thriving.

........

As if today wasn't already a psychological experiment in patience, we hit store number five.

I'm dragging my feet behind a sugar-high five-year-old and four grown men with violent tendencies and designer tastes, all trying to dress one small human being.

This isn't retail therapy—this is penance. A punishment designed by Rain himself.

I'm thinking maybe, maybe this'll be the store. The final one. Maybe Kaia will twirl in something blue or sparkly and scream this is the one! and we can all finally go home.

But no—of course not. Because the universe doesn't love me.

Because just then, another kid walks in.

A boy.

Roughly Kaia's age—Clean haircut, suspiciously neat shirt—And he's smiling.

At my daughter.

Being all nice, trying to talk to her, complimenting her bag. Her bag. The one I bought her.

And his mum? Standing behind him, looking on like it's the cutest thing in the world.

I don't even have to blink. Pai reacts before me, scooping Kaia into his arms so fast the boy flinches.

Saifah's glare is lethal. Win adjusts his jacket like he's showinh a gun. Papa doesn't even speak—he just cracks his knuckles and the boy grabs his mum's hand and backs off like we're the mafia.

Which we are.

And Kaia? She's giggling. Thriving in the drama and ooking at us like we're her personal security entourage on a red carpet.

I sigh and wave them forward. "Next store."

We're dressing her like a princess for a party hosted by the very kind of threat we just vaporized. If Rain finds out, we're all dead.

But Kaia beams, arms around Pai's neck, swinging her feet like she owns the mall. She's ours, after all.

......

It takes two malls, seven stores, and what feels like the national debt, but we finally find the dress.

We all agree. Miraculously.

Not just "it's fine" agree, but actual unanimous agreement that it's the one. The dress. Fit for a birthday party that none of us even want to attend but will now haunt us for weeks.

Shoes? That's another battlefield. Saifah and Papa nearly come to blows over Mary Janes versus ballet flats, and Pai almost buys her three pairs just to end the discussion. We settle eventually—one silver, one blue. Whatever. She's got options.

Jewelry? Weirdly painless. Kaia's a magpie, Sparkle is sparkle.

The moment a tray comes out, she's giggling, laying pieces on the counter like she's prepping for a heist. Each of us just tosses in whatever catches our eye and she picks what makes her feel "like a magical princess with bodyguards."

She's five.

But we still bought extra of course.

By the time we make it to the spa, I'm a walking corpse.

My card's barely used because someone always beats me to it. Papa, Pai, Saifah, Win—we're taking turns bleeding money for a child who's living her best life.

She's spoiled. Ridiculously so. And we did it to ourselves.

But the spa? That's peace. Finally.

Familiar territory.

Papa and Kaia are royalty here.

The attendants coo when they walk in. They know her favorite scented oils, what music to play, how she likes her towels fluffed.

They come here often—sometimes with Rain, sometimes just Kaia and Rain on their ridiculous "papa-daughter pamper dates." I've always rolled my eyes at it, but right now, I'm just thankful something is working without an argument.

Before I can even warn her not to start anything, she claps her hands together and announces, "I'm going to introduce everybody."

I close my eyes for half a second.

Pai mutters, "Oh no." Win snorts. "Too late now."

Kaia takes full control and Introduces each of us.

And then she points at me first.

Naturally.

"That's my dada. He's scary but he loves my papa soooo much." Cue laughter.

I stare at her.

She beams up at me like she just gave a perfectly accurate business presentation.

I should correct her. I should tell her not to announce family details to strangers. Instead, I just stand there, because the embarrassing part is she's right.

Then she swings toward Arm.

"That's Grand Papa, he's the boss of everything, especially snacks." Arm smiles like this is the highest title he's ever received in his life.

Then she waves to Win and Saifah. "That's Fah-fah, he's always sleepy and he has a lot of computers and toys, they're so cool they can even fly. And Uncle Win, he's not scary, he just growls. Sometimes."

And then, because apparently she hasn't embarrassed us enough, she turns to Pai with a flourish. "And this is uncle Pai, he gives me money allll the time and he's my uncle Sky's husband. Uncle Sky is the best baker in the whole wide world"

Pai puts a hand over his heart like he's been personally honored by royalty. "See? At least someone in this family respects me."

"She respects your wallet," Win says dryly.

Kaia ignores all of us.

Which is when things somehow get worse.

Because two of the attendants are still smiling at us, clearly amused, clearly charmed, and Kaia decides that means she needs to be helpful. She points between them and Win and Saifah like she's arranging political marriages.

"You can marry one of them if you want," she tells the poor women with complete sincerity. "Uncle Pai married Uncle Sky so you can too."

For one full second, nobody speaks.

Then Pai bends over laughing.

Win nearly chokes and Saifah looks like he wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

I crouch immediately, grabbing Kaia gently by the waist before she can start matchmaking in detail.

"Tiger," I say, already fighting a smile, "we are not offering your uncles to strangers."

She blinks at me. "Why?"

"Because," I say, very calmly, "they're difficult."

Win points at me. "That's rich coming from you."

I ignore him. Kaia pouts, clearly unconvinced. "But I'm helping."

"I know you are, baby," I tell her, smoothing her curls back. "You're very helpful. But maybe just let them be lonely for now."

That makes the attendants laugh again, and now even I can't help it. I huff out a breath somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and Kaia lights up because she's won.

I lift her into my arms and she wraps herself around me  "Can we go get massages now?" she asks, entirely done with the chaos she created.

I kiss her temple. "Yes, princess. Anything you want."

I don't even blink. This is my life now. The mafia. Spa matchmaking. Sparkles and threats.

Rain owes me so hard.

Papa and Kaia disappear into the spa like they own the place.

No one's surprised he's hijacking the one peaceful moment of the day to soak in exclusive oils and whisper secrets with his granddaughter. I don't even argue.

I don't have the energy. Let him have it.

The rest of us—me, Pai, Win, Saifah—we collapse into the waiting lounge, each of us sprawling like we just came back from war. We look ridiculous.

Four grown men, all muscle, tattoos, and exhaustion, sitting like bodyguards off-duty while spa-goers float by in silk robes and cucumber masks.

We get looks. Lots of them. Curious, Interested. Some of them definitely flirtatious.

A woman actually drops her towel and pretends it's an accident. Win nearly chokes on the complimentary champagne.

"Should've brought disguises," Saifah mutters.

"I suggested ski masks," Pai says, deadpan. "Rain vetoed it."

I don't answer. I'm too busy watching the spa door, waiting.

And then finally, it opens.

Kaia walks out, wrapped in her little robe, skin glowy, cheeks pink with joy, and hair tucked in a towel. She looks like a tiny goddess in toddler form. Papa's behind her looking smug and ten years younger.

She runs to me, radiant. "Dada! I smell like roses and strawberries and vanilla!"

My heart clenches. All of today's chaos suddenly feels worth it.

She grabs my hand, warm and enthusiastic. "Let's go do my hair!"

The salon's next door, thankfully. We walk in together, hand in hand, her humming, me praying this is the final stop.

I tell the stylist what I always say. "No unnecessary cutting, no dyes. Just a clean-up and some nice up-do."

Papa rolls his eyes like I'm a tyrant, already starting to pull up reference photos for Pinterest-level toddler glam.

"Nothing with highlights," I add, looking directly at him.

"She's not joining the military, Phayu," he mutters.

"She's also not joining Miss Universe."

Kaia's already in the chair, giggling and chatting with the stylist, hair being gently combed out. Her eyes keep darting to the mirror to see what's going on.

And for the first time all day, no one's arguing. No one's throwing dresses or threatening to fistfight over shoe colors.

Everything's just quiet and her hand still occasionally reaches for mine.

Yeah.

She's the only person alive who could've made all of us do this.

And Rain? He knew it. Little shit.

Kaia's swinging her feet from the salon chair, big eyes watching the manicurist lay out colors like she's about to choose the fate of the world.

She turns to me, all glitter and innocence, and asks, "Dada, what color should I paint my nails?"

My instinct is to say none. It's already too much—designer dress, rhinestone shoes, spa glow, and now this? She's five. But before I can open my mouth, Papa turns from where he's lounging with his legs crossed and lifts a perfectly arched brow, daring me.

One warning glare. Like he's ready to start round two if I so much as say clear gloss.

Then he sweeps his hand over the polish trays like he's Vanna White on a mission. "How about pinks, darling? We've got baby blush, dusty roses, fucshia, flamingo—"

Kaia gasps at each name like she's discovering treasure.

I grit my teeth and point to the softest, faintest one I can see. "That one. Lightest pink."

Papa snorts. "Of course you'd pick the shade that looks like innocence bottled."

"It's age appropriate," I mutter, arms crossed.

Kaia beams. "Good choice, Dada!"

She grabs my hand and kisses it, and I let her. Because how do you argue with a tiny princess who's somehow charmed five grown men into a full-day makeover mission?

And because truthfully? I'm ruined for her. Always have been.

By the time we're finally done, I'm wrecked—but Kaia? She looks like she just stepped out of a goddamn fairytale.

Her curls bounce when she turns, glossy and perfectly coiled, her cheeks flushed from the spa, her nails dainty and gleaming in pink.

And the way she smiles—like she owns the damn world—I know every hour, every tantrum, every disagreement about dresses was worth it.

She's glowing.

Her grandpa and uncles are snapping photos and videos like paparazzi. Kaia, naturally, eats it up. She twirls, she pouts, she waves like she's on a red carpet. She even gives us a dramatic over-the-shoulder glance that would put most models to shame.

They're not just indulging her, they're enchanted. We all are.

No one cares that half the salon is watching us like a walking sitcom. Five heavily built men—tattooed, all dangerously handsome—doting on one glittering five-year-old. Let them stare. Let them wonder.

This girl? She's untouchable.

It's Rain's text that finally breaks the moment: "Clock's ticking. Dress her and bring her home."I sigh. Of course he'd time it down to the second.

We pack up the chaos, thank the stylists—Papa even tips extra because Kaia insists they were "princess-level nice"—and we head out, Kaia holding my hand, waving goodbye like a true mafia heiress.

Rocky better brace himself.

By the time we pull into the driveway, Rain and Sky are already at the door, arms folded but eyes soft, waiting.

Kaia barely lets the car stop before she's unstrapped and sprinting, curls bouncing, her sparkly shoes tapping on the tile as she launches into Rain's arms. He scoops her up and Sky immediately joins in, the two of them fussing over her like she's a bride on her wedding day.

"Look at you," Rain says, spinning her slightly, "you look like royalty."

"You're glowing," Sky adds, fixing the tiny tiara clipped in her curls.

But then Kaia does something that stops us all.

She slides down from Rain's arms, straightens her skirt like she's rehearsed this, and walks over to each one of us—Pai, Saifah, Win, Papa, and finally me.

One by one.

"Uncle Pai," she says, tugging his hand and making him crouch. "Thank you for my dresses and my earrings."

He bends with a smile that wobbles too much to be fake.

"Uncle Win," she continues, wrapping her arms around his neck. "You're the best."

She does the same to Saifah, and to Papa. Pulling each of them down. Hugging them. Kissing their cheeks. Whispering something—thanks, love, adoration—and then moving on, like royalty greeting her knights.

And then she turns to me.

Her eyes are bright. "Dada," she says softly, wrapping her arms around my leg first, then reaching up. "This was the best day."

I lift her immediately, pressing my lips to her cheek, and I don't even try to hide how tight I hold her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Pai swipe under his glasses. Win coughs and sniffs hard. Rain pretends not to notice, arms crossed tighter, but he's smiling too.

Yeah. Whatever this day cost us—time, energy, cash, pride—it was worth it. Every second.

Then, Rain watches the procession of bags like a general surveying unnecessary war spoils—outfits, shoes, accessories, even more toys she didn't need.

His eyes narrow, arms crossed as the maids take in bag after bag. "It was supposed to be one outfit," he mutters. Nobody replies. We all know we lost the plot three stores ago.

The second we're all inside, Rain turns. "Nobody's moving. You're all taking her to that birthday party. I want her escorted like a royal." No arguments. No mercy.

As the others grumble and start removing their shoes, Rain steps close to me, brushing casually against my arm. "Wanna come with me?" he murmurs, soft but loaded.

I side-eye him.

I'm annoyed, exhausted, and lowkey traumatized by pastel tulle.

But I missed him.

So, like the idiot in love I am, I let him tug me along to my office.

He closes the door behind us and immediately wraps his arms around my neck, pulling me close, resting his cheek briefly against mine like he's grounding himself. "Good day?"

I glare. "We hit seven stores. Seven. We bought sixteen dresses. We had to bribe a toddler with fruit snacks to pick one. Papa and Win nearly threw hands over bows. Saifah almost fought a five-year-old for looking at her too long. And Pai lost his voice trying to explain color theory to the hairstylist." I pause. "It was hell."

He's just staring at me with laughing eyes. Not even pretending to hold it in.

Then he leans in and whispers against my lips, "Worth it?"

And yeah. It was.

And I'll die before I say it out loud. But I nod. Just once.

It was fun.

And I don't even wait for his next smart remark. I launch right in, because my chest is full and I need to say it.

"She was perfect, Rain. Everyone who saw her—receptionists, stylists, even other parents—they were completely taken. She said thank you every time someone handed her something, bowed her head, called them Phi. One woman told me she was the most well-mannered little girl she's ever met."

Rain's eyes soften, pride creeping in like sunlight through sheer curtains.

"She cracked jokes. She made the salon staff laugh so hard they gave her extra glitter stickers. She introduced me and Pai and Win and Papa like we were her entourage. She even tried to set up Win with a stylist and called him out when he got shy about it. She was just... incredible."

My voice thins for a second. "She's kind. She's funny. And when she hugs you, she hugs with everything. That little girl could teach the whole world something about joy and charm."

Rain smiles fully now. "She gets it from me."

I snort. "She gets her bite from you. The charm? That's all me."

He leans up and kisses me, slow and deep.

"She gets the best of both of us," he murmurs against my lips. "And Rocky—"

"Oh, don't worry," I cut in. "I already picked out the rings she'll wear. Diamond and amethyst. If he so much as flinches, the shine will blind him."

He chuckles, shaking his head in exasperation.

+++++++++++++++

They all head upstairs with Kaia—Rain, Sky, and Papa—each of them carrying something: the dress bag, a box of jewelry, a tiny velvet pouch with her accessories. Kaia skips ahead, the star of her own movie, calling out instructions like a general preparing for battle.

They'll let Kaia nap a bit, rest from the day before they dress her up

Downstairs, Win is pacing.

"She's too pretty. That boy's not gonna know what hit him," he mutters darkly. "Maybe I should spill juice on him. Or accidentally trip him. Harmless, right?"

Pai lifts a brow. "You do realize today was your punishment, right? That we were made to pretty her up for him because we couldn't behave like a sane adults"

Win crosses his arms. "Exactly. So if we're already punished, we might as well go all in. Fair's fair."

Saifah, lounging with a juice box, grins. "No, dumbass. Today's about redemption. If Rain finds out you're scheming again, he'll make us plan her wedding with Rocky next."

Win groans. "God, I need a drink."

Pai sips calmly from his wine. "Focus on surviving the afternoon. No accidents. No threats. And for the love of everything, don't make Rain ban us again."

Win grumbles something unintelligible, but when Kaia's laughter rings from upstairs, even he cracks a small smile.

++++++++++++++++

They appear at the top of the stairs like a dream in matching soft blush and white.

Kaia walks carefully beside Rain, one hand clutching her tiny glittering purse, the other holding the hem of her dress so it doesn't catch underfoot.

Kaia beams, as her dress fans out. The soft pink chiffon catches the light, the tiny rhinestones on her bodice shimmering.

Her nails glint, and her bag—clearly designer—swings delicately from her wrist.  Her hair is swept into a half-up twist, with a sparkling clip shaped like a flower at the side. Her earrings glint, her shoes shine, and she's smiling so big her dimples show.

And Rain....Rain is something else entirely.

He's not dressed loud or flashy, but everything about him is magnetic.

Cream slacks tailored perfectly, a pale pink silk shirt half-tucked, buttons left open at the top to reveal his collarbones and the fine chain he wears. His hair is styled but soft, falling slightly over his eyes, and his skin practically glows under the soft lighting of the foyer.

All the noise dies. Saifah mouth actually parts. Pai blinks like he's trying to process. Even Win, who never shuts up, just lets out a low whistle.

I rise from the couch as they descend. My eyes are on them—Kaia's excited giggles, Rain's quiet, elegant confidence. Sky and Papa flank them like guards, both looking smug as hell.

Rain smiles—composed but pleased with the effect, while Kaia's just bubbling over with joy, He just rests a hand on her shoulder, the picture of effortless grace beside her.

When they reach the floor, I move forward. I can't help it.

"You both look... wow," I say, voice rougher than I meant.

Kaia twirls, the skirt of her dress fluttering like petals, and beams. "Thank you, Dada!"

Rain arches a brow at me. "Wow, huh?"

I meet his eyes. "You know what you're doing."

"Of course I do," he murmurs, brushing imaginary lint off Kaia's shoulder. "She's the star of the party. I'm just her entourage."

I crouch to Kaia's level, heart clenching at the shimmer of gloss on her lips and the starlight gleam in her eyes. She looks ethereal. Too grown, too radiant. Too much like Rain.

"You look unreal, princess," I say quietly, brushing a curl from her face. "Too beautiful for words."

She twirls delicately, just for me. "Thank you, Dada."

The rest of the men finally regain basic function, breaking into loud praise and laughter, cameras flashing as she's passed from uncle to uncle like a prized jewel. Each one fussing over her hair, her shoes, asking her to pose again.

She soaks it all in, glowing then she grabs my hand and places her purse in it. "You hold this, Dada. I need to touch up my lip-gloss."

I chuckle despite myself and nod seriously. "Understood, ma'am."

Behind us, Saifah mutters, "She's a mini Rain, no doubt."Win replies under his breath, "Poor Rocky doesn't stand a chance."

I glance at Rain, still standing a step behind her, arms crossed, expression self-satisfied.

"We didn't buy that," I mutter, nodding toward Kaia's outfit.

Rain smirks. "Nope. She always had it but never worn. I just wanted you all to sweat a bit."

I blink. "You—what?"

He leans up, kisses me—soft, smug, unrepentant—and turns to the room. "You guys can go home. I'm taking Kaia to the party myself. I just needed the punishment to end with some style."

Silence. Actual silence.

Win opens his mouth and closes it.

Pai's face darkens like he's calculating a vendetta.

Saifah groans and flops onto the couch. "You mean we got mani-pedis for nothing?"

Rain shrugs with a hum. "Oh, I wouldn't say nothing. She got to be pampered by the people who scared the hell out of her crush. Seems like a poetic balance."

And we all just stand there, absorbing the fact that the whole thing—the spa, the shopping, the parade of masculinity through every pastel boutique in the city—was Rain's idea of "punishment."

Kaia hugs me tight around the waist. "Bye Dada! Papa says we'll bring cake."

Yeah. I'll need that cake. To bury the bitterness of being expertly played.

Rain kisses me softly, his palm on my jaw, steadying me like I'm the one unhinged.

"See you later," he murmurs, brushing his thumb over my cheek. "I love you. Don't drink."

Then he leans in, lips against my ear now, voice cool and deliberate: "And don't hack their CCTV cameras if you find out they have some."

I blink. "I wasn't—"

He pulls back, raising an eyebrow. I don't finish the sentence.

He grins, victorious as he steps bck. "We both know what you're capable of, Phi. Be good."

I grab Rain's wrist before he can slip away. "Wait—what about the kid's gift?"

He doesn't even pause, just snorts as he walks toward the door. "Did you think the VR set and the drone were for Kaia?"

I blink. "...Weren't they?"

Rain stops, turns slightly, face full of smug amusement. "Phi, Kaia gets new tech like it's air. I told you and Saifah to bring them from the office stash, you didn't ask questions."

I stare. Fair point. I really didn't. She gets so much new shit I don't even clock what's for who anymore.

I grunt, following him out as he heads for the car. Papa and Sky are already waiting.

I lift Kaia into her car seat, strapping her in with practiced ease. She's radiant. She beams at me, and I kiss her head, adjusting her seatbelt like it'll protect her from everything that ever scared me.

"Have fun at the party, okay?" I say low, brushing her cheek.

She nods earnestly.

"Don't eat too much sugar. Tell Rocky happy birthday... from a distance."

Rain snorts.

I lean in closer. "Don't dance with him. Don't feed him cake."

Kaia blinks at me. "But—"

"No buts. Enjoy yourself. Just—platonic enjoyment only.I love you so much"

Rain rolls his eyes so hard he nearly falls over. Sky hides a laugh behind a cough. I shut the door before I say something even more unhinged.

I walk around to Rain's side, eyes tracing over the silk shirt, the pressed pants, the way he glows in the afternoon light like something hand-cut from heaven.

"You look beautiful, baby," I say again softly, and his blush gives him away, no matter how composed he tries to be.

They both look expensive. Flawless. Like luxury and softness were tailor-made for them. And they spend my money like it grows from trees, which maybe it does, but that's beside the point. Everything I have is theirs, always.

I lean in and press a slow kiss to his lips. exhales a soft warning, "You're gonna smudge my lipstick."

I kiss him again anyway, deeper this time. "Let it smudge," I murmur. "You look too good not to kiss."

He chuckles softly against my mouth.

I rest my forehead against his for a beat, breathing him in. "I'm going to be counting every second until you're both back in my arms. Have fun, okay? I love you."

His fingers brush down my chest, eyes a little soft, a little smug. "We'll be home soon," he whispers. "Love you too."

And just like that, he's gone. Taking our daughter, my heart, and every ounce of my restraint with him.

Rain's POVI glance in the rearview mirror and spot our security SUV keeping a steady distance behind us. It's standard, expected—Phi would never leave us unguarded, not even for a birthday party in a high-end neighborhood.

I'm more than capable of handling a threat, but this isn't about capability. It's about control. About knowing he's done everything possible to shield what's his.

Kaia's in the back seat, legs kicking softly, chatting nonstop. Her little voice fills the car with questions and stories.

"Papa, will Lilly be wearing pink too? What if Rocky likes green more than blue? Can I really not dance with him because Dada said no?"

I laugh, shaking my head. "Your Dada's just being dramatic, baby. You can dance with all your friends. That includes Rocky."

She hums like she's thinking it over, but I already know the truth. She'll listen to every ridiculous rule that comes out of Phi's mouth like it's divine law. But me?

"Kaia, brush your teeth." Nothing."Kaia, bedtime." Silence."Kaia, don't run indoors." Gone, already sprinting.

But if Dada says don't dance with a boy? She's ready to wage war over it.

I glance back again, smile tugging at my mouth as she inspects her little purse.

We finally pull into Rocky's street—modest by our standards, but still tasteful.

A polished duplex in a gated neighborhood in one of Bangkok's quieter highbrow pockets. Decorations spill onto the curb, balloons swaying lazily. Music's already thumping faintly from inside, and I spot children running through the garden in little suits and dresses.

The party's in full swing.

I unbuckle Kaia and lift her from her seat, adjusting the skirt of her dress so it doesn't crease. Her curls bounce as she hops down lightly, already craning her neck to scan for familiar faces.

I grab the gift bag—two VR sets and a drone, courtesy of her Dada's "casual" overcompensation—and we head to the door.

Rocky's mum greets us warmly, a touch nervous maybe, but gracious. She takes the gifts with polite surprise, clearly not expecting that level of generosity for a six-year-old's party.

Rocky himself is at the entrance, standing neatly in a pressed shirt and navy trousers, hair combed, shoes polished within an inch of their life.

He looks like he's been lectured not to embarrass his entire lineage.

Kaia walks up to him and hands him a tiny envelope with a card she insisted on writing herself. "Happy birthday, Rocky," she says clearly, and Rocky lights up, waving awkwardly.

I swallow a laugh at how adorable the entire exchange is.

Then Lilly's mum shows up, smiling wide. "Rain! You look stunning as always. Kaia's been asking for Lilly since she got here."

"Where is she?" I ask.

"Out in the yard, I think, near the bounce castle."

Kaia immediately looks at me, eyes bright. "Can I go, Papa?"

I nod, smoothing her hair. "Okay. Go on, baby."

She doesn't waste a second. Grabs Rocky's hand like it's the most natural thing in the world, and they take off together. His little legs scramble to keep up.

I stand there watching them—Kaia in her sparkling dress, dragging Rocky into the backyard chaos—and for a moment I forget the theatrics it took to get here.

It's worth it. She's glowing. And I know Phi would've passed out cold if he'd seen that hand-holding.

And just to mess with his sanity even further, I pull out my phone, snap a quick photo of Kaia dragging Rocky toward the bounce castle, and type: She's holding his hand. Deep breaths, dada.

A few seconds later, the typing dots appear. Then:

Tell that boy to let go unless he wants to find himself homeschooled with a feeding  tube.

I snort, biting back a laugh. Then I send back:

You had your turn. This is the consequence. She's happy. That's all that matters.

And before he can send another threat disguised as parenting advice, I tuck my phone away and go looking for the snack table. I deserve champagne for surviving this entire ordeal without committing a felony.

++++++++++++

The moment Rocky walks up and takes Kaia's hand, asking her to come up for the cake cutting, I already know what I'm about to do.

I open the family group call—Phi, Papa, Dad, Win, Saifah, Pai and Sky—and tilt the screen toward the scene just as the party host announces, "Birthday boy and his special friend Kaia, please come to the front!"

The screen lights up in sequence: Win's already yelling, "WHAT—", Papa nearly drops his drink, Pai goes, "Nope. Nope. No," and Saifah's jaw just hangs open.

But Phi? Phi is dead silent. His screen freezes for a second—not from lag, just from sheer horror—as he watches our daughter giggling, standing proudly next to Rocky, looking like an angel in the spotlight.

And just when I think it can't get worse for them, Kaia leans over and presses a kiss to Rocky's cheek.

The shrieking that erupts from the phones could rival an air raid siren.

Win falls out of frame. Saifah's already pacing. Papa's cursing in five different languages. Phi's just staring blankly, lips parted, and I swear I see a vein pulsing violently in his neck.

I end the call.

Justice is served.

I spend the next hour drowning in message after message—from stunned horror to emotional blackmail to outright threats.

Win: "Rain what the fuck."

Pai: "Why are you fucking with our mental health?!."

Papa: "You think this is funny? Wait till I teach her self-defense with pencils."

Saifah: "Rain. Brother. Please. I'm begging. Take her away from him."

But Phi is the worst. He calls three times, and when I don't pick up, he sends a voice note: "I'm leaving the house. I'm coming to the party. Don't stop me."

I have to text him "If you show up, I'm locking you out of the house and canceling our next three dates" which finally does it.

Barely.

His response: "You've made your point. Come home immediately."

I smirk, pocket my phone, and take another sip of wine. Kaia's somewhere on the lawn now—laughing, chasing bubbles, no longer glued to Rocky, thank God.

I might have triggered five grown men into a collective emotional spiral, but my daughter is happy.

Worth it.

Phayu's POV

I'm pacing by the front door like a damn lunatic, Saifah and Win hovering behind me, glued to the car tracker on my phone.

Saifah's arms are crossed, jaw tight. Win's leaning against the wall like he's trying to decide between laughing and committing murder.

The moment Rain's location blips into our driveway, I'm already out the door. I don't wait for the engine to stop, don't wait for Rain's smug face or some flippant remark.

I yank open the backseat door. And there she is.

Kaia.

Asleep.

Of course.

I deflate just a little, heart still caught in my throat. She's bundled up in her party dress, cheeks flushed from excitement and sugar. I gather her into my arms, tucking her close, breathing in the scent of strawberry shampoo and faint frosting.

Rain steps out of the driver's side, sunglasses on, looking like he just walked off a runway instead of from the battlefield he left in my mind.

He's grinning. I don't give him the satisfaction. I don't look at him. I turn, hold my daughter tighter, and walk straight upstairs.

Let Saifah and Win deal with him.

Behind me, I hear the soft slam of the car door. Then Saifah's voice, deadpan and dark.

"You let it happen."

Rain doesn't even pretend to be sorry. "Let what happen?"

Win scoffs. "The cake. The cheek. The fucking cheek kiss, Rain."

"You weren't there. It was sweet."

Saifah glares. "It was HORROR."

Rain just laughs. "Relax. She's five."

"Exactly," Win hisses. "And she kissed a boy. On the cheek. In front of everyone. With cameras."

Rain shrugs like they're being dramatic. "I sent a picture. You all survived."

I don't even say anything just go upstairs and clean up Kaia, wiping her makeup and sugar-stained cheeks gently.Fuming

I know Rain too well. He'll play coy. He'll act unbothered. And I'll let him. For now.

But the moment she's down for the night, I'm coming for him.

......

I come back down and see the three of them in the living room. Rain's sprawled on the couch, acting like he didn't just orchestrate my personal hell.

His eyes find mine, shameless and challenging.

I speak two words. "Upstairs. Now."

He smirks. "Let me guess—punishment?"

I don't answer, I just turn and go up the stairs.

I don't need to look back to know he's right behind me.