–Livana–
I’m heartless.
That’s what Jane said.
I’m not entirely sure how deep her loyalty to Damon runs—but once he commanded her to serve me, to follow my every order, she had no choice but to obey. Loyalty, it seems, is a leash; and I only had to tug it gently. Yet sometimes, I wonder if I’m even doing this right.
My palm rested over my growing stomach—rounder now, firmer beneath the silk of my dress. Has it been five months? Or six? I’ve lost count. Laura will give birth soon. The thought drifted by like a passing breeze—soft, almost forgettable. My gaze lingered on the door Jane had just walked through. Leaving my loving husband... it was all part of my plan, one that began long before I ever said yes to the marriage.
A faint chuckle escaped my lips as I recalled how clingy he could be. My husband—this tall, broad, dangerous man who could command an army of assassins with a glance—turns into a spoiled child the moment he’s near me. The irony amuses me. That same man who can make others tremble clings to me as though my warmth is his only salvation. I will miss that, perhaps.
My chest tightened. I pressed a hand over it, breathing in slowly until the air steadied me again. The silence of the room wrapped around me like a soft velvet shroud, heavy yet comforting. I nearly drifted to sleep in my swivel chair when a knock startled me.
Choco’s claws scratched against the wood before his soft whine followed. His ears perked toward me, then toward the door—as if reminding me of my duties. I smoothed the papers scattered across my desk, straightened my back, and opened it.
"So," Damon’s voice came first, deep and gentle, "I’m done making the snacks. I already put them in the mini fridge by the room. Also, the bath’s ready."
He crouched down and pressed a kiss to my belly, his lips brushing against the thin fabric. "The baby’s growing so fast," he murmured, half in awe, half in disbelief.
"Are you going to work tomorrow?" I asked, my tone calm but distant.
"No, baby," he said with a small grin. "I’ll be your house husband."
I hummed—a low, thoughtful sound. "Hmm."
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... inevitable.
–Logan–
The laboratory smelled like sterile rain and cold metal — a place where science flirted with madness. Here, they built life from blueprints, sculpting flesh without souls. Clones. Perfect replicas. Living shells that could bleed, bruise, and die — yet had never lived at all.
What fascinated me wasn’t the ethics. It was a possibility. They could make decoys... assassins that never question orders. And somewhere in that madness, I saw beauty. The art of imitation.
Livana had met the head scientist — Kei. Odd man, that one. Not insane, not exactly sane either. Just the kind who thrived under moonlight instead of sunlight. We worked during the hours when the world was half asleep, when brilliance hides behind exhaustion.
Rows of unfinished bodies stood under silver light — smooth skin, no faces, no identities. They looked like mannequins waiting for their purpose. Female scientists hovered around them, like sculptors desperate to please their goddess — the White Queen.
My phone buzzed. Two hours until the plane landed. The lab was buried deep in the countryside, so I had a long drive ahead.
"Kei," I called out.
"Yes, boss? Time to go?"
"Yeah. The girls are waiting for you."
He blinked, hesitated, then smiled like a boy about to meet his first crush.
We got into the car. He hopped into the passenger seat, all eager.
"Who are we picking up?"
"A chef and a nurse."
He smirked. "That’s why you brought the nice car?"
I chuckled. "Exactly. I won’t get bored once Jane’s here."
We were a little late. I’d told them to wait at a nearby café, but Wally had already found food stalls instead. I saw them before they saw me — laughing, nodding, sharing bites like it was the most ordinary day in the world.
For some reason, I almost honked. Almost. Then stopped. I didn’t like feeling indecisive. It wasn’t my style.
I parked, stepped out, lit a cigarette halfway — until I heard my name.
"Logan!"
Wally’s voice cut through the air, cheerful as ever.
Jane followed him. She looked... different. Still wearing that emotionless face she always carried, but there was something heavier in her eyes. Not sadness — more like the ghost of it.
Kei greeted them both. Jane offered a polite smile, practiced and distant. After introductions, everyone piled into the car.
"So," I asked as we drove, "how’s the flight?"
Jane didn’t answer. She just looked out the window, sunglasses reflecting the road lights.
"Well, the accommodation was great!" Wally jumped in. "And I can’t believe I’ll be training with local chefs — it’s insane! The food here is unbelievable. No wonder the boss sent me here!"
The villa’s head chef was a legend — a man who could revive centuries-old recipes. Wally would fit right in, assuming he didn’t get spooked by the yakuza presence.
Thirty minutes in, Jane still hadn’t said a word.
"Why so quiet, Jane?" I asked.
She turned slightly. "Jet lag."
"Jet lag?" I echoed, grinning. "That’s only a five-hour flight."
"Does it matter?" she muttered. Flat, controlled.
Typical Jane. Damon’s loyal soldier in disguise. She hated this mission — I could feel it in every clipped word she spoke. But Livana trusted me with her, and I’d known Livana since we were kids. I understood her coldness like a second language.
Jane though... She was still learning how to freeze.
Hours later, they’d all fallen asleep while I drove under the heavy hum of tires and jazz. When we reached the villa, dawn had already begun bleeding gold through the mist.
Jane stirred first. Her movements were quiet, composed.
The girls in kimonos lined up by the gates, bowing with perfect grace. "Okaerinasaimase, goshujin-sama!" they chorused.
Keiko — my favorite troublemaker — rushed forward and wrapped herself around me.
"Did you sleep well?" I asked, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She nodded, eyes downcast. Sweet.
Jane, as usual, handled her luggage alone, politely refusing help from the staff.
Inside, the heir of the yakuza who protected this villa greeted us in a dark suit, his smile too charming to trust.
"Welcome to the White Queen’s Villa," he said smoothly.
"Thank you, Kenzo," I replied. "This is Chef Wally — the Queen wants his knife skills honed. And this is Jane, the Queen’s nurse."
Kenzo bowed, extending a hand to Jane. She shook it briefly, distant as ever.
"Our staff prepared your rooms and baths," he continued. "Dinner is waiting."
"Arigatō," Jane murmured, fluent as a native.
"Please bear with me," Wally added. "My Nihonggo’s a bit rusty."
Kenzo smiled. "Don’t worry. Our staff are fluent in English."
Jane refused assistance again when Kenzo tried to take her heavy bag. "I can manage," she said curtly.
I told the staff to put her room next to mine. A coincidence, of course. Maybe annoying her would thaw her mood.
Dinner was a quiet symphony. Jane ate gracefully, every bite measured. The girls joined us — Keiko by my side, Kei flanked by two giggling hostesses.
"I arranged some company for you, Wally," I said casually. "We also have male hosts for you, Jane."
She ignored me completely. Finished her meal, thanked the staff, and left without looking back.
Wally grinned. "I’m interested," he said, half-laughing. Of course he was. The man was built like temptation.
Later that night, I went to my room. Sleep wasn’t on the menu.
Keiko was already waiting — perfume lingering like soft danger. The silk of her lingerie shimmered like spilled moonlight.
I lit a cigarette and leaned by the window. Outside, the garden shimmered in soft light — koi rippling through the pond, cherry blossoms trembling in the faint breath of sun. Jane stood by the bridge, motionless, carved out of stillness itself. For a moment, she looked like she belonged to that quiet — untouchable, distant.
I exhaled smoke toward the sky. Does she even realize it’s about to rain?
In front of me, Keiko moved — her gestures slow, deliberate, wordless. Desire in motion. I haven’t touched her yet. I watched. The way her breath trembled, the way her reflection danced on the paper walls. Her legs apart, breasts hanging as she bounced on the vibrating dildo on the floor with that vibrator over her pink clitoris.
There was a rhythm in the air — the kind that makes silence pulse.
When she approached, the smoke curled between us like a secret. I let it fade, let her pull me into her orbit.
"Not Hard."
I tilted my head, not surprised at her reaction. I’m not completely aroused. Not now... but the thought of pissing off Jane made me aroused.
Beyond the shoji doors, the late morning wind carried the scent of plum blossoms and sin.
And somewhere, between the flicker of shadows and skin, I swore I heard Jane’s footsteps passing — steady, unhurried — like a ghost who knew exactly what she’d heard, and chose to keep walking.
And that’s where Keiko’s moans become loud when I hit the right spot.