Chapter 21: The Blackwell Family

Chapter 21: The Blackwell Family –Damien– I bask in the scorn they shoot my way. Their disgust only makes me prouder—because they all see it now. She is mine. Livana is flawless. Beautiful, powerful, untouchable. That silver hair, those rare violet eyes—she’s sculpted like a weapon. And I own every inch of her. But our families? We’re oil and fire. Not oil and water—because water calms things. No, we ignite. The Atlantic and Pacific have better chances of merging than we do. "What the hell are you talking about?" my mother snapped, her voice sharp with disbelief. I smiled. Slow. Wicked. "Livana here is my wife. We tied the knot two weeks ago, right, babe?" She stayed quiet at first, then spoke in that icy way that made me burn. "Marrying your son wasn’t meant to bring peace. It was meant to ignite war, I think. I apologize for arriving empty-handed. He loves his surprises." That fake smile? Still stunning. Even when she lies, she does it like a queen. "You don’t like my son," my mother said, her smirk curling beneath her words. "Of course I don’t," Livana replied, flashing those perfect teeth. "I detest him. I can barely stand him. He’s using me, and I’m using him. That’s all this is." God, I love her when she’s cruel. "You married an engaged man," my mother-in-law snarled. Aunt Bernadette tried to quiet Tyrona’s sobs. "Right back at you," Livana purred. "He married an engaged woman." And there it was—that steel in her voice. Sharp enough to draw blood. "I never agreed to that engagement, Auntie," I said coolly. "If I recall correctly, David stood in for me." My younger brother, the joker, grinned and leaned in. "Welcome to the circus, Sis!" He pulled me into a hug, then whispered between us, "I had to stand in during sex too, brother. You owe me." I snorted. The bastard. He moved to hug Livana but she shoved his face away, disgusted. He only laughed. "I like her already. But seriously, Sis, watch your back. This house eats people alive." My mother dragged him away like the rabid mutt he was. "This is unforgivable, Damon," my father growled, his hand dragging down his face. I glanced at my grandparents, both watching in eerie silence. "So, I guess everyone’s against this little union," I grinned, staring straight into my grandfather’s glare. "Fine. Cut me out of the will. I’ll just cling to Livana and work for her, right babe?" "You’d be useless to me if you did that," she replied, cold as a blade. And I loved it. Hearing her cut me down in front of them? It thrilled me. "Will your family be joining us?" my father asked, still trying to salvage some control. "Of course not," she answered flatly. "I haven’t introduced him yet." "You’re talking to my dad, love." "Mhm. Well, everyone hates me. I’m not in the mood to kiss ass." I couldn’t stop laughing. She kills me. I pulled her closer. Possessively. "We’ll be staying here. Also, Laura—my sister-in-law—will be joining us." "Oh yeah, I love Laura," David chimed in. "Tell her to bring cheesecake!" Of course David likes everyone. He’s chaos in human form. I met Aunt Bernadette’s eyes—she was already gathering her daughter. "No, no. Please, stay for dinner," I said, my sarcasm soaked in poison. "You’re family. David can marry Tyrona. You’ll get the family name you need." David scowled. "Bro. No. I’m not getting married. Don’t drag me into this." "Fine," I shrugged. "Everyone, digest the news. We’re going to our room." "Is she still blind?" my sister Alyssa asked, her voice soaked in judgment. "Can I see her eyes? I heard she has a condition." I shot her a glare. She met it without flinching. "What? I’m just curious." "That’s my sister, Alyssa," I told Livana. "Hello, Alyssa. Yes, I’m blind. And yes, I have a rare condition." "Hmm. Good luck," Alyssa said, not bothering to hide the venom. Livana smiled. That smile—the kind you wear when you already suspect you’re going to die in the house you just entered. "Jane," I called her nurse. "Bring my wife to our room." "Yes, sir." As I bent to kiss her, she pinched me. I grinned and kissed her hard, ignoring the disgusted groans around us. When Jane led her away, I turned back to the room. "No one touches my wife," I said, low and deadly. "Not even a strand of her hair." My father exploded. He hurled a vase at me. I dodged easily. "You bastard!" he roared, lunging at me with a punch. It connected—but I didn’t flinch. I stared him down, unshaken. "Yeah, I married that woman." He seethed, furious. But I was taller now. Stronger. I looked down at him. "If anything happens to Livana under this roof—if she bleeds, if she so much as breaks a nail—I’ll burn this house to the ground. With every one of you inside." Then I looked at Tyrona, who shrank beneath my stare. "You tried to kill her once, Tyrona. I’ll make sure you never get a second chance." Everyone turned to her. Silence. I would never be able to kill her, not with the alliances our families had. But I would burn everything else to protect Livana. Even if she hated me. Especially if she hated me. I headed straight to our room. I’d had it renovated, personalized—everything she’d ever want or need. Paper bags lined the walls—new clothes, new luxury. All for her. "Leave us," I told Jane. She obeyed. I approached Livana, seated on the sofa like a dethroned queen. I dropped to my knees in front of her. "One night," I said. "We’ll stay for one night. Then I’ll take you home. But first..." My voice dropped. "Let’s get undressed and make love." "No," she said, sharp and cold. "You can’t stop me, baby." I removed her shoes and scooped her into my arms. She grabbed my collar as I tossed her onto the bed, peeling off my clothes like I was shedding restraint. "Why are you like this?" she hissed. "Do you get off on fighting your family?" I stared down at her, dark hunger in my eyes. "You make me like this," I murmured. "You ruin me." I knelt between her legs, aching to be ruined in return. –Damien– I arrived at the main estate with the burnt cheesecake Laura insisted I bring. She said it was part of a new recipe she was testing—some "charred vanilla caramel fusion." Whatever that meant. I set the box down on the table just as David strolled in, grinning like he’d won something. "So, this is from Laura?" he asked, already eyeing the packaging like a starving child. "Yup. One of her latest ventures. She’s obsessed with cheesecake lately." "I love cheesecake." Without hesitation, David snatched a small box. "This one’s mine. Oh, and FYI—the newlyweds are upstairs, probably wrecking the bed." He snorted at his own joke. I shook my head. Classic David. Always blunt. But what caught my attention wasn’t the joke—it was the sinking feeling in my gut. It wasn’t Livana who was the problem. It was Damon. Damon was obsessed with her. Lowering my voice, I leaned closer. "And where’s Tyrona?" David’s grin faltered, shifting to something more guarded. He leaned in too. "I saw her heading upstairs not long ago. Maybe to confront them? Who knows. You know how she is. That girl’s so in love with Damon, she once called me his name while riding me." He chuckled, but it was laced with something bitter. I stared at him. That... didn’t surprise me. Tyrona hid her obsession well, but David? His mouth was a curse. He was too damn honest. I nudged him hard. "Seriously?" He shrugged. "At least she slept with a Blackwell. Just... not the one she wanted." I didn’t laugh. Instead, a cold unease settled into my spine. I turned and headed upstairs, instincts prickling. At the top, I found Tyrona frozen outside Damon’s bedroom. The door was ajar. Her shoulders trembled, and her eyes—bloodshot and glistening—were locked on something inside. In her right hand, a knife gleamed under the hallway light. My heart dropped. I moved fast. One glance through the crack in the door told me all I needed. Damon was kneeling between Livana’s legs, his face far too close to hers, and she was sprawled on the bed, rigid. I closed the door silently and shoved Tyrona against the wall before she could react. "What the hell are you doing?" I hissed. She gasped, startled, and the knife clattered to the floor. "Why?" she choked out. "I did everything for him. Everything! Look at me—am I ugly? Is that it?" I stared at her. She wasn’t ugly. But obsession made people look monstrous. "You made the wrong choices," I said bluntly. She broke down completely, sobbing, hitting my chest with her fists like a child denied candy. I caught her wrists, holding them tightly. "I’m warning you, Tyrona," I said, my voice ice-cold. "Don’t touch her. Don’t go near her. Not in this house. Not ever." I saw it flash in her eyes—the memory. She remembered, just as I did, the time she tried to drown Livana in the pool. Damon had been out of his mind with rage after returning from the hospital. And Tyrona? She acted like she didn’t understand why. She’d always been like this. Territorial. Deranged. Possessive in a way that turned fatal. Hell, even the women Damon slept with casually had ended up bruised or traumatized—somehow, always "accidents" whenever Tyrona was around. And then it hit me. A sliver of memory, sharp and sickening. That night—after Livana left Damon’s hotel room—something did happen. The pepper spray incident. My blood turned to ice. Could Tyrona have... orchestrated that, too? I looked down at her, still struggling against my grip, and I didn’t see a heartbroken girl anymore. I saw a threat.