CHAPTER 57: DAMON AS A HUSBAND

–Damon–

Seeing my sister truly happy—it hit me like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was the first time I actually looked at her face, not just glanced. She was... adorable. David raised her more than I did. I was always away—consumed by this blood-drenched duty of being the heir of this cursed empire. I didn’t see her grow up. I didn’t hear her laugh or cry. I didn’t know the little things that made her... her.

I was too busy watching Livana.

Yes, I stalked her. Obsessively. And she knows it. She always knew. She let me watch her, like she was daring me. And now, she’s mine.

When we returned home that night, the staff had cleared dinner. Plates were clean, rooms quiet, bellies full—except mine. I was starving, but not for food. I took my wife upstairs, not wasting a second. I needed her. Needed to feel her body under mine one last time before I disappeared across the ocean. This trip... it was a ticking bomb, and I hated every second it pulled me from her.

I bathed her slowly, savoring every inch of her skin. She let me care for her, trusted my hands despite everything. I toweled her hair dry, then took it from her fingers gently.

"I found something for you to wear," I said, pulling out the delicate negligee.

She turned slightly, her eyes unseeing but fixed on the rustle of fabric in my hand.

"What?" she asked, voice soft, guarded.

"Guess the color." My lips curved in a grin, even though my chest was tight.

"You tell me."

I reached for her hand and placed it on the sheer fabric. Her fingers explored the lace, the silk.

"You bought this, right?"

"Hmm. The white one."

"Yeah." I leaned in and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the warm floral scent of her shampoo. "I want to see you in this, my love. I want to burn that image into my head until I come back. Until my skin forgets what your touch feels like."

She stood up slowly, untying her robe. The fabric slipped down her shoulders, and my breath locked in my throat.

There she was. Bare. Mine.

Her flawless skin gleamed faintly in the dim bedroom light. Soft curves, full breasts tipped with dusky pink. A body both delicate and dangerous. A body that could ruin a man.

I stepped forward, unable to resist, cupping her breasts. My thumbs brushed over her nipples, and I watched her lips part as she breathed in.

"Dress me like you always do," she whispered.

"My pleasure." My voice was rough. "Let me oil you first... make that skin of yours even more irresistible."

I poured the jasmine-scented oil into my palms, warmed it, and began with her shoulders. My hands slid down her arms, her back, her waist. Her moan was low, like a cat stretching in the sun. Her thighs trembled when I massaged her hips, and I couldn’t stop myself—I kissed the back of her neck, teeth grazing her skin.

"You’re perfect," I murmured. "I should lock you in this room and never let anyone else even breathe near you."

She laughed softly. That laugh—I hadn’t heard it in weeks. Maybe months.

"So what will happen to you, while you’re away?" she asked, voice casual, but I knew the undertone. She hated this trip as much as I did.

"We can always have sex calls," I teased, nipping her earlobe. "I’ll call, and you’ll answer. Immediately."

"It depends on my availability."

"Whatever, baby." I growled against her mouth, then kissed her. Deep. Possessive. Tongue tangling with hers like I was trying to imprint my taste on her soul.

We never made it to the negligee. Her bare skin called to me like a drug, and I gave in without hesitation. She was open, warm, aching for me. I took her—twice—before the night even cooled, before her hair was fully dry.

Her moans, her soft gasps, the way her fingers clung to my arms like I was her only lifeline—I wanted to bottle those sounds, tattoo them into my brain. I needed them to survive the days ahead.

I didn’t sleep at all. I made love to her again, slower the third time. Gentle. Like I was memorizing every breath she took.

When she finally drifted off, I watched her. Her chest rising and falling, her lips slightly parted. My angel in silk sheets. I dressed myself, but I didn’t shower—I wanted her scent on me, clinging to my skin like a mark. I needed to carry her across the ocean.

Before I left, I placed the negligee over her sleeping body and kissed her.

"I’ll lock the door, okay, love?"

"Hmm." She stirred, blinking sleepily, then pushed herself upright. "I’ll walk you out."

"There’s no need." I leaned down and cupped her face. Even half-asleep, those purple eyes were captivating. "I still can’t believe the girl I was obsessed with all through high school... is now my wife."

She didn’t smile, but she reached for the drawer, pulled something out, and handed me a box.

I opened it. A Rolex.

Custom. Elegant. Dangerous.

"Put it on," she commanded.

I took it out and flipped it over. My initials. The date of our wedding. I couldn’t help but grin.

"I’ll cherish this," I said honestly.

"Wear it."

I obeyed, sliding it onto my left wrist. I moved my smartwatch to the other side.

"Don’t change the time or date," she added. "That’s the exact Philippine time."

"Got it."

"You can call me at twenty-two hundred hours. No earlier. No later."

"Got it. But why so strict?"

"I have a lot to do."

I narrowed my eyes. "You’re not planning to spend that time with some lover, are you?"

She didn’t even blink. "Being your wife is already exhausting. Why would I need a lover?"

I laughed and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Touché."

I stood, stared at her one last time.

"You don’t need to walk me out. I’ll lock the door." Another kiss. Slower this time. "I love you. I’ll be back as soon as I can."

"Hmm, okay." She pulled the duvet over herself as I turned off the lights and slipped out.

I closed the door behind me, but paused when I heard another one open.

Laura stepped out of Damien’s room, wearing his shirt, her injured arm still in a sling. She looked like sin. Messy hair. No shame.

We stared at each other in silence until she pointed at one of my bags.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. Just... don’t fuck anyone, okay? My sister will know."

I smirked. "I’m not that stupid."

She walked past me, heading to the cooler at the end of the hallway.

"Get me a Louboutin. The nicest one," she added, not even turning around.

I raised a brow, just as Damien stepped out in nothing but boxers.

"D—" I started.

He cut me off, covering his ears.

"Babe, quick!" Damien shouted.

"Damien, I need you!" Laura’s voice echoed like a line from a porn script.

She ran to him with the drinks. The door slammed. Locked.

I blinked. Speechless.

So that’s why he didn’t want to come with me on business trips.

I sighed and headed downstairs. The driver loaded my luggage into the trunk. I climbed into the sedan, checked my new watch.

Time was ticking.

I was already counting the hours until I could return to her.

–Livana–

We left the Blackwell Compound early in the morning. Damon’s mother and sister reminded me—more than once—that since I had married into the family, I was now a Blackwell. I belonged to the Blackwell residence. They insisted they’d take care of me—because I’m "disabled," as they put it.

Such kindness. So expected. So I rehearsed.

I pressed my fingers gently against my temple, turning my head in Laura’s direction. She was in the middle of a virtual breakfast meeting, sharing the audio with me through our connected device. Her tone was calm, businesslike, firm. The update was concise.

They had already appointed a CEO, though Laura retained her dual positions—President of the company and Vice-Chairwoman of the Board. I hadn’t met this newly hired CEO, but that didn’t mean he was a stranger to me. I had people. People who knew how to dig. Every record, every hidden motive, every unspoken intent—I would know it.

We cannot afford to place our legacy in the hands of a man with ambition to steal what our mother built from nothing.

When we arrived home, Laura went straight to her office, Damien close behind her. I returned to mine, while Jane likely slipped into the kitchen to summon Chef Wally for the day’s preparations.

As I stepped into my office, the familiar shapes and silhouettes greeted me. My vision, faint and unreliable, still allowed me to make out the contours of the room. Everything remained as I had left it. I made my way to the desk, fingertips brushing across the smooth surface until I reached the telephone.

I pressed the button for Sophia’s line.

"Yes, White Queen?"

"Get ready. We depart in five hours."

"I’ll be there to pick you up."

"Thank you."

I hung up, then immediately placed another call—this time, to the doctor. The one who manufactures the eyedrop.

The phone rang twice before a woman answered.

"I would like to speak with Dr. Andersson. This is Livana Blackwell."

"Mrs. Blackwell, we’ve been expecting your call. Dr. Andersson is currently with a patient."

"I’ll wait in line."

"One moment, I’ll transfer you."

"Thank you."

I placed the call on mute and sat back in my chair, the receiver still pressed to my ear. After about two minutes, a gentle click echoed, and then—

"Dr. Andersson speaking."

"Dr. Andersson, this is Livana Blackwell. We met a few months ago."

"How could I forget, Mrs. Blackwell? What can I do for you?"

"I’ll be arriving shortly. Can we meet?"

"Of course."

"This must remain confidential. I don’t want my husband—or anyone—knowing about this."

"Understood. You have my discretion. Your secretary will be told I never called."

"Good. I’ll see you soon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell."

I hung up and exhaled quietly. There was a flutter of uncertainty in my chest, one I quickly silenced.

Standing, I crossed the room and approached the portrait of my mother that hung on the far wall. Behind it, concealed, was my personal vault. My fingertips moved across the cold steel until I found the retinal scanner. It blinked green. I followed it with a fingerprint scan and then typed in my passcode.

With a soft click, the vault opened.

I reached inside and removed one bar of gold from a small, velvet-lined box. It weighed at least a kilo and came with its certificate. More than enough to ensure silence, if not loyalty.

I replaced the box and closed the vault carefully, letting the portrait settle back into place. Then I returned to my desk. Time was running, and I had much to prepare before Sophia arrived.

But first, I needed to write—notes for my eyes only, in braille.

Dr. Andersson’s formula for the eyedrop is not government-approved. No one knows how he created it. But it works. It works for me. And if it works, it’s worth protecting. Worth investing in. Worth hiding—at all costs.

Still... I hesitated.

Can I trust him? He’s close to Damon. Too close, perhaps. But for now, I need him. I’ll buy his silence. Then, I’ll execute my plan.

One step at a time.

Always with precision. Always in the dark—but never blind.