–Livana–
I caressed my husband’s forehead, tracing the ssy bangs from whatever haircut he had gotten. Maybe I should take him to a professional barber—soone who can give him a proper, handso cut. I brushed my fingers across his lips as I kissed them.
He’s asleep but now that I touched him, I am sure that he’s just waiting.
"Where are you going?" he asked as I rubbed his chest.
"Don’t wait up for ," I replied, extending my walking stick. "Make sure to feed Choco well. Also, sleep with him—he has separation anxiety."
I felt him sit up as he hugged from behind.
"I need a cuddle tonight."
"No. Probably not tonight."
I gently pushed him away.
"I told you not to wait up."
"Are you going with Deanne? To elope?"
I laughed—him and his childish attitude. I turned toward him and raised one hand. He brought it to his face, and I focused on his lips. He grinned, then pulled in for a kiss. I kissed him back.
"I have to clean up a few things at work."
"Okay."
He sounded different today. Is he really letting go that easily? Or did he plan sothing behind my back?
"Don’t do anything stupid. Are we clear, husband?"
"You got it, baby," he said with a grin as I walked out of the bedroom that eventually beca ours—though most of the things inside still belonged to .
Deanne was already outside, dressed in straight-cut pants, a t-shirt, and a coat. Her hair was tied into a neat bun. She extended her hand with a smile.
"Are you ready to be taken away from your husband?"
I laughed, placing my hand over her forearm as she led downstairs.
"I had everything prepared. A eting with ambassadors from various countries."
"You set up the eting place?" I asked.
"I did."
"If they sent out people?"
"They can," she smirked. "They can dare. Report us to the public and ruin your image."
I laughed. She’s the best PR I’ve ever had.
Outside, the car was waiting. I casually climbed into the back of a Toyota Fortuner. The location? Very secluded. But I preferred it that way. I had people stationed. They couldn’t even call the police—most of them were part of this.
Upon arrival, the gentlen and ladies were already seated, dressed in formal attire, sipping either coffee or champagne.
"Miss Faux!" The Ambassador of Europe stood with a smile. He reminded of a charming prince. Everyone stilled the mont they looked at .
"Hello, ladies and gentlen." I offered them a polite smile.
They froze, then quickly rose to their feet.
"Miss Livana?" A woman approached. "Hello, I’m Ambassador Sylvie Marie Roux." Her French accent was undeniably elegant.
I extended my hand, and she shook it. I gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
"How are you, Miss Roux?"
"I am perfectly well, Miss Livana."
"Please, call Livana." I smiled. I kept my sunglasses on, but I could recognize her features. It had been a long ti, but I rembered she once spoke with my mother.
Miss Roux turned to the others.
"Miss Livana Braxton Carrington will be joining us tonight." Deanne spoke clearly as she guided to the head of the table. "Thank you for coming."
Deanne turned on the large screen. As she prepared the presentation, I scanned the room, taking in their faces. morizing. I had studied so of their languages. My mother insisted. Wherever you go, learn their language so you won’t be deceived. But I never revealed that. I wanted to hear their true intentions.
Of course, they were ambassadors. I knew they likely understood each other’s tongues as well.
"I know you’re all concerned," I began. "It’s about the device my mother created."
"It is alarming, Miss Livana," Miss Roux said. I nodded.
"I understand. But I have no intention of revealing it—or handing it over to anyone."
Silence fell across the room.
"So please, tell your leaders to stop sending people. There have been far too many assassination attempts on and my family. I expect you to be guided accordingly."
"Then we will protect you," Miss Roux said. I knew she had been close to my mother.
"There’s no need, Miss Roux. I have my own people to protect ."
"Whatever your mother created is dangerous, Miss Livana," the Ambassador of Angola added, speaking with a thick accent but in fluent English.
"It will inevitably lead to war," the Ambassador of Thailand said gravely. "A global conflict, perhaps. And yes, I am well aware that certain factions stand to profit from such chaos. But that is precisely why it must never be disclosed to the world at large."
I knew it too well. Damon could gain power from the war. My family might profit, too. But my mother taught compassion. She would never condone war—not because she was incapable, but because she was no psychopath. She was a mad genius, yes—but with a conscience.
"That is why I destroyed it," I declared, and the room fell into stunned silence.
–Damon–
I don’t sleep when my wife isn’t with . There’s no way I’ll ever sleep without her beside .
I looked down at the house—big, guarded, busy. There were cars on the driveway and bodyguards from several countries. I peeked from a ridge on the nearby mountain, using a high-grade sniper binocular mostly reserved for assassins.
"Your wife~~" Caine muttered.
"What about her?" I asked, still watching as one by one, ambassadors from across the world stepped into their cars. My wife’s car? It left first. Took a different route. Interesting.
"Your wife’s more powerful than Blackwell."
"Yeah," I grinned. "That’s exactly how I like it." I crossed my arms as her car vanished into the distance, followed slowly by the rest. "Let’s go," I said, and we hiked down to where our car waited.
I thought she’d head ho. But no—she turned in a completely different direction.
What is she up to now?
"We can’t keep stalking your wife," Caine sighed. "We have actual things to do."
"I know, I know..." I muttered, checking my phone. No ssage. No call. Nothing.
"I’m serious," Caine groaned. "We can’t keep stalking Livana like this. It’s starting to feel nostalgic. First cri? Sure. Second cri? It’s like everything from our high school days is coming back to . It was fun back then. Yeah, Livana was everyone’s crush. Graceful, elegant—looked like she couldn’t even hurt an insect. Not until her first kill. What happens if she actually gets caught by the police?"
"There’s no way they’ll touch my wife," I snapped. "She looks innocent. She’s elegant. Graceful. No one would ever believe she’s savage."
"Yeah, yeah. You keep ignoring those killer eyes of hers. She’s got that murderous stare, man. Her presence? It screams danger," Caine muttered, shaking his head. "You’re blind. Totally blind—because you’ve fallen way too hard for her."
"Whatever you an," I scoffed, leaning back in my seat as I scrolled through the stolen shots of her in my gallery. Damn, she’s sexy.
"She’s not coming ho today, is she?" Caine said.
I shot him a glare. "Caine, stop spouting nonsense. If you’ve got nothing productive to think about, try not breathing so much."
I pressed her number. It rang. My finger tapped anxiously against my thigh.
Then, finally—
"Hello?"
"Baby! Where are you going?"
"Out of the country. Don’t follow ," she said coldly.
"What?" I frowned. "What do you an, out of the country?"
"I told you not to wait for . Caine told you had a lot of appointnts. I want them done. Don’t bother ."
"Livana," I said in a low, dangerous voice.
"Damon," she replied—calm, unaffected. "I am not a housewife or a trophy wife."
"Of course not. You’re my goddess."
"Good. Now finish your work. I’ll be ho in no ti."
"Tsk."
"I told you—you’re useless to if you ss up your work."
"Yes, yes, I hear you, love. Just get your ass back ho as soon as possible."
"Fine."
She hung up. I stared at my phone for a while after the line went dead.
"Question?" Caine asked as I sighed, bored.
"What?"
"What if your wife could actually see... and was just making fun of you the whole ti?"
I smirked. "Hmm, interesting. I’d like that ga." I grinned darkly. "Now let’s go clean up so ss and get you a girlfriend. Maybe you’ll stop being so damn grumpy."
He scoffed. "You’re the one who turns into a psycho when your wife’s not around."
I glared at him. He laughed in triumph.
"Fine. I’ll get you a fine girlfriend. How about Deanne?"
"Nah. That woman’s dangerous. You know that? Every guy who tried to touch her got their wrists broken. Any guy who sexualized her got their tongues cut out."
"They deserved it," I shrugged. "Just don’t sexualize her."
"Hey, she’s not my type, okay?"
"Really? She’s David’s type."
"David doesn’t have a type," he scoffed.
We stopped when we saw a white Toyota Fortuner flipped on its roof.
We both froze.
A man approached the wreck.
That plate number?
I knew that plate number.
It was my wife’s car.
I drew my gun, finger on the trigger, ready to shoot whoever that bastard was.
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