–Livana–
It’s been days since I confessed to my husband. He looks happier now—lighter, as if the weight he’s carried for years has finally softened. I’ve watched him these past few days; he’s been devoted to our baby, tending to him with patience that both humbles and warms .
This morning, he’s standing in the garden, letting the sunlight grace our little boy’s delicate skin. The twins, now over six months old, are nestled comfortably in his arms—each held effortlessly as though they weigh nothing at all.
"Wow," Laura sighed beside , eyes sparkling as she admired her husband. "My husband just flexed those muscles while carrying our twins. He lifted them like they were feathers."
I turned to her with a smirk. "Have you been sleeping with your husband again?"
"Yeah," she grinned mischievously. "It’s perfect. Takes all the stress out of ."
"Huh?" I tilted my head, amused.
"You see, I’m always horny around him," she said shalessly. "Every morning, he takes care of . Look at —curvy, healthy, glowing."
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Indeed, she looked radiant. There’s no denying it—Damien’s touch has sculpted her happiness. I suspect he never stops at one round; my sister’s appetite for pleasure rivals a lioness during mating season.
"Mom would have so much fun teasing you," I said suddenly.
"Hmm?" she blinked. "Teasing ?"
"Yes. Rember how you used to swear in high school that you’d never marry Damien? Look at you now."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, right."
I adjusted my sunglasses and turned toward the driveway overlooking the bungalow.
"Oh—Jane’s here!" I chid, my tone light. "Let’s go greet them."
Laura hooked her arm with mine as we descended the stairs and walked to the entrance. The first to appear was Logan, bounding out of the car with his usual carefree energy.
"Hey!" he greeted, waving before pulling into a hug and kissing Laura on the cheek.
"Wow, you’ve gotten fatter," he said bluntly.
"Wow, and you’ve gotten more of an asshole," Laura shot back, earning his laughter.
"Now, where are my twins?" he asked eagerly, looking around like a thief already planning his heist.
"They’re Damien’s twins, Logan," Laura reminded him with a sigh.
"They’re my godchildren. I’m stealing them, just like he stole you from ," he declared dramatically before striding toward the garden, as if he already knew the way.
"Logan, you need to bathe first!" Jane’s voice cut through the air.
Ah, yes—Jane. Ever the embodint of cleanliness and control. I smiled faintly as she grabbed Logan by the collar and dragged him back.
"Ow!" he yelped.
"They’re so compatible," Laura whispered to . I nodded, grinning.
"Go bathe," Jane ordered, kicking him lightly on the backside. He stumbled forward.
"The fuck, Jane! Stop bullying !"
Jane only gave him that cold, nonchalant glance of hers, though he obediently jogged upstairs.
"Wow, you actually tad Sparrow," I teased.
"He’s exhausting, Livana," Jane said, exasperated, clasping her hands as if praying. "Please—I can’t deal with an idiot every day."
"Hey!" Logan shouted from above. "After everything we’ve been through together?" His dramatics made Laura snort.
I sighed and waved a hand dismissively. "Just do as you please with him. But rember—he’s still my henchman."
Jane exhaled. "Right, right."
She turned back to the car and retrieved a cat carrier. Inside, two familiar cats blinked up nervously.
"Oh, you brought Moon and Sun!" I gasped softly. "Perfect."
"I hope you don’t mind," she said.
"They’re adorable," Laura murmured.
"Of course not," I replied warmly. "They’re family."
Jane nodded and went upstairs with the carrier.
Laura and I made our way to the garden. The twins’ laughter echoed like a lody—soft, untainted joy. Their father’s low chuckles joined in harmony.
"So, have they arrived?" Damon asked, his deep voice grounding the mont I stepped closer.
I extended my hand toward him, and he reached for it, his touch both commanding and tender as he drew near.
"Yes," I murmured. "They arrived safely."
He leaned down, and I t his lips in a gentle kiss that still sent warmth down my spine.
"I’ll be taking Jane out later," I whispered against his mouth.
He pulled back slightly, brows raised. "Huh?"
"You can handle our son, right?"
"Of course," he replied without hesitation.
"Can I co?" Laura chid in, ever curious.
I glanced at her. "No. I’ll take you next ti."
She pouted. "Fine."
The garden swayed softly under the afternoon light—Damon, our children, the laughter of family—and for a mont, everything felt like a carefully orchestrated symphony. Just the way I liked it.
*****
I prepared quietly for my departure. The morning felt unusually still, as though the air itself understood that I was about to leave. I fed my baby first, humming softly while his tiny hands clutched at my fingers. When he finally drifted to sleep, I turned to my husband. Damon’s arms wrapped around instantly, his warmth grounding before the storm. I snuggled against his chest for a mont longer than I should have—morizing his scent, the rhythm of his breath, the subtle strength in his hold.
It was also just about ti for the morning deliveries—fresh at and seafood for the kitchen, neatly packed and arriving right on schedule. My household never missed a beat; even the mundane details served as part of my cover.
I made my way to Jane’s room. She was already waiting, calm as ever, holding up a sleek wig that matched the disguise I had planned. Efficient, as always.
By the garage near the kitchen, the delivery truck for the frozen goods arrived precisely on ti. Logan was there too, already dressed and ready, though his impatient tapping on the van’s door betrayed his restlessness. I only hoped the two of them would avoid bickering this ti—it was too early for their theatrics.
Still, as we approached the van, Laura stood by the doorway with her arms crossed, giving that older sister glare. I simply smiled, then climbed in. The van was cold, its tallic scent mingling with the chill of the refrigeration unit, but we wrapped ourselves well enough. All that mattered was passing unnoticed through the spies likely lingering outside my estate.
"It slls," Logan muttered under his breath.
"Livana didn’t complain. Why are you complaining?" Jane shot back, her tone sharp but calm.
I hid a smirk, secretly entertained. Their dynamic was chaotic, yet oddly efficient.
"Well, first," Logan said, stretching the word. "We could have used the car—"
"We can’t," I interrupted smoothly.
He nodded. "Okay. But you’re already disguised as—"
"Okay," I repeated, cutting him off again.
He sighed in defeat, slumping back against the wall. I couldn’t help the faint curl of amusent on my lips.
When we finally arrived at the warehouse, the driver jumped out and opened the rear door. I removed the thermal blanket draped over , blinking against the change in light. He offered his hand, helping down with a respectful nod. Jane and Logan followed closely behind.
"My Queen," Commander White greeted as he stepped forward. I raised my hand toward his voice—still maintaining my guise as a blind woman. He caught my hand delicately and led toward the car parked nearby.
I slid into the back seat, Jane beside , while Logan claid the shotgun seat with the enthusiasm of a child.
The faint sll of frozen goods still lingered in the air, so I took out a small vial and sprayed a light mist—an elegant blend of jasmine and sandalwood—to cleanse the scent.
Commander White placed a small wicker basket in the middle of the car.
Jane and Logan exchanged puzzled looks as I stayed silent. Then I turned slightly toward them. "Devices," I said simply. "Everything."
Logan, to his credit, didn’t hesitate. He emptied his pockets, placing several gadgets, phones, and a communicator inside the basket. Jane followed, reluctantly at first, then double-checked her purse as if to reassure that nothing else remained. Honest, loyal, predictable.
"Good," I murmured with a smile. Commander White collected the basket, rolled down the tinted window, and handed it to a man in a black suit outside. The man placed it into a secure vault embedded in the vehicle beside us, then locked it with a heavy click before saluting and disappearing.
Silence filled the car again. I exhaled softly and glanced at my wristwatch, the ticking sound echoing faintly.
Everything was right on ti.
******
After two long hours of driving, we finally arrived at my mother’s lair—an isolated estate hidden behind an overgrown forest. The van rolled to a slow stop, and Logan’s first reaction nearly made laugh.
"Oh," he said, squinting at the wild grass and creeping vines. "Are we going to clean the lawn? It seriously needs trimming."
"No," I replied flatly, just as the underground garage began to open. The heavy steel doors lifted with a chanical hum, swallowing us into the dimly lit passage below. Once the doors sealed shut behind us, Commander White imdiately stepped out, his movents precise and practiced. He opened the door for .
I removed my sunglasses and dropped the blind act entirely. Logan and Jane exchanged puzzled looks, realization flickering in Jane’s sharp eyes.
"Let’s go," Commander White said briskly, leading us toward the interior door.
The scent of warm sugar and vanilla hit first. I blinked, disoriented for a heartbeat—it slled... hoy. Too normal for a place that had once been a fortress.
"Mom?" I called out softly.
"Why are you calling your mom? Is this a haunted house?" Logan whispered dramatically.
Before I could retort, my mother appeared from the kitchen, wearing an apron and holding a tray of cookies. Her eyes sparkled with that sa warmth I thought I’d lost forever.
"Hey, you three!" she greeted cheerfully. "I was baking cookies—and your favorite."
She approached us, and I instinctively reached for the glass of pineapple juice she offered. I turned to the two behind , watching their faces shift from confusion to disbelief.
"Wait..." Logan muttered, his jaw slack. "Did one of the clones co back alive as your mom?"
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