Chapter 16: A Performance in Pain

Words : 1131 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

Chapter 16 - A Performance in Pain –Livana– It was quite a show. I wiped my tears as Laura guided me to wherever we were headed. After a few more steps and some elevators, I felt the concrete under my feet and caught the distinct scent of a closed parking garage. Soon enough, I slid into the car—pulled in by a familiar hand that brought me crashing into his chest. "So, how was it?" Damon's voice carried an odd mix of excitement and childish glee. I shoved him off gently and settled into the familiar seat lined with fleece and cushions. The space felt too wide. A long sedan? A limo? Why the hell did this bastard bring a limo? "I didn't expect my big sister to deliver a whole performance with crocodile tears," Laura said, her tone dripping sarcasm. I sighed and tapped Damon's arm. "Water." He handed me a glass bottle, guiding my hand to the straw. I sipped. The cold water cooled my throat and body, worn out from fake crying. I sighed and leaned back as the car rolled forward. Not long after, the vehicle slowed, doors opened and closed. "Damien!" Laura squealed, followed by the unmistakable sound of noisy smooches. "Are they seriously making out right now?" I asked Damon, as he reached for my hand. "Yep. I think watching the porno that was your so-called wedding got them in the mood," he said with mock seriousness. "Stop lying, Damon." Laura scoffed. "My sister might be blind, but she's not dumb enough to fall for your nonsense." "Fair enough," Damon said, scooting closer to me. He slid an arm behind my back, his fingers lightly tracing my right arm. Then, I felt his lips brush my cheek as he murmured words that made me frown. "I can't wait to get home and make love to you." "You'll be sleeping in the guest room," I said coldly, sipping more water. Silence. He was probably stewing over that. "Anyway—party at home?" Laura said, her voice bubbly. "I can't wait to get wasted." Her words reminded me of the emails I hadn't checked yet. I couldn't wait to be home and go through them. "Don't you have work tomorrow, Laura?" I asked. Her scoff was answer enough. "Yeah, yeah, I'll work tomorrow." "But here's the best part—Carrie probably won't be able to leave the house for months." "Isn't that great?" Damien chimed in. "I don't know," Laura replied. "She's shameless enough to tell everyone it was AI or deepfake or something." I wasn't so sure either. Carrie had a thick skin. But more than that—I needed to know who was behind the pepper spray incident. Once I found them, I'd make sure they regretted it. "Drive straight to my house," I said, tapping Damon's arm for him to relay it to the driver. "I was thinking we'd stop for lunch first." "You can drop me off, then go wherever you want," I replied flatly. He sighed, and I felt his shoulder slump. "I didn't want anyone to know we were married—not until I told you otherwise." My tone was firm. A command, not a request. After all, this was a flash marriage. A contractual arrangement. "Oh, bummer," Damien muttered. "But I can still flaunt Laura as my girlfriend, right?" "Sure. Do whatever you want. That's between you and Laura." "Thanks, sis! Don't worry, I'll start working hard tomorrow," Laura chimed in. I just hummed and kept sipping my water. When we reached home, I used my walking stick to make my way into my mini-mansion. I walked toward the stairs, my steps confident—I knew the layout by heart. I went straight to my bedroom, grasped the familiar doorknob, shut the door behind me, and locked it. I set my walking stick on the side table by the door—but paused. Something felt off. I ran my hand across the surface. It didn't feel the same. Did they change my furniture? I retrieved my walking stick again and kicked off my shoes, letting the soles of my feet feel the carpet. Even the texture beneath me felt... wrong. The footprints, the subtle indents—they led to unfamiliar places. Like the layout on that rented island. "Baby!" Damon called. "Open the door, please." "I told you not to change anything in my room!" I snapped, voice raised with irritation. That one specific request—ignored. "Oh, come on, baby. It's just the carpet." I heard the doorknob turn—he was trying to open it. I sighed, walked to the door, and unlocked it. I punched the air in front of me, hoping to swat him away, but missed. He caught my hand and placed it on his chest. "Here." I grabbed his shirt and gave him a shove. "Put everything back. What else did you change?" "Uhh... just the carpet. There were... stains. And the bedside table." "What?" I frowned, a chill crawling up my spine. Had Carrie and Richard done that in my room? "What about my bed?" "It's clean. The sheets too." I exhaled slowly, turned to close the door—only for him to walk in casually. "I want to be alone." "Give me a kiss first," he said. I clenched my fist and raised it, but before I could strike the air, he grabbed my face and planted a full, obnoxious kiss on my lips. I tried to push him, but he was absurdly strong. He patted my hair afterward, as if that somehow made up for it. "I'll leave you alone. I'll go make sure lunch is ready." I heard his footsteps retreat and the door close behind him. I sighed, pulled out my phone, and tapped the fingerprint scanner. Once unlocked, I asked the AI to read my emails. One caught my attention—and I played it over and over. SUBJECT: Case 203 – Pepper Spray Attached are the photo, written statement, and video of the man who assaulted you three years ago, on March 15th. The next email made my knees weaken. I sat down at the edge of the bed, my fingers trembling slightly as I tapped to open it. SUBJECT: Case 003 – Yacht Incident Enclosed are the statements from a potential witness in the case involving Ines Braxton-Creighton. The name alone made my throat tighten. I stilled, my hand frozen in place. Ines Braxton-Creighton. That case was never closed. The police had called it a tragic accident. But I never believed it. And now, a witness? Would you like me to continue this scene and expand the emotional impact or help write the content of the email or statements?

Chapter 16: A Performance in Pain

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