CHAPTER 194: A MOTHER’S LOVE

–Jane–

I watched as they sculpted each human body out of DNA, growing it from a fetus into this... thing—without a soul, without a heartbeat and without a mother human to grow with. They just grow like that? I don’t know how Livana managed this, but I’m certain she’s been working on it for years with a mad genius Dr. Kei

We’ve been trapped in this underground lab for weeks now—or, by my calculations, more than two months since we abandoned the original facility. We still visit the villa from time to time, but never for long. We can’t afford to be seen. Laying low is all we can do.

I think Chef Wally went off to the countryside with David instead of returning to the Philippines, even though I told the Bishop to send them back. Typical. But I’m not worried about those two, since those assassins are after me and Logan anyway. The Red Bull Empire, I meant.

I felt Logan’s gaze on me before I even turned. He’d been staring for a while now, and when I ignored him, he started waving his hand in my peripheral vision like a child demanding attention. I turned my head slightly. He was holding up a few papers—or were they tickets? He waved them again and tilted his head toward the exit.

I sighed, jogged down the stairs, and followed him.

"What?" I asked flatly as I came beside him.

"Let’s go out," he said, grinning. "Dr. Kei’s buried in work, and we need a breather."

"I’m fine staying here," I replied, casual as ever.

"Nope. We’re going out. Into the city. Movies, food—whatever. Also, we have to celebrate the Ice Queen and her first heir."

I stopped in my tracks, grabbing his arm.

"What?"

He smirked and waved the tickets again.

"Concert. Classical music."

"I like classical music," I said dryly, "but I might fall asleep."

"Yeah, sure. That’ll be a first," he added with a teasing grin.

I stared at him, my mind catching up to his earlier words.

Did he just mention that Livana gave birth?

I followed him, though my chest felt oddly heavy. Maybe I’m anxious. Or just... tired. He was right—I needed to breathe, to escape the sterile hum of the lab for a while.

We headed toward the secluded villa. I packed my bag, filled with yen bills, and tucked it into a small suitcase. We greeted the caretakers politely, bowing before we left. Logan started the car—a shabby thing, but bulletproof—and soon we were on the road.

"I’m going to sleep, okay?" I said, reclining the seat and slipping on my sunglasses.

"Why do you always sleep whenever I drive?" he asked, half curious, half amused.

Hmm. Why indeed? Maybe it’s because I always feel... safe. The sound of the road, the rhythm of his voice—it’s like a lullaby my body trusts.

A notification chimed from his phone, synced to the tablet on the dashboard. I peeked up when a picture flashed across the screen—a baby. I sat up, taking off my sunglasses.

"Is that—?"

"Their firstborn," he said, chuckling softly. "Didn’t think that little guy would have Livana’s eye color mixed with blue."

"Oh. Genes." I tilted my head. "Heterochromia on both eyes. It’s like purple and blue tried to mix but gave up halfway."

He laughed. "But the features? That’s all Damon. Even the shape of the eyes."

"It’s beautifully peculiar," I murmured.

"Hmm, I agree."

I leaned back again, sunglasses on, but the image of Livana and Damon’s child burned itself into my mind—those mismatched eyes, that tiny expression.

I could already imagine how Damon must look, proud and glowing, while Livana probably smiled faintly, exhausted yet fulfilled. The entire household must be overflowing with joy right now.

"It’s time to celebrate," I said quietly, more to myself than to him.

–Livana–

My husband was panicking, trying desperately to look calm — but I could hear the tension in his every breath. Meanwhile, I was struggling to bring our healthy baby boy into this world. His first cries sounded distant, like echoes in a dream. They said he had my eyes, but the rest of his features... I couldn’t tell. I watched as they carried him away, my sight blurred by exhaustion. I pushed Damon, urging him to follow. He didn’t hesitate. My vision dimmed as I slowly drifted into unconsciousness.

"You did a great job," said a voice — low, familiar, and achingly nostalgic. I turned toward it, catching a glimpse of a nurse in full PPE. That voice... I knew that voice. A warm hand found mine, and soft lips pressed against my skin.

Am I dreaming? No — this feels too real. And yet, she acts as if she knows I can see.

"Ma..." I murmured weakly as the darkness pulled at me. The act of pretending to be blind no longer mattered — pain and fatigue clouded everything. My body felt like an emptied vessel; the storm had passed, leaving only aching silence.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. She wiped them gently, whispering things I could barely comprehend. The nurses worked around me — cleaning, checking, restoring. That same nurse lingered, her presence both comforting and haunting. When they transferred me to my room, she followed, silent as shadow.

Someone lifted me with care — strong arms, familiar warmth — Damon. He placed me onto the bed before stepping out with the others. Everyone left... except her. The nurse approached again and kissed my forehead.

"My poor baby..." she whispered.

My eyelids fluttered, the weight of consciousness slipping. "It’s alright now," she murmured, her tone trembling with emotion. "No one will harm you or your child. Rest, my dear. Mommy will stay here."

Mom. The word echoed like a forgotten melody. It couldn’t be... I must be hallucinating.

When I woke again, soft lips brushed my forehead. I expected her — but it was Damon, holding our baby close.

"Hey, Liva," Dr. Green greeted from beside me. "How are you feeling?"

"Hmm..." I barely managed a sound.

"I know, you’re weak. It’s normal. You’ll recover soon. I suggest something warm — maybe hot chicken soup?"

"Sounds good," I whispered. "Is my baby hungry?" My body answered before he did — my breasts felt full, heavy, my milk already flowing.

"Yes, perfect timing," Dr. Green said gently, adjusting the bed.

The bed reclined slowly. I turned my head toward Damon. This time, I didn’t bother pretending to be blind. That game is over.

"I took a lot of photos," Damon murmured. "So when you regain your sight, you’ll know exactly how he looked."

He placed our son in my arms and sat behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders to steady my trembling hands. Damon pulled the ribbon of my robe loose with practiced gentleness.

"Alright, I’ll leave you both to bond," Dr. Green said before leaving.

"Thank you, Doctor," I smiled faintly, gazing at my beautiful child. He whimpered softly, then latched to feed — hungry, determined, alive. I smiled through the ache as Damon kissed my temple.

"Can you see me now, my love?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well," he chuckled quietly, "I think you can. Just a little. But even if you pretend otherwise, I don’t care."

"Good," I murmured. "Let me enjoy this moment."

He looked down at the baby, eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, look at this little rascal. Staring at me while feeding. Those were mine first, you know. But I’ll let you have them for now. Just for now, Skylar."

I chuckled, amused by his jealousy over our newborn son.

"Please, give me some water," I whispered.

"Of course." He slipped a few pillows under my elbows before walking to the side table. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

Before I could answer, a soft knock came at the door. A nurse entered carrying a tray. Her voice was calm, familiar.

"Here’s the meal for the new mom," she said.

Something in her tone made me freeze. No, I wasn’t dreaming before.

"Thank you," Damon replied, then eyed her suspiciously. "This isn’t poisoned, is it?"

She shook her head silently.

"It’s fine, darling," I said, trying to sound casual.

The nurse handed Damon a tablet. "Please register your son’s information at the reception."

"Hmm. Alright." Damon hesitated, then leaned down to let me sip water from a straw before leaving.

"I’ll be quick," he promised, kissing my temple before stepping out.

The door closed. The room fell into a heavy silence — only the soft ticking of the monitor and my child’s quiet breathing filled it.

I turned toward the nurse’s back. "Mom," I whispered.

She froze. Slowly, she removed her mask.

Her face — aged but graceful — carried the unmistakable features of the woman I once buried in my heart.

She approached, her eyes warm, unreadable. Then she kissed my forehead.

"My first princess," she whispered.

I stared coldly, though my heart trembled. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"I know," she smiled softly. "But how about we start with a meal?"

"Sure."

When I finished feeding my son, my mother — Ines Braxton — lifted him gently from my arms and laid him in the crib. Then, she sat beside me and began to feed me like I was her little girl again.

"Mom," I said again, voice trembling despite myself. "Is it really you?"

She smiled and clasped my hands.

"I don’t die easily, my love. Not by the schemes of a counterfeit sister." Her tone was regal, sharp, and tender all at once — like silk wrapping a blade.

It really was her.

Alive.

Elegant as ever.

And somehow... younger than the last time I saw her.

For the first time since giving birth, I truly felt awake.

Because if my mother is alive, then death itself must have been deceived.