CHAPTER 116: ART OF TEASING

–Livana–

Vacation may be over, but my gorgeous friend Deanne still seems lost in the pleasures of Caine’s company. They have no label for what they are, but in this age, labels are for jars, not lovers. People are far more liberated now. Besides, Deanne is a grown woman—old enough to savor the world of pleasure, to be worshiped like a goddess on her own marble pedestal. I never realized how much she’d been holding back, but now the time has come for my Empire and my husband’s Empire to reunite.

Even if Deanne were to indulge in a deeper entanglement with Caine, our Empire would always come first.

"Jet’s ready," Damon’s voice slid in like silk as he sat beside me. "I’m sending Caine to Rhode Island."

"Oh?" I twisted my lips into a knowing curl. "So Deanne’s fun is over?" My fingers adjusted the dark sunglasses that sealed my little charade, my gaze hidden, my act intact.

Damon laughed—hard. He was clearly amused that Deanne and Caine had found each other. Perhaps now, in his twisted logic, Deanne was less of a threat to his absurd paranoia that she might seduce me and steal me away.

That’s my husband—beautifully insane. And yet, I’m grateful he isn’t the type to gnaw on the same worry until it turns to venom. He doesn’t spit cruelty at me. In fact, it was I who always threatened him with divorce.

I kept my expression neutral as Kai and Damon’s attention shifted toward the sound of Deanne’s arrival—her footfalls light, her energy radiant. She set her bag down with the grace of a cat, while Caine followed, looking like a man whose soul had been siphoned away. Poor thing—he’d have to work on his stamina to keep up with her.

Caine’s world was more paper than pavement these days, while Deanne’s was forged in fire. She’d been harassed enough times to turn her body into a weapon—trained daily in martial arts and combat techniques since our mother introduced her to our sensei in our teens. She never skipped a day; the discipline calmed her, and fear had no place in her veins.

My own first kill was unforgettable—a memory I carry with the quiet pride of someone who knows why she did it. Saving a friend was worth the blood on my hands. Mother cleaned up after me then. Now, Damon does.

"Damn," Damon muttered. "Caine, you have to fly to Rhode Island. We’re heading back to the Philippines to prepare for Laura’s wedding."

Caine’s shoulders sagged as Deanne turned toward me.

"What about me?" she asked.

"You’ll be with us." I smiled. "I know you’ll miss Caine. But—"

"Who says I’m going to miss him?" Deanne interrupted, and I couldn’t help but smirk.

Kai roared with laughter while Caine slumped onto the sofa.

"Yeah, maybe we do need a little long-distance," he said. "I need a break from your appetite."

Deanne crossed her arms, her gaze traveling over him like a slow inspection. Caine seemed to read it well enough.

"Don’t you dare find another man to please you," he added. "Not even a stripper who dances that well."

She giggled.

"Wow," Kai sighed. "And what about me? Can I get a nice vacation?" He turned to Damon.

"Yeah, sure," Damon nodded. "You all deserve time off—especially now that we’re on the radar of the American government."

"Nice!" Kai grinned. "See you soon, Caine. I’m sure Deanne will enjoy her vacation without you."

Deanne laughed as our valets gathered the last of our luggage. Every piece was accounted for—especially the jewelry Laura had been fussing about.

Outside, the Hummer limo idled, waiting. The baggage was already stowed. Damon guided me in, his hand warm against mine, while the scent of leather seats and faint cologne enveloped me. The drive to the airport blurred into the muted hum of tires on asphalt.

At the steps of the jet, Caine showered Deanne with kisses—on her hand, her face, lips devouring lips. I could see them despite the sunglasses, though I kept my expression smooth. My husband, on the other hand, turned to me with a visible cringe and a grunt.

"Those two are disgusting," he muttered.

"Good thing I can’t see them," I replied, my voice dry. He led me up into the jet where Kai and Deanne were already settling in. Caine lingered until Deanne waved him away with growing irritation.

I exhaled quietly, hoping he’d be fine. He didn’t need a bodyguard—Caine was Damon’s most valuable asset, a genius hacker who handled almost all of Damon’s paperwork. Still, I’d sent one of our Bishops to accompany him. Every mission, after all, is safer with someone to watch your back.

–Laura–

Discipline, ladies and gentlemen, is not glamorous—unless you do it in silk pajamas. I’ve been keeping up with light walks, a few delicate stretches, and yoga sessions under the hawk-eyed supervision of my instructor, who clearly thinks I’ll shatter if I sneeze too hard. All in the name of a smooth, natural birth.

Right now, my bump is barely there—a modest little rise, like my body’s testing the waters before going full belly. I panicked at first, but the doctor reassured me. "Your baby’s healthy," she said, then added, "And you still have beautiful curves." Well, that’s all it takes for me to stop worrying. Compliments are my vitamins.

Damien certainly hasn’t stopped admiring those curves. I catch him staring when I walk past him—long, lingering looks that travel down my body like he’s mapping out treasure. And that slight flush on his cheeks? Not embarrassment. No, my dear, that’s just his blood rushing south for the winter. It makes me ridiculously happy to know my mere existence can still give him an erection in the middle of his workday.

But the poor man’s been living like a monk. Ever since my first trimester began, he’s been... careful. Overly careful. He buys me flats in every possible style—leather, satin, some that look like they were designed for a royal coronation. Romantic, yes, but also suspicious. Overthoughtfulness is a gateway drug to emotional withdrawal, and I’ve seen love turn cold before. My father did it. His father did it. What if Damien wakes up one morning and decides he’d rather look at the stock market than me?

"Laura," Damien’s voice snapped me out of my spiral. "Let’s go?" He reached for my hand like the gentleman he plays so well in public.

We glided out of the car, into the elevator, and straight up to my office in my mother’s company—where Damien has his own desk, naturally. And not just a desk—he’s redecorated the place for me like I’m some delicate heiress with a rare respiratory condition. Out went the humidifier, in came a dehumidifier. No air fresheners, just air so pure I half expect cherubs to breathe it for me. Indoor plants bask in the sunlight from the glass walls like we’re running a botanical spa.

I set my bag down, fully ready to work—until Damien’s hands slid around my waist, tracing over my hips and right down to my rear.

"Oh, fuck me," he muttered. "Can we get pregnant every year?"

I turned and smacked his chest. "Absolutely not. I like my figure, and I don’t plan on spending the rest of my life as your personal baby factory."

"What?" He had the audacity to look innocent. "You look so gorgeous."

"It’s hard to be pregnant, Damien. Besides, we can’t have sex every single day like you want. Unless you want to pay for implants next year so you can finish inside me without worrying."

He smirked—the smirk that says challenge accepted. I know what’s running through that brain. This is the man who finds it sexy to see his healthy sperm exactly where he left it. Romantic in the weirdest way possible.

And yes, I like the feeling too. There, I said it. But what he loves even more is watching me afterwards, legs parted for him like I’m posing for some scandalous portrait. I don’t fully get the art-kink thing, but I do know that no other woman gets that look from him.

And I plan to keep that look glued to his face until we’re wrinkled, gray, and still indecently inappropriate in public.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, flashing me that grin that usually comes with trouble.

"Well..." I sighed dramatically. "As much as I’d love for you to make love to me and let your healthy cum stay right where you put it... I actually have a job to do."

He groaned, pulling back like a man trying to stop himself from robbing a jewelry store. Poor thing. Did I overdo it? Probably. But it’s so natural for me to blurt out those deliciously indecent things in front of him. I don’t even have to try—my casual teasing hits him like a champagne cork to the forehead.

"Are you a nympho?" I asked, clutching my chest in mock horror.

"Are you talking to yourself?" he shot back through gritted teeth, his patience thinning. "Laura, please stop teasing me. We can’t make love here, and we definitely can’t make love yet—you’re still in your first trimester."

"Oh..." I widened my eyes, giving him the tragic puppy look I knew always made him sigh and cave eventually.

But before he could break, there was a quick knock at the door. My assistant slipped inside, all business.

"Boss, your father is here."

The room froze—well, we froze. Damien cleared his throat like he was trying to disguise both the tension and... other things.

I wasn’t worried about his arousal—that’s practically a default setting. No, I was worried about why my father was here, in my mother’s company of all places. And heaven help us all if he brought along my stepmother—also known as my mother’s half-sister.

A messy family? Oh, darling, you have no idea.