CHAPTER 51: RED

–Laura–

I planned to go out to the gazebo with Damien—eat, maybe fuck, definitely unwind. He’d gone to the kitchen to grab the cheesecake when I happened to walk past Ion. I snorted and ignored him.

"So, both you whores were really good at seducing Blackwell, huh?" Ion said.

I turned. His smug face said it all.

"Whore?" I scoffed.

"Yeah," he smirked. "Your sister set Brandon up. Now she’s parading around like she controls the whole damn family?" He stepped closer. "How does it feel, Laura? To dominate a Blackwell?"

I tilted my head and smiled coldly.

"You’re really scraping the bottom, Ion. Are you high?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Look at yourself. You’re not even making sense. You don’t check facts—you just open your mouth and spew whatever your fragile ego can twist."

The slap came fast and hard. I lost my balance and hit the cobblestone with a thud. My cheek burned, my ears rang. I tasted blood.

"Laura, I’m sorry," Ion said, reaching for my arm to help me up.

Blood rushed to my head.

I grabbed his wrist and twisted—hard. A crack. He screamed.

I kicked his knee and brought him down, straddling him as I drove a punch straight into his nose.

My vision blurred with red. I didn’t stop. He shoved me weakly with his uninjured arm, but I kept hitting him—his face, his ribs, his stomach.

"You bastard!" I growled through clenched teeth. "How dare you call us whores? What did your brother do to my sister? I’ll never forgive him!"

"S–Stop!" Ion gasped, trying to push me off.

I didn’t hear him. I kept muttering under my breath as my fists connected again and again.

Then—arms around my waist, lifting me off.

I blinked. Damon had me. I heard Damien’s voice.

Ion lay beneath us, nearly unconscious but still breathing. Still moving. Should I just finish it?

"Fuck, I’m gonna be late," Damon muttered.

"Laura!" Damien called. I looked up.

"Huh?"

"You’re bleeding. Why did you use your injured arm? Your stitches aren’t healed!"

"Is he dead?" I asked flatly. "Should I just kill him?"

Damien knelt by Ion, checking his pulse, pulling out a first-aid kit. He even fixed Ion’s wrist.

"Laura!" Damon reached for my face, his fingers pressing gently against my bruised cheek. "Your face is a mess. Be glad your sister can’t see it—she’d lose her mind and kill Ion herself."

"Oh." My head swam. I nearly killed Ion.

Okay. Now if my sister sees my face—no, wait. She’s still blind. I should be okay. I don’t want war.

A car pulled up. They loaded Ion onto a stretcher. Kai arrived.

"I have to go," Damon said again.

"Y-yeah."

"Let’s go." Damien took my arm and led me back inside.

But we didn’t make it far.

Criselda Blackwell stood in our way. Damien’s aunt, wife of his father.

"What happened to you?" she demanded, eyes narrowing at my bloodied face and arm.

"I just beat the shit out of your asshole son," I replied coolly. "You failed to raise him."

Her eyes widened, dilated with rage.

"What did you do?" she hissed, stepping toward me.

Damien blocked her. She slapped him hard.

I lunged, but Damien held me back. I clawed at the air, trying to scratch her. This witch!

"Criselda!" Aunt Ameliee’s voice cut through the chaos.

"What did you do to my son?!" Criselda shrieked.

I smiled, teeth stained with blood.

"He deserved it."

She lunged again, but Damien shielded me.

"Move!" I growled, pushing at him, but he stood firm.

"Calm down..." Ameliee approached, grabbing Criselda by the arm and yanking her back. "We need to treat you first."

"Kai is with Ion. He’s being taken to the hospital," Damien said.

Criselda screamed for her husband, panicking, while Ameliee just sighed and rubbed her temples.

"It’s always family dinner," she muttered. "Can we have one evening without someone being beaten half to death?"

She gently pulled me away.

But I wasn’t sorry.

Not one bit.

–Livana–

I sat in silence, the hum of encrypted audio logs filling my ears through a bone-conduction earpiece. My fingers traced the smooth edge of the tablet beside me—a custom interface with subtle braille-coded touchpads. I didn’t need eyes to see the entire operation unfold. I heard it. I felt it in the tempo of voices, in the quiet clicks of background chatter, in the silence between words.

The shipment had been diverted again, just as I commanded. Sophia, my right hand, was executing my orders in the field. Her voice came through the feed—firm, calm, precise.

A tap on the tablet signaled the next report.

"Cargo is rerouted. Driver replaced. Interference minimal."

I smiled faintly. My people knew better than to fumble.

Damon believed I was asleep. Sweet. He forgets—I don’t sleep when my territory’s breathing smoke.

I tapped to open a secure line. Damon answered on the first beat.

"Hello, love. Can’t sleep?" His voice carried warmth, but underneath it—a thread of caution. He knew what this tone meant to me.

"I’m working," I murmured. "We’ve rerouted the cargo. The driver and helper were sloppy. Also, we’re scrapping the warehouse you suggested. Too hot. I want one Dela Vega hasn’t laid eyes on."

His chuckle was soft. "You’re always five steps ahead, babe."

He named another location. I repeated it out loud for Sophia, who confirmed with a curt "Copy."

Every detail mattered. The fabric of every second was sound—gear shifts, wind distortion through comms, heartbeat rhythm in breathless updates. I didn’t need a map. The operation pulsed in my ears.

"They’ll try to track it via surveillance," I murmured. "Camera feeds, traffic sensors. Plate swaps need to be synchronized down to the second."

"They’re doing it as we speak. Mirrors are in place. Head truck and trailer, both clean."

"Good."

I tilted my head. Silence followed. The line was still open. Damon was hesitating.

"Babe... maybe stop somewhere. A hotel. A villa."

"Why?"

"I’ve got a bad feeling. That warehouse was bait. If you show up, they’ll close in on you. Let me handle this from here. I have a... surprise in motion."

I chuckled softly, a rare sound. "You want a decoy container."

He didn’t reply, but I heard it in his breathing—approval.

"I’m sending it now," He said. "Ten minutes."

"Perfect."

The operation continued without pause. The audio feed returned—Sophia again, sharp as a blade: "Duplicate van on highway. Positioning set. Plate numbers synced."

Through her voice, I saw the vans—identical engines rumbling, tires hissing against wet asphalt, moving in formation like wolves. I imagined the government agents watching traffic footage, struggling to tell reality from illusion.

They wouldn’t know which van to follow. Not until it was too late.

I leaned back, head resting against velvet cushioning. The soft ticking of the antique clock to my left helped me orient the room. My fingers brushed the faintly textured carpet beneath me—custom installed by Damon, the patterns like silent constellations I could read with bare feet.

And for just a moment, I let myself drift.

I imagined Damon’s hands on me. His mouth moving lower, reverent. Worshipping. Obsessive. My body, his altar.

I bit my lip and exhaled. Focus, Livana.

"Livy?"

The voice jolted me. Soft. Unsteady.

"Livy?"

A knock. The doorknob rattled gently.

It was Laura.

"I just... need someone to talk to."

I stood, feet gliding soundlessly across the floor, each step perfectly placed by memory and touch.

"Hm. A moment."

I reached the door and turned the lock. Laura all but crashed into me, arms wrapping around my waist. I didn’t flinch. I held her.

"What is it?" My voice remained even.

"Damon’s not here. Can I sleep with you?"

"I’m working." I patted her head. "But yes, if you need to."

I reached for her wrist. She flinched. I didn’t need sight to recognize that twitch. Her breath hitched. My fingers brushed over warm, swollen skin. A bruise. Fresh.

I stilled.

She moved past me, pausing. I felt the air shift as she turned toward the bed.

"Wait... you and Damon... did you...?"

"Everywhere in this room," I said without apology.

"Ugh. Okay. Sofa, then."

"Also used."

She sighed. "You’re impossible."

"Changed your mind? Damien already has too much to handle?"

"It’s not that—pfft!" she laughed, but her voice cracked.

"Then what is it?" I asked. My tone dropped. I was going to kill someone.

"I just need space from Damien."

"Fine."

I turned her around and raised my voice.

"Damien! Come get her!"

She struggled slightly.

"She stays with you until she tells me what happened," I snapped. "Do not let her face me until—"

"I beat someone up, okay?!" she shouted.

"Who hurt you?"

"He’s in the hospital. I broke his wrist, maybe fractured his face..."

I stepped toward her, arms folded, breath cold.

"I’ll count to three."

"Ugh! It was Ion, okay?! He slapped me."

My fingernails dug into my palm.

"In which hospital?"

"Liva—" Damien’s voice now. Close. I turned slightly toward it.

"I’ll deal with him," he said.

"Where were you?" I asked coldly.

"He was getting cheesecake!" Laura shouted. "It’s not his fault!"

"Fine." I took a slow breath. "Hospital name. Now."

"No! You can’t just kill someone because—"

"Because they hurt you?" I finished, voice sharp enough to slit skin.

I didn’t care that Ion was family. Damon’s blood. That meant nothing.

Nobody touches my sister.

I’m already tracking the bastard who planted the bomb. Already dissecting the chain of command behind it.

But this?

Physical abuse?

I’ll carve Ion out of this family tree and bury what’s left.

My justice is never blind.

It’s exact.

It’s lethal.

And it’s on its way.