CHAPTER 189: TO SEE

–Jane–

I sat across from Wally, who was flawlessly removing the flesh of the tuna from the bones with surgical precision with the House Chef. He was preparing sashimi for me with the original chef. I don’t really eat raw food, but I think I need it. I also need alcohol—but he strictly told me I can’t have any. Not today.

"Where’s Logan?" I asked.

"He went out with Kenzo earlier," he replied, and the chef beside him placed a small tray of sea urchin before me.

"Thank you," I muttered.

Restlessness gnawed at me from the inside out. I don’t have work today—not even tonight—and that in itself feels unnatural. I don’t know what’s happening at the lab. I hate stillness. I hate unoccupied hours. Even resting feels like sitting under a spotlight with nowhere to hide.

Something soft brushed along my calves—warm, living, persistent. I froze and looked down. A big cat, the same breed and coloring as the one I once lost. Reality stuttered for a second. I didn’t move. I also didn’t kick it away. Detachment is safer, but I couldn’t detach fast enough this time.

It purred again—too familiar, too painfully familiar.

A hand scooped it up. I glanced up to see Logan, dressed annoyingly presentable in smart casual. The cat twisted in his grip and tried to scratch his face, meowing like a feral warning.

He winced, then handed it to me. The cat immediately calmed in my arms, while still hissing at him.

"What?" Logan asked the creature, offended. "You were fine with me last night, Moon."

So the cat has a name now. Mine, apparently.

I set it in my lap, scratching its chin. The purr vibrated against my palm—silent attachment forming like a trap.

Logan sighed and sat beside me. Without hesitation he picked up my uni sashimi, dipped it into the sauce, and—

"That’s mine," I said flatly.

He still put the whole thing into his mouth. I stared at the now-empty dish, faintly irritated and faintly... sad. It was the first bite. The first bite matters.

I gently placed the cat down and reached for another serving. It melted instantly against my tongue—fresh, rich, distracting. Not fishy at all. Silence lingered until another plate arrived: salmon rolls. One of my favorites. Small comforts. Temporary.

"Can we have beer or some sake?" I asked.

Wally turned back around and served... lemonade.

I just stared. For a long time.

"Shefu, kore oishii!" Logan exclaimed enthusiastically. The house chef lit up, pleased, and poured sake—for him. He hesitated before handing me any, and instead slid another uni toward me.

I wiped my hands, reaching for it—Logan took it again.

I looked at him with the kind of glare that precedes violence.

"Logan, I know you’re bored. You should give more time to Keiko like you always do." I patted his back with mechanical politeness. "Thank you, Chef. But this guy ruined my appetite."

I stood and walked off. The cat trotted after me. I paused, then detoured back to Wally, who silently offered a fresh cut of tuna. I crouched and gave it to the cat. It purred while eating, ravenous. Neglected. Like everything here, I suppose—running on low maintenance until someone notices.

I started walking again, thinking I should force myself to sleep. Or at least attempt it. But wandering the villa might settle me more. I’ll ask Kenzo later to move me to a room with a proper bed—something I can tie my arm or leg to. Sleepwalking is a liability. I’m just glad Livana hasn’t seen it. I’m glad I haven’t hurt anyone.

Yet.

"What are you looking for?" Logan asked from behind. He’d been trailing me.

"A room away from you."

"Oh," he laughed lightly, "don’t worry. I already asked them to move our rooms—the ones with real beds. But Wally’s enjoying his room too much and David is currently with... whoever he’s fucking."

"I hope we are not neighbors."

He laughed again. I finally turned to face him.

"Logan." I sighed. "I don’t know what’s going on between you and Keiko, but you broke the girl’s heart, and I don’t want to get involved."

He tilted his head. "Oh? She spoke to you?"

"Yes. Because you allegedly mentioned me to her several times, and now she thinks you like me."

He looked baffled—then genuinely amused.

"Seriously?"

"Look—we both don’t like each other. I think you should make that clear to Keiko. Also, I need to know what’s happening in the lab."

He blinked, like he received too much information at once.

"Come on. Deal with your problems so I can go back to mine."

He opened a nearby door.

"This is your room."

I walked in. Good—solid bed. Something I can secure myself to when needed.

Then I was pushed lightly forward and Logan followed me in, closing the door behind us. He leaned against it, crossed his arms.

"We need to talk. Now."

I mirrored him, arms crossing.

"Okay. Talk."

"So," he said slowly, "how long have you been sleepwalking—or whatever you were doing last night?"

"Are you my therapist?"

"Do you have a therapist?"

He’s countering everything. Irritating.

"I don’t—"

"You will soon. Mental health is part of top priority. For you and everyone around you. What I witnessed last night—"

"I know," I cut in. "It’s uncomfortable for me too. But I’m trying hard to keep functioning and to facilitate Livana’s mission."

He paused. His face shifted—unexpected softness.

"I’m sorry."

An apology. From him. Curious.

"It was my fault. I interrupted your sleep."

I blinked. Once. Twice. Puzzled.

"I’ll help you fix your sleeping pattern," he continued. "No more night shifts. Tomorrow, we’re going to the lab together."

I chewed lightly on my lower lip, narrowing my eyes at him.

"Logan, are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. Totally fine." A shrug. Deflective. Suspicious. Weird.

Maybe pity. Maybe guilt. Maybe boredom. Or maybe I’m suddenly the stray cat in his lap he doesn’t know what to do with.

Either way—very weird.

–Livana–

Three weeks after the first hearing. Time moves strangely when you are exhausted — it doesn’t march forward, it spills, like water slipping between cupped hands. I feel more tired than usual, and lately I eat more than I intend to. I barely exercise. My husband spoils me so thoroughly that I have become something delicate in his hands — a porcelain doll on a silk pedestal. Protected. Polished. Breakable.

I yawned, tilting my head in his direction. He was still working in front of his computer — shoulders tense, brow slightly drawn, his attention sharpened to a blade’s edge while mine floated somewhere between waking and dreaming. I kept stealing glances in a way he wouldn’t suspect I could see. Pretending blindness can be exhausting in its own quiet way, like holding your breath underwater for longer than your chest can bear. Sometimes I feel the urge to just... look back openly. To stop performing the weakness everyone believes defines me.

But

I am tired.

I closed my eyes and surrendered to the embrace of my maternity pillows, sinking into their softness until consciousness dissolved. Sleep came fast — heavy, velvet, absolute.

I woke only when Damon scooped me gently into his arms.

"Hmm... Damon?" My voice was drowsy, small, dissolving back into half-sleep.

"I think it’s better if you sleep in our bedroom," he murmured.

We passed the twins’ room. Their little cries rose in perfect unison — two fragile hearts calling into the world. I could hear my mother-in-law’s voice soothing them, and Damien’s deeper one joining in. Then silence, followed by the faint suckling rhythm only newborns manage. Laura must already be feeding them. The villa breathes like a living organism — life in every corridor.

I snuggled into Damon’s chest, letting his warmth anchor me. When he lowered me onto our bed, instinct reached before thought — I tugged him closer.

"Oh, my love. I have work," he whispered, kissing my forehead. "I’ll finish it quickly and be with you."

"Hurry," I mumbled. "My back hurts."

He paused, sat beside me, and rubbed slow circles along my spine. His touch eased the ache in a way medicine never could. He kissed me, and I found myself pulling him into another, softer one — half-asleep, half-yearning, wholly tethered to him.

"Okay..." I breathed, eyelids drooping. "You can come back now."

His lips brushed mine again — a promise — before he slipped away. The moment he left, the bed deepened beneath me like a warm pool, and I fell straight through it into sleep.

I think I’m dreaming.

A gentler presence replaced him — warm hands stroking my hair and my rounded belly. My mother. The comfort felt so real it hurt.

A song began playing somewhere in the background. One of mine. One she always praised.

"Mom!" Laura’s voice broke through the haze as she entered, cheerful and bright, carrying the twins like two small suns. "Look!"

"Wow," Mother clapped softly. "You did well, my princess."

"Liva!" Another voice intruded — closer, louder, unexpected. A door opened in my dreamscape as someone burst into the room.

...Logan?

"My Queen, it’s ready! We need to leave, right away."

Commander White?

What kind of dream blends worlds like spilled ink — past, present, fantasy, fear?

I tried to surface, but the heaviness of afternoon sleep clung to my limbs like wet velvet. I could not wake. The world tilted, blurring — a curtain between memory and reality refusing to lift.