CHAPTER 98: CLINGY HUSBAND

–Damon–

I stayed in the car, watching through the tinted window as they executed those bastards who sold us out to the government. They seemed more terrified of them than they ever were of me. But as Grandpa Reagan always says—I need to get off the field and let my men do the dirty work.

"Caine, starting now, I want everyone in the field wearing masks. That includes you." I swiped through the tablet, checking out some sleek, custom designs.

"Like... a robber’s mask?" Caine sighed. "Do I have to cover this pretty face?"

"Yeah." I patted his shoulder. "You’ll do just fine. Let’s leave Manhattan. I go wherever my wife goes." I grinned.

"What about me?"

"You do the field work. In a mask. But you are going with me. "

I signaled the driver, who gave a subtle nod and pulled away. We hit a few different locations, swapped cars somewhere discreet. I tried calling Sophia—she didn’t answer.

"Call Deanne," I told Caine.

He groaned. "That girl’s colder than the Arctic. I think she’s the long-lost daughter of the Ice Queen."

"Then call the Ice Queen."

I messaged Logan. No response. Nothing. Until finally—

"Hello, Ice Queen—wait, don’t hang up." Caine quickly put it on speaker. "The boss is with me. You’re on speaker."

"Hey, D," I said, jumping in. "Where are you touring these days?"

"Why?"

"Well... I’m on my way to my wife."

"Don’t come," she said, flat and sharp. "Your wife is being escorted by undercover US agents."

"Oh," I sighed. "Well, even better. They know we’re married—there’s nothing to hide."

"You’re so damn stubborn. Caine, talk some sense into him."

Caine just laughed.

"Ice Queen, just tell us where she is." Caine said half laughing.

"We’re in Chicago." Click. She hung up.

"Where in Chicago?" Caine asked.

I shrugged. "They’ve got properties there. But I know exactly where she’d go first." I smirked. "Let’s fly to Chicago."

He groaned, and I glared. "Damn," he muttered, already tapping at his phone to make arrangements.

We went back to the hotel, grabbed our things, and headed for the airport. I could already feel eyes on us. They were watching. The moment we arrived, I spotted the flight attendant press something on her pocket—probably a silent signal. She pointed toward the van waiting for us.

"Looks like we’re being monitored too."

"Yeah," Caine chuckled. "Isn’t it thrilling? Feels like we’re celebrities."

I laughed. "You’re right. I can’t wait to be monitored on a date with my wife. At least it means we’re safe, right?"

"Agreed." Caine glanced at his phone. "Yup, I found her."

One hour in the air felt like an eternity. Jet lag hit even though Chicago wasn’t that far. But nothing could cure me except her. Every minute without Livana was torture.

When we landed, we hopped into the car, and I gave the driver an address—somewhere I was sure she’d be. The crisp, dry air of Chicago in autumn brushed against the windows. The trees were lit up in burnt oranges and fading golds. A dull sun hung low behind thick gray clouds. The wind had that bite to it—soft, but sharp enough to wake your skin.

Then I saw her.

That platinum-blonde hair by the café window caught the fading light like a halo. I barked at the driver to stop—there, now, that shop.

"Hey!" Caine exclaimed as I threw the door open mid-parking and jumped out like a giddy kid.

Deanne looked surprised, but I hushed her and zeroed in on Livana, who was being guided by Grandpa Reagan.

I pointed at Grandpa, who turned his head as I motioned for him to step aside.

He scoffed and shook his head.

I slid in behind Livana, wrapped an arm around her waist, and pressed my lips close to her ear. Then I made a finger-gun and jabbed it gently into her side.

"Give me your purse," I growled in a gravelly voice.

"Damon," she sighed. "Stop that. It’s embarrassing."

I laughed and kissed her cheek.

"You’re not even surprised."

"I smelled your perfume the second you walked in."

"Oh." I sniffed. She was probably right. "I missed you," I whispered, and she hummed softly.

We got in line. Grandpa stepped up to the counter to read the menu, adjusting his glasses.

I wrapped both arms around her waist, resting my chin on her shoulder.

"So, what do you want to order?" I murmured.

"Affogato."

I nodded. "I miss you." I kissed her cheek again, this time harder, and she swatted me off.

Grandpa grunted at my clinginess. Then Deanne joined in with a glare.

"Give us your orders and find a seat," Deanne snapped. "You’re ruining the mood for every single person here."

I gasped dramatically. "Two affogatos." I glanced at the pastries. "Pastry, love?"

"Cinnamon Danish," she said flatly.

I nodded, grabbed our order, and let Deanne shoo us away. I led Livana to a four-seater table. She traced the tabletop gently before sitting with her usual grace. I sat beside her, watching through the café window.

People were staring at her again.

I caught a few murmurs—some idiot wondering if she was Grandpa’s sugar baby.

I can’t kill them in public... right? Besides, the government’s watching.

"Why are you here?" she asked.

I leaned forward, elbow on the table, turning my whole body to face her.

"Well, I got bored at work... and I missed you." I kissed the back of her hand. "Can’t a husband miss his wife?"

"It’s not that. You know my situation, right?"

"Yeah. How about letting Grandpa handle business, and we sneak off on our honeymoon?"

"No."

I pouted. "Should I cry here? Throw a tantrum?"

"Dare me, and I’ll divorce you."

I chuckled and hugged her tight.

After coffee, Grandpa insisted on walking the sidewalk with Livana and Deanne. They were dressed casually, in sneakers—no bodyguards. I sighed. What if someone tried to snatch their designer bags?

And just like that—a guy. White, mid-thirties, eyes darting at Deanne’s purse. He made a move.

In a blur, his arm twisted back, and he crashed face-first onto the pavement. Deanne had her foot on his spine and her purse in hand.

"Deanne, be careful. Men are fragile," I joked, laughing.

Grandpa just stared down at the guy like he was dust. A patrol car stopped by, officers cuffed the would-be thief.

Deanne checked her purse. Not a scratch.

"What happened?" Livana asked.

"Deanne just smashed some guy. Savage," I said.

"The guy tried to snatch the purse you gave me," Deanne told Livana.

"D, it’s more fun if you say it my way. You broke the poor guy’s arm."

Grandpa laughed. I grinned wide.

"Oh, poor him," Livana murmured. I slid my arm protectively around her.

Grandpa offered Deanne his arm. We followed close behind.

"There are definitely a lot of agents tailing you," I whispered. "But I’m curious where you’re staying."

"I gave Caine the address," Deanne muttered, glancing back. "You always show up like this. It’s nostalgic."

I laughed. She remembered how I used to stalk Livana back then.

Some things never change.

****

We finally reached their company building. Grandpa led the way, since Livana preferred to keep a low profile. Deanne assisted quietly beside him, like the sharp second-in-command she is. The moment we stepped into their upscale office, we were welcomed by the Country Manager—or maybe the CEO of this branch—with all the expected corporate flattery: warm greetings, fancy drinks, polite small talk, and whatnots.

I didn’t care. My wife was here. That’s all that mattered.

I made sure to sit next to her, casually but close enough to smell the faint trace of her shampoo—soft, floral, comforting. Meanwhile, Grandpa and Deanne flipped through stacks of documents, dissecting each page with surgical precision.

I yawned.

And leaned against Livana.

She nudged me away, of course. I hate it when she pushes me off. She doesn’t like public displays of affection—claims it’s distracting—but what am I supposed to do? Be submissive? Act like a well-trained dog?

If I don’t cling, she’ll get bored of me. And I can’t let that happen.

Two hours. Two long, torturous hours of paperwork and corporate mumbo jumbo. I had to sit there like a proper husband while the three of them played politics.

By the time we exited the building, a black van was already waiting. I yawned again and jumped in first, then reached out for my wife to join me. The moment she slid in, I wrapped myself around her like a starved animal. She tried to push my head away.

"Come on. We haven’t seen each other for three days," I whispered, half-whining.

She finally relented. My head dropped to her lap, and I closed my eyes. I fell asleep like that—with her hand resting over me like an anchor.

When I woke up, we were already in front of the residences. Luxurious. Private. Just how I like it. I stretched my arms, yawned, and glanced over at my wife.

"Let’s order dinner," Deanne announced as we headed inside.

I made sure to keep Livana’s hand wrapped around my arm as we waited for the elevator. Her presence grounded me more than she could ever understand. Once we reached the penthouse, the first thing I noticed was Caine passed out on the sofa, fully dressed, shoes on, mouth open, snoring like a beast.

"Wow," Deanne sighed. "He can actually sleep in that position."

I grinned and wiggled my brows.

"Why? Do you like him now?"

She cringed and scoffed. "As if."

"What? Caine’s handsome... charming even. Though—" I snickered, "not with an open mouth like that."

Livana giggled beside me. Her laugh is everything.

"Poor guy’s probably exhausted from your endless errands," Grandpa said as he made himself comfortable. "As for takeout, dear—make sure to order the filet mignon for me."

"Certainly, Grandpa. I’ll order a salad on the side, too."

He nodded approvingly.

"Me too," I added quickly, before kneeling in front of my wife.

Gently, I untied her sneakers, taking my time like I was unwrapping a rare treasure.

"Where’s your room?" I asked, looking up at her, already feeling that possessive urge burning behind my eyes.

She gave me directions, and I scooped her up instantly, carrying her like she weighed nothing.

The moment I opened her door and saw how tidy and soft everything looked, I grinned like a madman. I laid her gently on the sofa—then pressed my lips to hers, hungrily, possessively. She moaned into the kiss, her hands against my chest, and then she pushed me back.

"Let’s bathe first," she whispered.

"Babe, I’m already hard," I grumbled, my voice low and pleading.

"No. Bath first." Her voice was firm.

I pouted. Full on.

But I knew I’d follow her anyway.

Because when it comes to her, I always do.