–Carrie–
The mont I stepped out of my hotel room, I was greeted by a wall of black suits. Three n—bulky, stone-faced—and three won just as tall and intimidating, all dressed in tailored black. Grandmother’s staff, obviously. I sighed dramatically, dragging my suitcase behind as I headed to the checkout counter.
Typical Olivia move. Always fashionably late, just like her morals.
This wasn’t the worst day of my life. No, that title still belongs to the day my perfectly crafted plan blew up in my face. But today was certainly in the running for second place.
It had only been yesterday. Damon and Livana caught sight of us. Of . The timing couldn’t have been worse—or more humiliating.
Once I was packed, one of the female guards took my arm. Not roughly, but firm enough to remind who was in charge. They escorted out like I was so kind of criminal. And there she was. Livana.
Standing by the van like so ethereal statue, her walking stick in hand, looking... composed. Like she knew sothing I didn’t.
"Oh, Livana," I said, my tone dipped in sarcasm. "Co to witness my grand exit? What’s the point, anyway? You can’t even see ."
That should’ve hit. But instead, she smiled. Not smug. Not mocking. Just calm.
Then she stepped forward, slowly removing her sunglasses.
"And whose fault is that?"
Her voice was soft, almost gentle. But the words landed like a slap.
"Yours, obviously," I snapped. "For sleeping with soone else’s fiancé."
Then it hit . Richard was her fiancé too—well, sort of. Technically. Ugh. I hated technicalities.
She laughed. Actually laughed, and not the kind that ant she was losing it. It was genuine. Effortless. Like I was a walking punchline.
"Oh, that’s rich, Carrie," she said, slipping her sunglasses back on like she didn’t just destroy in one sentence. "Good luck settling into your new residence. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure soone picks you up for the next family gathering. Wouldn’t want you to miss the drama."
She turned, her tone light as if she were discussing the weather. "Darling," she called sweetly.
And Damon—God—he walked over to her like he belonged there. No, like she belonged to him. He took her hand gently, like she was made of sothing precious.
That was the sa Damon everyone feared? The brutal one with bloodstained rumors and cold eyes?
He looked like he would kill for her, but more than that—he looked like he would die for her.
I hopped into the van as I chewed at my thumbnail, eyes locked on the pair as the bodyguards were loading my luggage. I’d never seen Damon like that. Not even with Tyrona, his supposed fiancée. With her, he was always cold. Distant. Like he couldn’t be bothered to breathe the sa air.
But Livana? Livana had him wrapped around her finger. And she didn’t even have to try.
My mind began spinning. How could I seduce a man like that? Damon wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t like Richard—easy, impulsive, ruled by lust. Damon was power. Controlled. Dangerous.
And yet... there was sothing different about Livana now. She looked radiant. Powerful. Almost... aware. Like she saw .
No. That’s impossible. The eyedrops Tyrona used were toxic—ant to burn the cornea beyond repair. She shouldn’t be able to see again unless she had an eye transplant, which was highly unlikely. Tyrona said she’d be blind forever.
So what the hell went wrong?
"Tsk." I shifted irritably in the van seat and glanced sideways at the guards Grandmother Olivia assigned . Like I was so kind of prisoner under house arrest.
I couldn’t even run. Not without them noticing.
Sneaking off to Korea had been a miracle in itself—a desperate move to et Tyrona and craft the perfect plan. A plan to wipe Livana and Laura off the chessboard. To reclaim what was rightfully ours.
Now? It felt like we’d been outplayed before we even moved a piece.
–Livana–
I’m bleeding.
It’s not sothing that usually happens—not like this. I hardly ever bleed, not this much. I’m infertile. I had co to terms with that, with the silence of my womb. But this... this flow, this deep red, almost vivid despite the persistent blur in my vision—it’s new. Unsettling.
Even through the darkness, I can see the blood. Faintly. A shade of red erging from the haze, clearer around the edges where the blindness doesn’t fully swallow the world. There’s always a black void right in the center of my sight. Like a stain I can’t scrub away.
Carefully, I reached for the pads—thicker than the usual ones—and slipped into my anti-leak panties. No more of my silk ones today. Not when I’m bleeding like this.
I washed slowly, my fingers moving over the familiar contours of the sink and soap bottle. Everything had to be done with extra care. Then I put on my cycling shorts beneath the black dress. Black for the red days. That felt right.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
"Baby!" Damon’s voice ca muffled through the bathroom door, full of urgency and concern.
God, he was always like this when I locked a door. The knocks were soft this ti, almost tender, but they grated on my nerves just the sa.
I rinsed my hands again, dried them, and let my fingers trace along the long marble counter until I found the door handle. When I opened it, his worried sigh filled the space between us.
"Don’t be so fucking annoying," I said, my voice even, a low murmur of threat masked as calm. "Unless you want to kill you in your sleep."
"Oh, baby..." he groaned, pulling into his arms. His hands settled on my waist, grounding . "I’m just worried. Why are you so annoyed?"
He pressed a kiss against my cheek, warm and lingering.
"Because I am," I muttered, pushing him away as the cloying scent of his perfu hit like a wall. I cringed.
"I hate your perfu. It’s... wrong. Off."
He pulled back, a tinge of hurt in his voice. "But I always wear this one."
Ugh. He was so childish sotis. So soft around it was almost infuriating.
"Get my purse," I said as he adjusted the hem of my dress. "Put so sanitary pads in it."
"Sanitary pads? What’s that?"
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "The thing in the drawer. Covered packet. The one you stick in your panties when your vagina’s bleeding."
There was silence.
Then, cautiously: "Wait... you got your period?"
He exhaled like he’d just been handed a tragic script rewrite. "Oh, damn. We have to start all over again on love-making."
I heard his footsteps as he moved to retrieve them. Then he was back, wrapping his arms around from behind.
"That’s why you’re grumpy," he said with a chuckle. "I got you, baby. Let’s get so lunch. Then I’m taking you to the spa. You need to relax."
He was already sliding my sunglasses onto my face. These were new—sleeker, lighter. His fingertips moved gently, a silent kind of affection. He draped a coat over my shoulders like I was fragile.
Maybe I was.
We went back to the sa restaurant from the night before. My usual spot, always the sa table, sa waiter who knew how to read without staring. Then ca the hair spa. The full-body massage. Bliss.
Slowly, my fraying nerves began to ease. Damon spoiled shalessly. Held my purse like a loyal attendant. Even assisted in the PWD restroom with the sa tenderness he reserved for brushing my hair or buttoning up my blouse.
It’s strange.
I’m blind—but I see him more clearly than anyone else ever has. He’s like a nurse. A devoted caregiver. A man obsessed. Or maybe... maybe I’m just lucky. Blessed with a husband who worships in ways I never asked for.
After the spa, I was drained.
"Let’s go back," I murmured. "I want to sleep. And wash properly."
"Okay," he said, rubbing my arm gently. "Do you want to carry you?"
"No."
I appreciated the day—well, most of it. But between the cramps and the bleeding, even pleasure felt like effort. The massage had helped a little, their skilled hands easing the tight pain in my abdon, but the fatigue remained.
When we got ho, I thought I’d simply wash up, put on my pajamas, and slip into bed. But Damon had other ideas.
He put on a movie. Talked about snacks—chocolates, popcorn, sweet things I didn’t even have the stomach for. I just wasn’t in the mood.
"You can leave," I said, nudging him away. "Give my phone and headset. I need to go over a few emails."
To my surprise, he didn’t argue. Just handed them over obediently. Like a dog. Honestly, it was a perk of being... differently beautiful. Damon, this powerful, dangerous man, was utterly at my feet.
I scrolled through the emails as he curled around like a warm shadow. His kisses landed softly on my cheeks, then my shoulder.
"I’ll get you a heat pad," he whispered. "Call if you need anything. I’ll be right outside—just catching up on work."
"Hmm."
I barely responded, letting his voice lt into the background. His warmth left for a mont, then returned. He placed sothing warm and soft on my stomach. The heat seeped through, soothing.
"Livana," he said softly, "I’m sorry, my wife. But we need an heir soon, okay? Let’s work hard."
"Fuck you," I muttered, snuggling deeper into the pillows. His quiet laugh rumbled against my back as he kissed my shoulder again.
I don’t rember what happened after that. Every ti I bleed like this, it feels like slipping into a fog. Like my body and mind just want to disappear for a while.
Still... sothing gnawed at beneath the comfort. A sliver of worry I couldn’t shake.
"Damien," I murmured.
Damon pressed closer.
"Hmm? Why ntion his na?"
"Is he ho? With Laura?"
"Yes. Laura’s safe."
I exhaled, the tension finally loosening in my chest.
Good. At least one thing was right in the world.
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