–Livana–
Damon co-owns the club with his bastard friends—one of whom he nearly killed once. He led into the VVIP room, the sa one we usually occupy. Fittingly, it was nad after him. I sat down and stared ahead, composed.
"Where’s the monitor located?" I asked calmly.
"Here," he murmured, gently turning my chin toward it.
"Can that be moved in front of ?"
"Of course, baby."
I heard the rustle of quick movent. As expected, he had already ordered unnecessary changes—and they executed them fast. The monitor was placed right in front of , complete with the stand. Efficient.
"That’s a 40-inch screen," he said, settling beside . "The sound’s crisp."
He reached for my hand and pressed a glass of champagne into it with a smile.
"By the way," I said lightly, "I heard Tyrona’s loud laugh earlier... with a man who has an accent."
"I didn’t expect they’d be here," he chuckled, leaning in closer. "I’ve got a eting in the conference room later. You’ll co with ."
He kissed my temple and slid a hand around my waist, thumb brushing my side.
"So," I said, swirling the champagne in its flute, "do you plan to put a bullet between his brows?"
He laughed, low and dark.
"Do you want that, love? A bloodbath?"
"Well..." I tilted my head with a smirk. "Considering blood and soul built this business? Why not."
He chuckled again and kissed my cheek.
"I’m kidding," I said with a faint laugh, smacking his thigh playfully. "But I do want to et that bastard."
"Then I should kill him first—before you get the chance." Typical. His jealousy always precedes logic.
I pulled him closer by the collar.
"Don’t be stupid."
"What? The man gawked at you earlier."
"Don’t worry," I replied coolly. "He’s obsessed with Tyrona."
"He was obsessed with Tyrona. But the mont you walked in..." His voice dropped a note, deep and sinfully seductive. "I don’t think he was anymore."
"Whatever, my husband," I drawled, teasing. "Do you honestly believe I’d waste ti looking at so random bastard? I’m blind, rember?"
"And what if you could see?"
"Hmm." I humd thoughtfully, lips curving.
"Livana," he warned in a hiss, "I’m being serious right now."
"You already have a mighty dick that keeps up all night," I said matter-of-factly, sipping my drink. "Why would I bother with soone even more annoying than you?"
He went silent. Exactly.
The race ca on-screen—a live car racing event. Fast, intense, loud. His phone rang just then. He stood.
"Let’s go, baby."
He slipped my coat over my shoulders with practiced ease.
"I’ve got a eting. Everyone’s already waiting."
I put on my sunglasses as he took the champagne glass from my hand. He guided out into a corridor bathed in soft white and ambient blue lights. Elegant wall lamps frad each door like sentinels.
We stopped at the end and entered through black double doors.
Inside, eight people sat at a long table made of polished mahogany. Damon pulled out a chair for , and I let my fingers trace its edge before sitting down with effortless grace. He took the seat beside .
Though veiled behind my sunglasses, I could still see them. Dim wasn’t darkness. Not for .
Most were n—except for the redhead. She sat diagonally across, her gaze locked onto my husband as if trying to brand him with her eyes.
Damon’s arm settled lightly across the back of my chair.
"Everyone," he said, "this is my wife, Livana. She’ll be joining us for this eting."
I offered them the faintest smile—one that said I’m not to be underestimated.
Let the gas begin.
The eting began tediously—as I expected. I hate these things. Corporate n pretending to be visionaries. Even Damon’s bastard friends were here, tossing around ideas that sounded halfway decent but still wrapped in idiocy.
I covered my mouth to stifle a yawn, sitting as poised as ever. But then—sothing interesting.
Soone had brought up a potential new partner.
"I think he’ll be a great asset for our Formula Race expansion. He owns the acres of land we’ve been eyeing," said the red-haired woman. Her voice was confident. Polished. Her na... what was it again? I recall it was unisex. Jackie, I believe.
"Let guess," I said with a small, knowing smile. "His na is Alejandro Madrigal?"
All eyes turned toward . Damon groaned beside , his hand sliding possessively over my thigh.
"How did you—" Jackie began, flustered. "Well... yes, you’re correct, Mrs. Blackwell. Miss Tyrona introduced him to us."
"We’re not taking the deal," Damon said flatly, his tone firm.
"Damon," Ike pressed, "that land is crucial... we need it for the next race."
"We have enough of it," my husband sighed.
"He’s willing to negotiate," Jordan added, ever the salesman.
I sighed, gently patting Damon’s hand. They were trying to sway him, but it wasn’t the deal he was against—it was the man. That bastard once sent assassins after , all for Tyrona. And sothing tells they’re not done yet.
"What do you think, love?" Damon asked, voice calm but edged.
I smirked and turned to him. "I think your ex-fiancée is trying to crawl her way back to you."
I giggled lightly. The room grew tense.
"She’s not my ex," Damon replied coolly, tone deadpan.
"Sure," I teased. "We could always buy the land from them instead. How much are they asking?"
"They’re not selling it, Mrs. Blackwell," Jackie interjected.
I sighed again, patting Damon’s hand with deliberate grace.
"Well, darling?" I whispered sweetly.
"I want to kill him," he whispered back.
I nodded slowly. "Not yet," I murmured with a chuckle. "Let’s et him face to face first. Shall we?"
"Alright," he said, giving my back a gentle pat. "Let’s talk."
I straightened in my seat as Jackie picked up her phone. Across the table, two empty chairs sat waiting—clearly reserved.
Ten minutes passed before they entered.
Jackie greeted them with a warm smile and gestured for them to sit. But I could feel it in my periphery—Alejandro wasn’t sitting. No. He was standing far too close.
"You must be Livana," he said, that familiar accent curling off his tongue like silk over steel.
I tilted my head toward him. "You must be Alejandro." I stood and extended my hand—poised, calculated.
But Damon was faster. He stood, grasped my hand, and shook Alejandro’s in my stead—with a grip just a little too tight.
"Have a seat," Damon said, low and sharp.
Alejandro smirked.
"Damon. It’s been a while," Tyrona chid in, sweet poison in her voice.
I watched her try to seduce my husband with every glance, every fake breath. I discreetly reached under the table, brushing his crotch—no reaction. Good. He only responds when I touch him.
He caught my hand and held it tightly. I could feel his smirk.
Why am I suddenly... complicated? I don’t usually act like this.
"You must have missed my husband terribly, Tyrona," I said sweetly, patting his thigh. "Shall we get to the point?"
"I want in," she said, leaning closer to Alejandro. His eyes, however, stayed fixed on .
I slowly pulled off my sunglasses and stared directly into Tyrona’s eyes. That startled her.
"I can offer the acres for the next Formula Race," she added, crossing her arms and pushing her chest up. Her breasts were bigger than mine, yes. But Damon? Damon is obsessed—with .
Damn it. I shouldn’t be comparing. Damon doesn’t want her. He’s mad about . Am I jealous? No. I don’t get jealous.
"This would be a massive opportunity," Tyrona continued. "I heard about the expansion plans." She glanced at one of the boys. I didn’t bother to track her movent. I’m blind. I don’t chase shadows.
Her xican boy toy couldn’t stop staring at —probably fixated on the unusual color of my eyes.
"Hmm, interesting," Damon said lazily, leaning back with a hand at the small of my back. "I don’t think we need that land at all. It’s just a stretch of road."
"Damon, think about it. Foreigners would pay a premium to rent it. We could even build a golf course in the center," Aaron pitched, laying out detailed plans.
So they’d conspired behind Damon’s back. How bold of them.
"What do you think, Mr. Madrigal?" Jordan asked.
"I’m aligned with whatever my beloved desires," Alejandro said smoothly, eyes still on .
My lips curled. Damon’s family still refuses to do business with the Dela Vegas. I believe they’ve even pulled out investnts recently. But of course—Tyrona’s father is running for Senate next election. Connections.
"Sothing amusing, dear Livana?" Alejandro asked.
I crossed my arms and tilted my head.
"Hmm," I humd. "Just a thought."
"Don’t worry, babe. She’s not part of the club," Tyrona said with a fake laugh.
I let out a soft laugh of my own. Not part of the club? True. But—
"Oh, she’s involved," said the man to my left—Jas, I think. "Miss Livana owns five percent of the shares. Under Miss Laura’s na."
"Thank you, Jas," Damon said smoothly. "And since she’s my wife, every business I touch becos hers as well."
"How sweet," Alejandro said, his lips curling into a smug smirk.
"To clarify," Damon continued, "nothing’s final yet."
"Well, I think it’s a great deal, Damon. Why not take the opportunity while it’s still hot?" Alejandro purred.
Damon was annoyed. I could feel the shift in his breathing.
"Hmm," I murmured, brushing my fingers over my lips. "Tell —which land is it, exactly?"
"The Offspring Land," Tyrona said, attempting authority. But her bratty tone betrayed her.
"Ohhh," I laughed softly.
My husband chuckled beside .
"Isn’t that the sa land where we bury dead assassins?" I asked sweetly, sipping my champagne. "Right, my love?"
What a poetic twist of fate. The Dela Vegas own it, yes—but after that last assassination attempt, Damon’s n had been... efficient with their disposal thods.
"No," I said coolly, sliding my sunglasses back on, "I don’t think it’s worth the trouble."
I turned my face slightly toward Alejandro, just enough for him to notice the smile forming on my lips. His expression darkened. Perfect.
The room fell silent.
"What are you talking about?" Tyrona asked, genuinely shocked.
"Don’t you rember?" I grinned. "Italy?"
Her face held—but her eyes told everything. She rembered.
"I think it’s better as a graveyard," Damon added casually.
And I? I just smiled.
Reviews
All reviews (0)