Chapter 20: Livana’s Power

Chapter 20 - Livana's Power – Laura – Damien had left before the board meeting. I walked him to the elevator—partly as a show, partly because I didn't want to let go just yet. It was all scandalous by design, and judging by the looks we got, the show worked. "Catch you later, beautiful," he winked. I mirrored his wink, but once the elevator doors slid shut, the warmth in my chest cooled. I straightened my jacket, swallowed the flicker of nerves rising in me, and turned back toward the boardroom. My sister walked beside me in silence. We entered the room, and everyone took their seats. Livana sat at the head of the table, her presence dominating even without sight. Her sunglasses remained on, a silent barrier that made her unreadable. I took my seat beside her. The room fell into hushed tension. "Thank you all for attending this meeting on such short notice," she began, her voice calm, deliberate—too calm. "As you know, our family has become a bit of a mess, thanks to the recent actions of my cousin. But rest assured, this will not affect our stocks. We have a strong foundation... unless one of you plans to sabotage it." Her voice didn't waver, didn't rise. But everyone in the room knew: the quieter she was, the more dangerous she became. She wasn't just the face of the empire our mother built—she expanded it, even after she lost her sight. The company. The underground network. Every secret corridor. She made it thrive. She was brilliant—unrelenting. Sometimes I wondered if she was too perfect for this world. "I'm appointing Laura as Vice-Chairperson and President," she announced. "She will have the authority to appoint the new CEO. Also, effective immediately, no Braxton or Carrington—aside from us—will be granted a director-level position." My breath caught. I blinked, stunned. Me? Vice-Chairperson? That title was supposed to go to Dad... or Casey. Not me. Never me. I looked around. No one said a word. Some bit their tongues so hard, I could see jaws twitching. "Anyone who proposes Casey Carrington or Carrie Carrington for any role within this company," Livana continued coldly, "will be immediately dismissed." It wasn't a rule. It was a warning. I scanned the room, watching grown men and women—the most powerful in our industry—fold under her gaze. Livana had something on each of them. She didn't need to lift a finger. Her hands were clean—but her reach was terrifying. No wonder Damon was obsessed with her. "That's all," she said, standing. "Mr. Trent, are you documenting this as my will?" Will? My body stiffened. My chair scraped against the floor as I stood. "Liva," I whispered, heart pounding. "This is my official will," she declared. "If I die, everything—every share, every holding—will go to my only sister, Laura Braxton-Carrington. She is forbidden from allowing anyone from Aunt Casey's bloodline into this company. They are permanently banned. As for the Knoxes—they are never to set foot in our building again. Block their memberships. Cancel every tie." Mr. Trent nodded. His voice was cold steel. "Everything has been recorded, Miss." "Good. Additionally, the assets my mother gave me before she passed—all of them—will transfer to my sister. That includes properties, accounts, and anything in my name. And finally, half a billion dollars will be donated, at Laura's discretion, to any cause she deems worthy." I swallowed hard. I could barely breathe. She was ruthless, yes. But her heart still ached for the world. Even in her paranoia, she made space for kindness—in hospitals, orphanages, charities. That was the version of her the world didn't see. The version I loved most. And no matter what happens, I swear— I won't let anyone touch her. Not while I'm alive. – Livana – Once I was settled, I made my way to the lobby with Laura by my side and Nurse Jane gently guiding me. My cane tapped against the marble, the echoes sharp in the spacious hall. The scent of polished floors and expensive cologne clung to the air. I slid into the backseat of the car with Jane's help. The door clicked shut—and then I inhaled. That scent. Damon's cologne—dark musk, sharp spice. It always hit me like a slow-burning fuse. "Hello, wife. So, did you enjoy the meeting?" His baritone voice wrapped around me like velvet and smoke. "I didn't expect you to pick me up," I murmured, leaning back against the seat as the engine hummed to life beneath us. "I bought a building across the street," he said casually. "Why?" "To see you, of course." I felt the seat shift as he leaned closer. His arms slid around me, and he pressed his face to my neck, inhaling deeply. Like I was his oxygen. Most people would be unsettled by that. But this was Damon. He did things like this—possessive, shameless. He was the one who had picked out my outfit this morning, down to the shoes. "By the way," he murmured, lips brushing my ear, "something happened." "Oh?" I tilted my head toward him, brows raised. "What could it be?" "You were called a mistress by Tyrona." I scoffed. "Did she also blast it on social media?" "That'd only damage her more. It makes her look foolish for losing me." He chuckled, his voice dripping with amusement. "So, your engagement with Tyrona... was it official?" "They made it official." He shrugged. "I was never even there." His grip around me tightened, possessive and warm. Sometimes, it felt like he was trying to melt into me. Other times, it felt like a cage. I wanted space—just a breath—but he clung like he couldn't bear the distance. My phone started vibrating, the ringtone urgent and loud. I reached into my purse and pulled it out. "Grandpa Ed, calling," the AI announced. I answered. "Yes, Grandpa?" "Darling, how are you?" "I'm recovering... from a public humiliation," I said dryly. "Well, listen, love—your cousin has really created a mess. Your father's still dealing with the fallout." "It's all over the internet anyway," I sighed. "Besides—" "I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about you and Damon Blackwell." I froze. I felt Damon's shoulders shift, barely containing his laughter. My pulse quickened. "What about me and him?" I asked carefully. "Are you dating him?" "What if I am?" I folded my arms tightly across my chest, jaw tense. "Is this why Laura introduced him to you? That party—three years ago, your father's anniversary. There's a photo. You were there. With him. Tell me the truth. Has he hurt you?" I was silent. The answer sat heavy on my tongue. If I told Grandpa the whole story, it would crush him—and I still didn't have enough to prove anything. "No," I said finally. "He saved me. I was nearly assaulted in an elevator by three men. He stopped them. Grandpa, please don't worry. And stop blaming Laura for my choices. I'll speak to the family when I'm ready." "Come home for dinner." Damon hand clamped down over my thigh. Firm. A warning? A claim? "I'm not ready, Grandpa." "Alright. Talk to me when you are." His voice was low, tired. "I will." I ended the call. A moment later, I felt Damon's breath—too close. "We're having dinner at my family home," he whispered. I turned my head toward him, unable to see, but stunned all the same. He didn't. "No." "Oh, baby, I can't stand them calling you my mistress," he said. His hand slid between my legs, grasping my inner thigh. "Damon, I said no . I have other plans." "They won't release it. And my family? They won't dare associate with yours. I told you—they'll stay silent. You're my wife, Livana." I shoved his hand away, seething. "You're fucking useless sometimes," I snapped. He didn't speak—but I could hear the smile in his silence. "Meeting your family is the worst." He laughed. He laughed. Like my fury was his entertainment. "Come on, baby. It's just one night. Laura's coming too—you won't be alone." I felt a storm churn in my stomach. A slow, creeping sickness. The driver wasn't mine. He was Damon's man. Everything in this car belonged to him. Including the illusion of control. The drive dragged on until we finally stopped. "We're here," he announced brightly, like this was some kind of twisted surprise party. "I told them we had a family meeting. Everyone's inside." He slipped my sunglasses off and dabbed my eyes with a tissue, then tilted my head back and applied eyedrops. Cold. Unwelcome. I heard him rummaging through my purse. A click. Lipstick. I wanted to punch him, but I couldn't greet his family with blood on his face. "There. You're perfect," he whispered. I heard a jewelry box snap shut. Then he slid a ring onto my finger—my left ring finger. The door opened. His hand found mine. A silent cue. I followed. "Damon!" Tyrona's voice rang out, too excited. I stayed close to him. He pulled my hand to his arm as we walked. The ground beneath me was uneven—cobblestones. I had to feel every step with caution. "Step up—a little higher," he murmured. I obeyed. Footsteps surrounded us. Gasps. Murmurs. "Damon!" A woman's voice—older, soft, but with a laced sarcasm. "What is this? Why is a Carrington here?" "Mom," he said with a grin in his tone, "let's go inside. It's hot." We took more steps, then paused. Carpet underfoot. We were indoors. "Everyone," Damon announced, "thank you for coming. I want you all to know... I'm officially married to my beautiful wife, Livana." Gasps. Shocked murmurs. "You're insane!" a man bellowed. Then—a sob. Sharp, choked. Tyrona. I couldn't see her—but I could hear her heartbreak. And god, it almost satisfied me. Almost.