–Livana–
Just as he promised... We made love.
He woke up first—gently at first, then like a man starved. He made love to like he couldn’t get enough, like I was the only thing tethering him to this world. His touch was possessive, wild, yet worshipful.
Afterward, he bathed , guiding my body with reverent care as if I might break. He lathered my skin with oils and scented soaps, rinsed slowly, and then helped dress in silk. He brushed my long hair down to my waist and tied it off in a loose braid, the way he always did—routine, affectionate, obsessive.
Then he walked downstairs, his hand warm against the small of my back.
My team was already waiting.
"I’m going to miss you," Kai pouted at Sophia, ever dramatic.
"Nonsense, you don’t miss ," Sophia scoffed without looking at him.
"Where are you off to, love?" Damon asked, his voice low and honey-smooth.
"We have a tour around the U.S.," I said plainly. "Grandpa wanted to visit so of the properties, check on the company branches, and shake hands with a few regional heads."
"Okay," he groaned. "I’m off to Manhattan first, then... sowhere."
"Don’t fuck anyone." I let my fingers glide from his shoulder to his neck, lightly pressing—subtle, territorial.
"Damn, no." He pulled close, kissed my lips like he was imprinting himself on them. "I’m gonna miss you. But don’t you dare decline my calls or ignore my voice ssages."
"Okay," I replied with a soft nod, a knowing smile tugging at my lips. This clingy, twisted man... he doesn’t need any other woman. Only . And this—this is my sweet curse: married to a possessive, obsessive husband who made sure the entire world knew I belonged to him.
"I love you." He kissed again. And again. And again—like he couldn’t let go.
"Let go," I said, cold and firm.
And finally, he did.
Deanne took my arm and guided to the car once the baggage was loaded. I could sense Damon’s eyes on even as we drove off. I knew it was hard for him to be apart, but he had to live with it. He married , after all. We both had empires to maintain, territories to protect. And lately, Damon has been acting more and more... childish.
At the airport, we were escorted directly to first class. I heard the distinct sound of polished boots approaching—military. I could sll the faint scent of gun oil and aftershave, the kind used in governnt barracks.
"Madam," the man greeted with a salute. I kept my face composed, distant, unfocused—blind. "We will escort you to your destination."
"How kind," I said smoothly, just as Deanne leaned close and whispered, First Lieutenant Madison. I nodded slightly.
"First Lieutenant Madison," I said, keeping my voice soft but deliberate. "Thank you for the initiative, but you may tell your captain—or Thomas—that we don’t need it."
"We insist, Madam."
"Hmm." I tilted my head slightly. "Feels like I’m being watched closely... Right, Grandpa?"
"Certainly, dear. Certainly," Grandpa replied, amusent threading his voice.
Madison said nothing, but I could feel his eyes still on .
"I feel like you’re staring at ."
"I am. My apologies." He bowed his head slightly and gestured us forward.
He escorted us to the first-class cabin. A short flight, but even so, my grandfather had never sat in economy in his life. Appearances mattered, even at thirty-thousand feet.
The Lieutenant guided to my seat beside Grandpa’s. Once settled, I slipped off my sunglasses and subtly brushed my fingertips across the seat’s armrest and touchscreen monitor. I could feel it—eyes. Watching. Not just Madison. They had stationed more, probably in plain clothes. Undercover agents. Probably assigned to "protect" us, but really to observe, monitor, report.
"Grandpa," I said quietly. "Champagne?"
"Oh? Would you like one?" He chuckled. "You don’t fly sober, huh?"
I giggled softly. "Not if I can help it."
We rarely flew on public routes. Too many risks. Last ti we did, we were attacked. This flight was tightly screened, all attendants and crew handpicked by Deanne—my Pawns. If even one stranger had slipped in... it could cost us. And innocent civilians. That blood would be on .
Deanne moved quietly to speak with the steward, checking on every face, every corner. Then she returned with two flutes of champagne and slid the bottle into the cooler built into the table.
"Just one bottle," she warned. "Grandpa, two glasses only. No funny business."
"Oh, don’t be a bumr, Deanne."
I laughed softly. "Join us, D."
"I’ll pass."
"But I need to drink," Sophia chid in from her seat.
"You deserve that," I replied with a knowing smile.
Deanne disappeared again. A flight attendant approached monts later, her heels clicking softly on the carpet.
"Is there anything else we can serve you with, Ma’am? Sir?"
I tilted my head toward her voice but didn’t look directly. I felt the smoothness of a brochure being placed into my hand. She had a pin on her cuff—hard, cold tal. I brushed it briefly. Knight. A high-level rank in our network.
"Your na?" I asked, my voice light.
"I’m Sukii, Madam." She gently placed my fingers on the brochure for the visually impaired.
"How thoughtful," Grandpa remarked. "You even have special brochures for blind passengers?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, handing him another.
I took my ti caressing the embossed lettering, slowly feeling each line as Sukii knelt beside , patient and still. Exactly as trained.
"You also sell stuffed toys for dogs?" I asked, testing her.
"Yes, we do."
"Then I’ll take one of each design."
"Right away, Madam."
Grandpa raised a brow. "What are those for?"
"For Choco."
"Hmm..." he leaned back in his seat. "Maybe a nice souvenir," he said with a smirk. "And I could use another pillow to cuddle."
"You miss Grandma?" I teased.
He chuckled, but didn’t deny it.
I slid my sunglasses back on and faced the monitor in front of , pretending to zone out. But I wasn’t. Not even close. My senses were on full alert.
Lieutenant Madison was seated across the aisle, just within my peripheral blind spot—but I knew. He had a clear view of the entire flight. That was no accident.
Let them watch.
I always give them sothing worth watching. Let them get bored to death.
–Laura–
The gown fit perfectly—flawlessly, actually—but the tailor still insisted on making so adjustnts. Apparently, they expect to get fatter soon. Charming.
I pouted at the mirror, the sudden weight of reality hitting . Maybe it was a little tacky to be pregnant before the wedding. Just a little.
"Why are you crying?" Damien asked gently, already reaching up to wipe the first tear that dared to fall. His thumb brushed my cheek, warm and soft.
I sniffled. "I just realized... we should’ve gotten married first before being reckless about not using a condom."
He froze mid-motion, staring at for a beat—then burst into full-blown, obnoxious laughter.
"Oh co on," he said between laughs, "everything’s perfect. You think I’d get you to marry this fast if you weren’t pregnant?" He wiggled his brows like a devil in a tuxedo. "Let’s be honest—without the baby, you’d want a six-month to a year of engagent. ? I was ready to elope the second you said yes."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Preparations are nearly done, by the way. From scratch. Because of the rush."
I reached out, resting my palm against his cheek. "I’m sorry I had to work your ass off like this, babe."
"Nah, don’t worry about it." He leaned in and kissed . "Now stop overthinking. It’s a wedding, not a UN summit."
I sighed. "Livana should be here. She’s supposed to help with all the details."
"She is helping," Damien replied. "Jane, Alyssa, and your sister’s mother-in-law are covering for it. Honestly, she’s doing half the coordination."
There were so many people involved—too many opinions—but miraculously, everything was coming together. I was especially grateful that Alyssa was thrilled to be one of my bridesmaids. Her excitent gave so peace amidst the chaos.
"Alright, here we go." Damien pulled into the boutique for our cake tasting session.
As we stepped out of the car, my eyes imdiately caught sight of Tyrona. Ugh. She was sitting in the café with Alejandro, feeding each other cake like a couple of third-rate telenovela extras. I rolled my eyes so hard I swear I saw the back of my skull.
The boutique manager ca out to greet us and quickly ushered us to a private tasting room.
"That bastard," Damien muttered beside , glaring in Alejandro’s direction. "He keeps looking at you."
I smirked, slipping my hand through his arm. "Babe, I don’t need a manwhore with a jawline. I’ve got one with a mortgage."
As I was about to sit down, a familiar voice called out behind us.
"Laura?"
I turned, keeping my posture elegant, curious but unbothered. Tyrona approached, wearing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
"I heard about your engagent. Congratulations," she said sweetly—too sweetly. "I thought you were only playing pretend with Damien."
I laughed, casually brushing my hair behind one shoulder. "Pretending is for children and bad actors, Tyrona. I got bored with the ga, so we turned it into reality. You should try it soti—it’s fun."
"Anyway, congratulations," she said, her tight smile now bordering on constipation.
"Thank you." I returned the smile, all teeth, no warmth.
"So... will Carrie be ho for the wedding?"
I gave a half-shrug. "That’s up to Grandma Olivia. She’s sowhere off-grid doing God knows what. I really have no idea. I an, the scandal was massive. Embarrassing, even." I added a wink for good asure.
"Hm." Tyrona crossed her arms, clearly fishing. "It was unfair, though. Carrie got grounded for it, but not Livana?"
"Livana is another story entirely," I said smoothly. "She’s legally married to Damon, after all." I let that little bomb marinate with a knowing smirk.
Before she could claw back control of the conversation, Damien stepped in.
"It’s nice to see you around," he said flatly. "But we really need to move on to the cake tasting."
He tugged gently by the hand. I allowed it, like the sophisticated queen I am.
Tyrona stared at him a beat too long before humming to herself and walking away.
As soon as I sat down, I clicked my tongue.
"She’s up to sothing," I whispered.
Damien gave a nod. "Obviously."
I turned my attention to the table of cakes and nearly swooned. Slices of heaven in frosting and fondant stared back at .
Pregnant or not, dramatic or not—I deserved every bite of this.
And if Tyrona wanted to watch enjoy it while she simred in whatever petty plot she was brewing?
Even better.
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