–Livana–
The PTA eting ended flawlessly—for , at least. I’m certain they understood every word I said. My interest in this school isn’t just personal; my nieces and nephews from my cousins attend here, and I’ve invested in this institution as if it were a business—because, in many ways, it is.
From Jane’s description of how Tiffany and her little entourage treated Alyssa, complete with evidence and corroboration from Alyssa’s friends, I already know my mother-in-law will not take it lightly. She’s been silent for weeks, collecting information like breadcrumbs—every word, every calorie of gossip.
But my reason for attending the eting wasn’t only about Alyssa. I ca to verify a suspicion: whether Mrs. Smith had any connection to my mother’s death.
As for the parents of those bullies—I made sure they each received a neat little package. Photos of their indiscretions, either cheating on their spouses or dabbling in substances that don’t belong anywhere near children. I’m aware they’ll try to dig up sothing on —or worse, on my mother-in-law—but they’ll find nothing. Let them try. I hold more secrets than they can imagine.
"Sis!" Alyssa’s voice chid behind .
I turned toward her voice as a hand touched my arm. I faced her instinctively. My fading vision caught a soft blur—her Birkin in her left hand. It looked clean and structured.
"How was the PTA? Did they say anything about ?" she asked quickly.
"They did," I said, smiling. "Don’t worry. Just be a good girl, alright?"
I leaned closer, my voice soft but edged with steel. "And by good girl, I an defend yourself. Whatever you do, I’ll support you—but own your choices. Make it elegant. Make it quiet. But never let them break you."
I kissed her cheek, knowing exactly where it would be.
"Thank you." She hugged tightly, and I smiled, patting her back.
"You know their next move, right, Alyssa?"
"Uh-huh."
I gently stroked her hair.
"I’ll be going now. I have work to do."
I raised my left hand. "Jane."
Her hand found my elbow. I extended my walking stick.
"I’ll pick you up at what ti?" I asked.
"Well, we planned to eat out," Alyssa said.
"Alright. You’re with your three friends?"
"Yes."
"Good. I’ll treat you. I’ll pick you up at four."
"Okay!" Her voice lifted with excitent. I chuckled as Jane guided down the hallway.
We slipped into my Rolls-Royce. I heard Jane murmuring to the driver before we pulled away. Destination: the hospital. Ion was still there, recovering—or pretending.
Hospitals always slled the sa. Disinfectant. Cheap coffee. Antiseptic dreams. The low hum of human suffering. It felt like déjà vu. Jane led through the halls until we reached the private room. She knocked once before sliding the door open.
"Livana?" Kai’s voice sounded startled.
I smiled faintly and tapped my walking stick forward.
"He’s still breathing, right?" I asked.
My blurred vision picked up the bed’s outline. Ion moved faintly. Awake.
"Livana," he rasped. "I—I’m so sorry, I didn’t an to—"
"Save your breath," I said, tightening my grip on the walking stick. Composure. Poise. But behind my stillness, I could see—clearly—how he’d raised a hand to my sister.
"Livana, I swear—I didn’t an to..."
"Hmm," I humd, letting the sound stretch like a thread. "I’m still considering. Brandon is already on my list. Maybe I should add you. Maybe... right at the top."
"What can I do for you and Laura to forgive ?"
"If Laura forgives you, I might forgive you—partially. That ans your sins are acknowledged, not erased. And your brother? He’s included in your debt."
"Please. I’ll do anything. Just... forgive us."
I turned slightly. "Let think about it."
"Kai," I said softly. "The door."
"Livana!" Ion called. I heard the rustling of sheets, desperate, clumsy.
"What do you want?" he pleaded.
I smiled.
I knew exactly what I wanted. But not yet.
He could still be useful.
"For now?" I said without looking back. "I want nothing. But your fate? I’m still deciding."
Kai reached for my elbow and guided . Then Jane placed my hand gently on her forearm, and together, we walked away.
–Laura–
I sighed for the fifth ti and tried to focus on my work. My eyes drifted to Damien, sitting at the other desk. His bedroom—almost as grand as Damon and Livana’s—had twin workspaces: one for each of us.
We were supposed to work in the library, but I’d convinced him to stay in the bedroom, with the balcony doors open to let in the fresh air. Though let’s be honest—it wasn’t just the air I wanted.
I wanted to make love. I wanted to get pregnant. But Damien had been dodging since last night.
Last night, I’d been slapped—hard—and ended up biting the inside of my cheek. It bled. Damien cleaned it and applied ointnt, but my arm... My arm hurt too. The stitches had co loose. Now I was wearing a sling to keep myself from moving carelessly.
"Damien," I called.
"Hmm?"
"I’m really horny."
"No. You’re working," he said flatly, without even glancing at . "You’re supposed to check your calendar and finish your schedule."
Ugh. The way he lectured ? Annoying. I narrowed my eyes at him in a glare. He sighed and shook his head.
"Finish your planned work, and I’ll treat you like a queen."
I rolled my eyes and buckled down, burning through half the work without stopping. Because I wanted him to notice . Kiss . Touch . Love . I just wanted to be lazy for one day—but I couldn’t. My sister was out there working herself raw to secure everything, legal or not.
I sighed again, shaking my head. I was losing my mind.
"Take a break."
I looked up. Damien was standing there with a tray of snacks. My lips curled.
"Fuck snacks," I muttered.
He chuckled, then turned on the air conditioner, shut the balcony doors, and drew the curtains—leaving only a narrow slit of light.
He ca closer and helped up. I grinned, tiptoeing to reach him, curling my right arm around his as he bent down and kissed my face over and over—soft, hot, tender.
I sighed and let my right arm drape around his neck.
"Remove the sling, please."
He helped out of it, gently easing my injured arm free. Then he unbuttoned my pajama top, scooping my breasts into his palms, squeezing them until I giggled.
I watched his tongue flick out—hot and wet—as he licked each of my now-hardened nipples. I gasped softly.
God, why am I always this horny around him? Maybe I’m ovulating. Or maybe it’s just —I get like this before my period too. I just wanted him to fuck —hard—until I couldn’t even squirt anymore.
The foreplay? God, it never gets old. Every move he makes sends spiraling into bliss. My body trembles, pulsing, breaking with each climax. And when he’s inside —God. That big, gorgeous cock, the way he fills with that thick, mushroom head... it’s perfect. Just the right kind of too big.
I don’t even know how long we’d been making love, but then I heard the ping of my laptop.
He helped button my top while I fixed my hair. I stayed in bed, the duvet covering my still-naked lower half. I answered the call with my cara off.
Damien slid the overbed table toward as I set the laptop down. The eting started—but Damien had other plans.
He got under the duvet.
I raised a brow. Seriously? Right now?
I sucked in a breath when I felt his tongue glide along my clit. I tried to push him away—half-heartedly—but he didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t.
I made sure my mic was muted and activated the AI to record the whole eting.
A moan slipped through my lips. I caught it just in ti.
As they discussed numbers and deadlines, Damien’s tongue traced slow, perfect circles against . I slid a hand under the covers, curling my fingers into his hair, pushing his mouth deeper.
God... don’t stop. Go deeper... deeper...
My whole body shivered with release, a wave crashing through . I clenched the duvet, eyes squeezed shut, barely managing not to scream. The orgasm rolled over —deep, powerful, blinding.
I lay there breathless until I felt a gentle tap. Damien.
He left the bed briefly, and I heard my na as he returned, placing a cold bottle of water into my hand.
"Get up," he said softly.
I sat up, fixed my top, and cleared my throat just in ti to answer a question from the eting. My voice held steady, as if I hadn’t just co undone seconds ago.
The eting dragged for what? Thirty minutes, maybe? I had work at the office tomorrow—ugh—even though I absolutely didn’t feel like going. When the call finally ended, I folded the laptop closed and let myself fall back into bed.
That’s when I saw him.
Damien stood at the foot of the bed, sliding off his boxers. He climbed up slowly, his body crawling over mine like a storm building in silence.
My gaze locked onto his gorgeous manhood. God, how is his cock more beautiful than anyone else’s? Thick, curved perfectly, veined in all the right places, and crowned with that flawless, swollen head.
"You’re still hard?" I asked, teasing.
He smirked. "I tasted you," he said, kissing my lips, "and you are blissful."
I chuckled, desire rekindling instantly as I shoved the duvet off and began unbuttoning my top, one button at a ti.
His eyes glead with hunger.
He dipped his head and moved between my thighs, lips brushing against the soft flesh, sucking at the curves of my inner thigh. I moaned as he left hot, dark marks on my skin, a map of his hunger.
His mouth went deeper, hotter, wetter—exploring , tasting again like he couldn’t get enough.
It was aweso. It was perfect.
But before I could even climb toward that second climax, he gripped my hips, lifted , and thrust into with one sharp, deep motion.
I gasped.
My body trembled in response—eager, needy, aching to feel every inch of him. He moved with a rhythm that only he knew—fast, deep, deliberate.
There were quick knocks on the door.
Ignored.
Fuck them.
Right now, I was being worshiped.
And Damien—God—he knew exactly how to make my body sing.
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