– Livana —
Poor Tyrona. Her first wedding collapsed like a porcelain cup slipping from careless fingers—shattered in an instant. A public fight with her almost-sister-in-law, the family’s affection turning to open disdain. I know their plan. I always did. They failed—fully aware they would—yet arrogance convinced them to proceed anyway. Pride is a predictable flaw; it makes people mistake noise for power.
Tyrona is probably convincing herself now that Damon is operating my Empire in my stead. A comforting illusion. Laura has no ti for such theatrics—she is occupied steering the companies Mother once held, and has recently absorbed the weight of Braxton’s assets as well.
Our father still oversees Carrington, though Laura’s presence there has grown more... permanent. I suspect he is slowly yielding the reins to his other daughter. As for his wife—still Wanted. Vanished. Carrie hides her mother well, but everyone leaves fingerprints. I have my guesses.
"I think I’m ready for our second baby," Damon said suddenly, his arms sliding around my waist as if claiming territory he already owned. His lips brushed my neck, warm and familiar, his body pressed flush against mine.
I rely smirked, continuing to stir the soup simring gently on the stove—nutrient-rich, fragrant, made precisely according to Chef Wally’s recipe. Steam curled upward like a soft veil, carrying comfort and control in equal asure.
I understand now the old wisdom about keeping one’s husband close. Like a dark, elegant spell. Damon, however, is not difficult to bind. He was already mine long before vows or rings. His devotion is singular—at least, that is how I have trained both his heart and his body to behave.
"My love," I said calmly, voice smooth as the surface of the broth, "I’m not ready for a second baby. Perhaps after a proper wedding—our families present, the world aligned—I’ll consider it." I stirred once more, slow and deliberate. "For now, let’s keep it a secret."
"Damn," he sighed dramatically. "Then I’ll just enjoy you and the babies. Or live like a monk for another year and a half until you change your mind."
A laugh escaped —soft, genuine. I rarely laughed in the early days of our marriage. Caution ruled then. But compatibility reveals itself in quiet repetitions, in shared silences. Now I understand why he was so eager to marry .
"Later," I told him gently.
"Mama!"
Zayvier ca running, his little feet urgent against the floor. He pointed toward the playroom door, eyes wide. "Sky! Oh no!"
Oh no always ans disaster.
"Take care of the soup," I said, handing Damon the spoon as I moved swiftly toward the playroom.
We had only stepped away for seconds. Seconds are more than enough for chaos to bloom.
Sky lay flat on the floor, arms limp, eyes squeezed shut—dramatically unconscious. Zendaya stood nearby, face flushed red, arms crossed tightly, fury radiating from her tiny fra.
"Sky," I said, wiping my hands on my apron, voice calm but sharp beneath its silk. "What did you do?"
In response, he began snoring—an exaggerated imitation of either Logan or Damon. I suppressed a sigh.
"Mama," Zendaya whimpered, throwing herself into my arms. I held her close, imdiately noting the damage. Crayon colors sared across her dollhouse—violent blues, angry reds. "Look," she sobbed. "Ugly!"
"Oh, my love," I murmured, stroking her hair. Her eyes—blue threaded with gray—were devastatingly beautiful, even through tears. "Don’t worry. Sky will fix it. Right, Sky?"
He continued his performance.
I smiled faintly. "Well, since Sky is asleep, let’s eat. I made your favorite."
I wiped Zendaya’s tears with the edge of my dress and turned toward the kitchen.
"Nomnom!"
Sky shot upright instantly.
We both stopped.
"No, Sky."
He froze, then looked up at with those cursed puppy eyes—wide, pleading, unmistakably mine. Discipline is essential, I reminded myself. Even when genetics conspire against resolve.
"What do we say to your sister?"
"Sowee," he chirped, imdiately hugging Zendaya. She pushed him away, indignant.
"No, Sky! You baddie!"
"I keen~ I keen..." he whined, grabbing a tissue and furiously rubbing at the dollhouse, crayons saring more than lifting, all in desperate pursuit of forgiveness—and food.
"So," I asked gently, "do you accept his apology?"
Zendaya hesitated, then nodded.
I smiled. She wrapped her arms around my leg while we watched Sky valiantly attempt to undo his cri.
"We’ll clean that properly later, my love," I said, extending my hand.
Sky abandoned the wipes instantly, ran toward , arms raised, tiptoeing with effort. I lifted him easily, pressing kisses all over his face as he giggled. I took Zendaya’s hand with my free one.
In the kitchen, Damon and Zayvier worked together as if it were the most natural alliance in the world. My husband lifted plates with military precision while our son stood on a chair, tongue peeking out in concentration as he arranged cutlery exactly the way he had seen us do it countless tis before. He even straightened a napkin, proud of himself.
Adorable. Disarming. Dangerous to my resolve.
Yes, it is chaotic—children always are. Tantrums bloom without warning, small wars erupt over toys and colors and imagined slights. Yet monts like this, when I watch how intelligent, observant, and unexpectedly independent they already are, plant dangerous thoughts in my mind. Thoughts about more. About expanding what Damon and I have created together.
Then my mind drifts further—to Deanne, Jane, Sophia. Soon, our family will grow again, branching like a well-planned dynasty.
All I want is peace around us. No wars. No enemies sharpening knives in the dark. Threats neutralized before they can breathe.
It is wishful thinking.
But I will still attempt it.
Laura finally arrived with her husband, Commander White driving as always—bodyguard, chauffeur, and shadow. She rushed toward the mont she stepped inside, wrapping in a warm hug and pressing kisses to my cheeks.
"I’m craving lasagna," she announced casually. "We should have that."
I blinked.
She released just as quickly, crouching to greet her babies, showering them with kisses and laughter. Sky imdiately lined up, arms raised, demanding the sa affection. I sighed softly and glanced at Damon, who only smiled, entirely amused.
"So," I asked Laura lightly, crossing my arms, "is it another mischievous heir or heiress?"
Her brows shot up. "Wow. You figured that out already?" She giggled.
"Congratulations," I said simply.
"Oh," Damon sighed theatrically, shaking his head. "They’re pregnant again. What about us?"
I shook my head. He already knew the answer.
"Oh, by the way," Laura added, "Mom said she’ll be staying in the mansion with Aunt Amiliee. I bet they’re planning to go out of the country to shop."
I shrugged. "That’s Aunt Amiliee’s favorite sport," I chuckled. "Alright. I’ll make the lasagna. For now, eat whatever Damon and I prepared."
"Since you’re all here—" Damon slipped an arm around my waist, pulling closer, his voice low and playful. "Maybe we should take a break from taking care of the kids?"
I shook my head, suppressing a smile. Desire stirred—but responsibility always moved faster.
"Oh, but we just arrived," Laura said innocently, far too innocent.
"I’ll make the lasagna," I said instead, turning to Damon. "Can you prepare the als for my four-legged guards?" I smiled up at him, my hand brushing his lower back.
He grinned imdiately, nodding with devotion. I know that look—he would do anything if it ant earning ti alone with later.
Back in the kitchen, I laid out the ingredients, my movents smooth, practiced. Damon passed behind repeatedly on his way to the garden, stealing quick kisses each ti—my neck, my cheek, my temple. The dogs’ gourt als had strict instructions; he followed them obediently.
"Mama!" Sky tugged at my apron.
I looked down. He puckered his lips dramatically. "Kisshh."
I set everything down, squatted, and let him kiss . He grabbed my face with both hands, planting kisses everywhere—cheeks, nose, chin. I giggled as he bounced with excess affection and I returned every kiss without restraint.
"Hey," Damon cut in mockingly. "That’s enough. That’s my wife, you rascal."
"Mama!" Sky clung to , suddenly dramatic, pretending fear.
I kissed the top of his head and lifted him. "Do you want to see the big dogs while Daddy feeds them?"
His arms shot toward Damon instantly.
Damon took him, then bent down and showered my face with kisses—soft, then lingering, then one deep enough that Sky shoved at his chest.
"No!" Sky shouted.
Damon pulled back, unfazed. "She’s my wife," he explained patiently. "Co on. Let’s feed the dogs."
I watched them head toward the backdoor, heart warm, before returning to boil the lasagna sheets.
Commander White approached quietly, handing a tablet.
"These agents are monitoring so of our workers," he said.
I sighed. "Transfer them imdiately."
He nodded.
"I don’t care where," I added calmly, "as long as it’s sowhere safer. Sowhere they can’t be tracked."
"Understood." He hesitated. "I’d also like to request a leave."
"Alright," I said, glancing at him. "How long?"
"Two... maybe three weeks."
I turned fully toward him. "May I ask why?"
"My daughter’s wedding."
I froze.
"Oh—" I shook my head. "I’m so sorry. I forgot." I exhaled. "Of course. Take your leave. I’ll handle everything. Send her address so I can send gifts."
He stamred, suddenly awkward.
"Don’t be like that," I smiled gently. "We’re family. I’m sorry I can’t attend."
He nodded. "Your mother will be there. That’s enough."
"Go," I told him. "Be with your family. I’ll take care of everything."
"I’ll leave tomorrow."
I nodded as he exited.
Commander White has always been loyal—to my mother, to our Empire, to us. His daughters grew well despite circumstances. One a doctor, the other choosing a quiet corporate life within Damon’s company—not as a spy, just... normal.
Mother ensured that. Good schools. A stable ho. Protection until they were old enough to understand why their father belonged elsewhere.
I returned to stirring the pot—
Then screams.
Barking. Growling. Chaos.
Sky’s cry sliced through the air.
I dropped everything and ran.
In the garden, Damon was already holding Sky tightly. I stopped dead when I saw it—a severed human arm near one of the dogs. A man lay on the ground, sobbing, cornered by snarling teeth.
"What happened?" I asked, though the answer was obvious.
Damon blew the whistle sharply. I took Sky instantly.
"Get inside," he ordered.
I didn’t hesitate.
From behind the glass, I watched Damon approach the man slowly, controlled, lethally calm in every step.
"Mama..." Sky sobbed, shaking in my arms.
He is barely two. I don’t know how much he understood—if it was fear of the barking, or instinct recognizing violence. I held him tighter.
Commander White appeared beside , shotgun in hand, already moving.
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