CHAPTER 27: ASHES OF CONTROL

–Livana–

I shoved him and kicked him in the groin. He hissed and slapped me hard across the left cheek. I kicked him again, harder this time.

From somewhere nearby, I heard Jane’s voice.

"You little white bitch," Brandon sneered. I raised my walking stick and swung it at him, but he caught it midair.

"Get off her!" Jane shouted. I heard a struggle, followed by the sharp crack of a slap and Jane’s gasped.

"Who the fuck do you think you are, touching me?!" Brandon barked.

Then came a heavy thud. Brandon groaned.

"Jane, are you okay? What’s happening?" I asked, trying to orient myself.

"Jane, let him go," said Damon’s voice—calm, too calm. I heard the clink of glasses falling or being knocked over near me.

Brandon let out a laugh, but it was quickly followed by a punch and a pained cry. Brandon groaned again. From the sounds, Damon had him pinned and was hitting him, over and over.

"Are you killing him?" I asked.

"Maybe I should," Damon breathed, his voice low with fury. "Did he put that filthy mouth on you? Did he touch you?"

"Damon, stop! What are you doing?!" Amiliee screamed. But another punch landed.

"Damon!"

"He dared touch my wife. He hurt her nurse!" Damon snapped.

"Stop," I said, reaching out blindly. "Damon, baby... stop."

He hesitated.

"What for, love?"

"I can’t see. What’s the point of beating him in front of me?"

There was a pause. Then, "Oh. Right. My bad."

"My God—Brandon!" Amiliee cried. "Get the car ready!" she yelled to someone.

I felt Damon’s bandaged hand gently touch my cheek.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Damon?! Why are you beating your brother like that?" she yelled. "If you kill him—"

"I don’t give a fuck about anyone, Mother. That bastard touched my wife."

"What?" came Laura’s voice, sharp and enraged. "He did what

? That motherfucker."

For a moment, I’d been terrified when Brandon lunged at me. But I knew how to defend myself. I’ve trained for this my whole life.

Our mother made sure of it. While she ran the corporate empire, the rest of the family dealt with the underground. Being part of a powerful family meant knowing how to survive. She didn’t want the dark side of the business, but she couldn’t escape it. So, she built her own empire above ground—and she thrived. That’s why her sister, Casey, envied her so much... enough to steal her husband.

"Oh damn. I was planning to enjoy the night," Damon muttered, voice husky and annoyed.

I reached up and rested my hand on his chest. I could feel his heartbeat—it was fast, furious—despite how calm he tried to sound. He wanted to seem composed, but I knew better.

"I want to wash off whatever filth Brandon left behind," I whispered.

"Did he have an STD?"

"Fuck," Damon growled, scooping me into his arms.

Shouts erupted behind us. A man’s voice barked something, then more yelling. From the sounds of it, Damien and David were stepping in to calm things down.

"Get the footage ready," Laura commanded. "Your son harassed me too. So I’m not surprised he’d go after my sister."

Of course, Laura wasn’t going to back down. She never did.

"I don’t care what he did!" came a deep, booming voice—Brandon’s father. "Damon, get back here!"

Damon stopped walking.

"Your son raped women," he said coldly. "Try denying it again, Uncle. And now he put his hands on my wife."

"She’s a Carrington. A slut!"

Rage boiled in me. I wanted to leap down and beat the hell out of him myself.

Slap.

Gasps followed.

"What happened?" I asked Damon.

"Mom just slapped him."

"Amiliee!" came Damon’s father’s roar.

"You don’t call a woman a slut after your son groped her!" she snapped. "This is your fault. You let Brandon get away with everything. You made him like this."

Slap. Another one. And another.

"You’re a useless father!" Amiliee shouted.

"Wow. Your mom’s cool," I whispered.

"Of course, she is." Damon resumed walking. "Let’s get you cleaned up."

–Damon–

She rubbed her lips, her face, even brushed her teeth twice. The disgust was all over her expression as the memory replayed in her mind. She grimaced with each stroke.

"Check if he had an STD or something."

"I already did," I replied, watching her scrub her neck and cheeks with a soapy bath cloth. "He just got to the hospital. I spoke to the doctor. They’re running full bloodwork and screenings."

"Good." She dried herself off and slipped into her pajamas.

I sighed. With my bandaged hands, I couldn’t touch her the way I wanted. If Livana hadn’t stopped me, Brandon would be dead by now. I beat him until he passed out—I didn’t care if we shared blood. That line was crossed the second he touched her.

"Where’s the hair towel?" she asked.

I handed it to her. She wrapped it around her head, then used her hand to trace the sink as she followed the carpet trail I’d made. She bumped into me. I pulled her into my arms without hesitation, kissing her deeply before lifting her into my arms and carrying her to bed. I began to unwrap her robe, but she stopped me.

"I still want to beat the shit out of Brandon," she muttered.

"I want to kill him," I growled, my hand tracing the curve of her waist. She’d gained weight—just enough. Healthy. Perfect. Exactly how I wanted her.

"I want to wear something comfortable."

"Wearing nothing is the most comfortable," I grinned, brushing kisses over her lips.

Then—knock knock. I groaned.

She sat up, tying her robe while I dragged myself to the door. When I opened it, I blinked in surprise—Mom stood there with a tray of snacks.

"Is she alright?" she asked softly.

"She’s fine," I said, stepping aside. She walked in and set the tray on the bedside table.

"I brought snacks. And I want to apologize for what my nephew did. His parents failed him."

"You don’t need to apologize on his behalf," Livana said gently.

Mom exhaled. "Still... I’m sorry for how the night turned out, Mrs. Blackwell."

She wandered over to the walk-in closet and pulled out a pair of pajamas. I frowned. I hated when Livana wore anything around me.

"How do you like these?" Mom asked, showing her the fabric.

Livana reached out and touched it. "I like the fabric. Thank you."

Mom placed the pajamas on the bed, glared at me like she knew what I was thinking, and then left. The door was still open. I walked over and closed it. Then locked it.

"I like your mom," she said as she removed her robe and slowly pulled on the pajamas.

It didn’t matter. I’d be taking them off her later anyway.

She pulled off the hair towel and pressed it to her damp hair. I guided her to the dresser. She sat, and I brushed her hair, turning on the blower. The mirror glowed with soft lights, but she stared into the emptiness—beautiful, focused.

We were quiet until she reached up and touched my wrist.

"Are you horny?"

I smirked, leaning down to her ear. "Yes. I’m already half as hard as you need me to be."

"Good," she said with a devilish smirk. "Don’t touch me tonight."

She stood and followed the trail back to the bed.

"Go take a shower. I want to read. And don’t touch me," she added, teasing.

I rolled my eyes. Torture. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted me riled up—then leave me starving.

I watched her grab a book from the nightstand and settle in. Finally, I turned and headed to the bathroom. Replaced my bandage. Washed up.

When I stepped out with a towel wrapped around my waist, I found her exactly how I expected—curled up on the bed, munching snacks from Mom’s tray, running her fingers across the braille text of her book.

"Still hungry?" I asked.

"The cookies smell good."

"You’re getting crumbs all over the bed, babe."

She’d called me baby earlier. While I was beating the shit out of Brandon. That thought alone made me grin.

"You’ll clean it up," she replied with a smug tilt of her head.

"Of course, I will." I walked over and sat beside her. "Mom brought milk. In a single serve tetra box."

"What kind of milk?"

"Almond."

"Oh, I love almond milk."

She held out her hand. I prepped the straw and punctured the foil for her, then placed the box into her palms. She held it with both hands and sipped, letting out a soft hum of satisfaction.

I watched her closely, mesmerized. "You didn’t eat much earlier."

"What was there to eat? Your uncle and aunt were busy throwing side comments."

"You’re right. I’m planning to remove them from the family tree."

"Nonsense."

I chuckled and let my hand drift to her thigh.

But earlier... It was a different kind of heat. Watching that footage of Brandon touching her—groping my wife—of him hitting Jane. He had no idea Jane wasn’t just a nurse. She’s trained. She’s an assassin. A perfect shield for Livana.

I leaned closer, lifted her chin, and kissed her. Then I gently pushed the milk carton aside, licking her lips clean. She opened her mouth to let me in, and I savored her—the taste of almond milk and the mint from her toothpaste.

"Damn," I muttered. I slid her hand to my chest, guiding it lower, to the edge of my abdomen.

I’d been filled with rage earlier. But this woman—my woman—she calms me in ways I never thought possible.