–Laura–
A family dinner? After that night, Livana arranged one. Not just with the Braxtons and the Carringtons—but also the Blackwells. My stomach was in knots. I kept trying to calm myself down.
I stood in front of my open closet, eyeing the dress options. I needed sothing that didn’t make look pregnant. Not that my bump was big yet... but still.
"Is she mad at ?" I asked Damien, who was halfway through buttoning his shirt.
"Huh?"
"Livana," I clarified, biting my lip.
"Baby, no," he chuckled gently, walking over and cupping my face. "Your sister’s just stressed."
I pouted. It’s probably the hormones again. My eyes watered and Damien wrapped his arms around .
"You’ll look gorgeous in the dress I picked out for you," he whispered, wiping a tear from my cheek. "Co on, Laura."
He led to our showroom and revealed the dress—peach-colored with a soft gradient that deepened near the hem. It was delicate and dreamy.
"You’ll look like a flower," he added with a grin. I squealed and wriggled in excitent.
"Let’s get you dressed."
I had to look gorgeous tonight. This dinner? It was historic. The first ti in decades our families were coming together. Back when the feud started, we were practically babies.
Damien carried the rest of my things downstairs while I touched up my lipstick. I opened the door—and froze.
Livana stood there, facing . Staring at .
"Liva?" I whispered, stunned. "Can you—"
"I’m sorry," she said softly.
I pouted and threw my arms around her. Can she see now? Her hug was warm, her hand stroking my hair.
"Protect your babies," she murmured. "And I’ll protect you."
My lips trembled. I hugged her tighter.
"Hush," she whispered, gently patting my back. "Fix your makeup, and we’ll go."
I nodded, sniffled, and pulled away just enough to search those beautiful eyes of hers. She’s looking right at . She can see. I nodded again, smiling, and rushed inside to clean up and grab my makeup kit.
When I ca down, she was lounging on the sofa like a goddess—with Choco curled at her feet. I couldn’t stop smiling. She can see. But I won’t tell anyone. She wants to keep it secret. So I will.
Outside, we headed to the van. I spotted Logan in the driver’s seat and Jane riding shotgun. I climbed in and slid next to Livana, ignoring Damien, who tried to usher to the back.
"What?" I asked, glaring at him.
"Go to the back. It’s got comfier pillows," he coaxed.
"No. I’m staying here."
"Go," Livana said softly. "You’re safer there."
I pouted but listened. Damien helped settle into the back with plush pillows. He kissed my forehead, and I stuck my tongue out at him in return.
Livana arranged the dinner at our mother’s resthouse—about an hour and a half from Damon’s estate. When we arrived, the place was already packed—and chaotic.
"We should’ve co earlier," I muttered.
"Liva!" Alyssa rushed toward us just as Damon opened the door to help Livana out. "They’re fighting!"
I followed behind them, heart racing. In the foyer, my stepmom was full-on hysterical—practically lunging at Aunt Amiliee. Her face was twisted with rage.
"Stop!" Livana’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "What’s going on?"
"Livana, why would you invite this bitch and her trash family?" Casey sneered. "This is our family’s property."
"I invited them," Livana said coolly. "This house belongs to and Laura. I invited the Blackwells. If you have a problem with that, you’re welco to leave."
I glanced at Grandma Olivia, who sighed in relief. I grabbed Alyssa’s arm and whispered, "What’s going on?"
"Your stepmom went ballistic as soon as we arrived," she said. "She started throwing words like ’backstabber’ and ’social climber’ at us. We were trying to keep calm, but then she attacked Mom. Even your grandparents told her to stop."
I frowned at Casey. Livana stood her ground, still calmly speaking to her and Dad.
"Dad, you need to control her," Livana said, her tone like ice.
"Livana, how can you talk to your father like that?" Casey snapped, her face blotchy and sared with makeup.
"You don’t talk to like that, Casey," Livana replied with quiet power. "I now control the family assets. This dinner was ant to be peaceful, not another battleground."
"Liva," Dad said gently, "let’s just enjoy the dinner, okay?"
"Apologize to my mother-in-law. And to the Blackwells," she ordered. Everyone went quiet. Even Casey and Dad looked stunned.
"Casey, what you did was shaful. Apologize. Now," Grandpa Edward said sternly.
I gaped and covered my mouth. Wow.
"Dad?" Casey’s voice cracked.
"Apologize. Now!" Grandpa Reagan barked.
Casey didn’t move. She was still clinging to her pride. We waited. Seconds passed.
Livana exhaled. "Get out," she said coldly.
"Livana, it’s fine," Aunt Alyssa whispered.
"No. I want a peaceful dinner."
Her voice was final. Untouchable.
I crossed my arms and leaned into Damien. "This is getting better," I whispered. He put his arm around and nodded.
"I’ll never be sorry," Casey spat and stord out, Dad trailing after her.
"Then let’s carry on," Livana said, unbothered as ever.
She greeted our grandparents with Damon at her side. They shook hands warmly—even Damon’s father gave her a rare smile.
"Laura," she called. I grabbed Damien’s hand as we walked over. He had always been accepted by our grandmothers, and I adored that.
Next, Livana greeted her in-laws, all of whom received her with grace.
Just then, Dad ca back and gently touched Livana’s arm. "Livy, let’s talk."
"Damon, will you escort everyone to the dining hall?" she asked without looking away.
"Of course, love."
I trailed behind Livana and Dad as they headed to the library.
"Laura," Dad said with a sigh, "I’d like to speak to your sister alone."
"No, I’m fine. I’ll stay," I said firmly, closing the door behind and crossing my arms.
"She can stay," Livana agreed. "What is it, Dad?"
"Why are you talking about your mother like that—"
"She’s my aunt," Livana cut in, voice sharp.
"She’s trying, Livana. She’s just protecting the family—"
"Protecting?" I rolled my eyes. "She’s humiliating us."
"She’s embarrassing," Livana added. "Dad, she brought sha to our family na."
I could see the tension in Dad’s jaw. He was furious, but Livana didn’t flinch. She stood like stone—calm, cold, unbothered. Like a doll that had seen too much.
"If you can’t control her," Livana said, "then don’t bring her to these gatherings."
"Livana!" Dad raised his voice, but she didn’t blink.
"She’s your stepmother!"
"I will never accept your mistress as my stepmother!" she snapped. "You and your infidelity are shaful enough."
Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If I find out you—or she—had anything to do with my mother’s death... I will never forgive you. You’ll both rot in hell."
My mouth dropped open. Dad looked like he’d been slapped.
What does Livana know?
"Laura, let’s go," she said, reaching out for my hand.
I quickly stepped to her side and opened the door. Damien was waiting, like the loving, worried husband he always was.
Husband. My heart fluttered. God, I hope he proposes soon.
–Livana–
I drank a glass of cold water to cool my head.
I had wanted this day to be warm, aningful—an opportunity to see my grandparents. But now, it had been tainted by her. I exhaled slowly, trying to compose myself, as Damon rubbed soothing circles on my back.
"Don’t be stressed, love," he whispered. "Chef Wally prepared everything exactly how you wanted."
I inhaled deeply through my nose and let it out with control. My fingers reached for my sunglasses and placed them carefully as I turned to face Amiliee sitting in front of . Her expression carried that tender, maternal concern that never failed to settle sothing restless in .
It made feel... steadier.
"I apologize for what happened earlier," I said gently, bowing my head—not to the room, but directly to Grandpa Wilbert, with the sincerity he deserved.
"It’s alright, Livana. None of that was your fault," he said kindly. "But... for the sake of the younger ones here, perhaps we should talk things through?"
He glanced at Grandpa Reagan. The root of the rift had always been between Braxton and Blackwell—Creighton simply beca collateral damage along the way.
Grandpa Reagan cleared his throat, considering.
"Grandpa?" I coaxed softly. "Please?"
He grunted in acknowledgnt. "Hmm. Sure, my dear."
I offered a serene smile. "Then let’s eat. I hope everyone finds sothing they love on the table today."
Damon leaned closer, rubbing my lower back in quiet encouragent.
"These are my favorites, though in smaller portions," said Grandma Isabella as she eyed the spread.
"Damon ntioned your diet, so I made sure everything was portioned accordingly," I replied with a soft nod. "A little of everything you love."
"Oh, Livana, you’re so thoughtful. Just like your mother."
I couldn’t help but smile wider.
The Blackwell won—they always rembered my mother. They spoke her na with warmth and reverence. And in our family? My father never ntioned her. He never rembered her birthday. Never lit a candle on her death anniversary.
That silence hurt more than any spoken insult ever could.
I looked down at my plate, still playing the part. Still pretending I couldn’t see.
Four portions, just as always. Familiar, comforting.
As I took a bite, Grandma Olivia turned the conversation to the elders.
"So, how’s your health, Bella?" she asked with grace.
"My daughter-in-law is far too strict," Isabella chuckled. "I can’t even sneak a bite of sothing not on the approved list."
That made the table chuckle. The sound was light, genuine.
"Granddaughters are always the strict ones," Grandma Belinda chid in. "Ines would’ve gone all the way to Korea and China just to forage for wild ginseng herself. Rember that, Olivia?"
She giggled, and I imagined the sight of it—the sparkle in her eyes.
"Oh, dear," Olivia said, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "She used to send them to too."
Laughter rippled again across the table, warm and unguarded. For a mont, everything felt exactly as it should: a family, united—however fractured—breaking bread and trading mories.
And I remained composed. Quiet. Watching behind dark lenses.
There is a ti to speak. A ti to wait.
And a ti to see everything, while letting others believe you see nothing at all.
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