Chapter 25: Backfire

Chapter 25: Backfire – Laura – Playing the boyfriend-girlfriend game with Damien had become second nature. He was already used to me being loud, flirty, and—let’s face it—completely spoiled. He didn’t have a choice; spoiling me was in his job description. I pulled out a wad of cash from my wallet and tossed it into his lap. He rolled his eyes. "I love it when you throw money at me," he said dryly. "Just not on my lap, Laura. Try my face next time. At least make it dramatic." "I was hoping you’d perform for your girlfriend tonight," I said sweetly, "since I’ll be staying over again. Your cousin won’t let Livana leave the compound, remember?" He gave me a look. "You sure about this?" "Just spoil me like you used to," I teased. "I’ll feed your ego with compliments." He started gathering up the cash while I grinned. "You look sexy when you pick it up. Be my stripper tonight." Damien shot me a deadpan look. "Seriously? A stripper? Why would I do that? I don’t do... stripping. Besides, you kicked me in your sleep last night. Twice. It felt like a street fight." "That’s just reflexes," I pouted. "Sorry, Damien." "The sofa’s big enough. You could sleep there instead." "I don’t sleep on sofas," I said casually, checking myself in the mirror. Damien had outdone himself this time—he picked me up in some vintage, fully customized car with AC and Wi-Fi. He didn’t usually show off, which made it even better. "By the way, what am I supposed to do with all this money?" he asked, holding up the bills. "Be extra sweet, okay?" I said, brushing imaginary lint off his shoulder. "Damon’s acting all possessive over my sister, while you’ve been totally boring." "I used to be single and ready to mingle," Damien muttered. "Casual dates, one-night stands... now I can’t even do that?" I blinked at him. "Want me to buy you a sex toy?" I patted his chest. He shook his head in disbelief. "No, you better act like a real girlfriend, too," he said as he stuffed the money into his wallet. Then he got out and opened the car door for me. "I’m not ready yet." I reached for the door, pretending to close it again. "Nope. Out." He snatched my purse. I sneered but hopped out gracefully, like the diva I am. He caught me by the waist and tilted my chin up before kissing me. I kissed him back—of course—but it still caught me off guard. We don’t usually kiss like that. Especially not in public. "I’ll pick you up later," he said, still holding me. "How about lunch?" He rolled his eyes again. I adjusted his tie and grinned. "Okay, fine. Pick me up later. I’ll eat lunch at the office." I walked off, turning to wave before stepping into the building. I could still feel his gaze on me through the glass doors. As I walked, I paused for a moment, my smile faltering. Did he mean that? I mean, we’re not actually a couple. We’re pretending. So what does he mean by ’act like a real girlfriend’? I fished my access card from my purse and tapped it at the security gate. A soft beep welcomed me through. My new office was already set up—thanks to my sister—with hidden cameras only she and I could access. Damien helped with the tech stuff. Honestly, I still don’t understand how someone so good with tech is always broke. He charges me for everything, and I still pay him. I sat down and sighed at the mountain of paperwork. I opened my laptop, fired off an email, then checked the report from the investigators. They were still trying to confirm the identity of the woman who supplied the poison. That pepper spray—or whatever it was—that nearly blinded my sister? The guy who used it? Damon Blackwell nearly beat him to death. I still don’t know why he stopped short of finishing the job. Apparently, the guy had to be operated on just to save his life. His face was practically unrecognizable. "Poor man," I muttered. "But that’s what he gets for almost killing my sister." Still, I can’t wait to meet that bastard face-to-face. –Damon– I was in my study, watching Livana as she laughed softly with my mother and grandmother. They appeared to be enjoying her company, but I knew better. They were only pretending—playing nice until they could manipulate her into leaving me. But that wasn’t going to happen. I made sure our marriage was legally binding here in the Philippines. Divorce might be an option in Hawaii, but not here. Not with me. A part of me wanted to laugh when I imagined her reaction once she found that out. But a larger part of me wanted to see how long she’d play along—how long she’d pretend not to know that I wasn’t letting her go. Eventually, I headed downstairs to pick her up for her sunscreen. I approached her, took her hand gently, and smiled at my mother and grandmother. "I need to steal her for a while," I said. They nodded without protest as I led her upstairs. I didn’t even bother to close the door. Once we reached the bed, I guided her down gently and knelt in front of her. "No," she said coolly, her tone cutting. "You won’t be getting it today—or tonight." "Oh?" I murmured, lips twitching. I was halfway to teasing her thighs with my mouth, but stopped. Her rejection stung more than I cared to admit. Still, part of me almost wanted the others to know we weren’t pretending. We were real. Raw. Intimate. I stood, walked into the bathroom, and grabbed her sunscreen. I squeezed a bit onto my palm and rubbed it between my hands—only to freeze. A burning, prickling sensation shot across my skin. What the hell? I rushed to the sink and scrubbed my hands thoroughly with soap, but the sensation lingered. My eyes scanned the counter—and that’s when I noticed something off. The other lotion was out of alignment. Tyrona. My jaw clenched as I grabbed both bottles and returned to Livana. "What’s wrong?" she asked, sensing my tension. "Huh. I’m sorry, babe. Your sunscreen and lotion were tainted with something toxic." I rinsed again, then dried my hands. Still itching. But I focused on her. "Stand," I said, and she obeyed, her hand searching for my arm. I led her back downstairs, my grip firm but careful. "Why are your hands red?" Mom asked, eyes narrowing. "Where’s Tyrona?" I asked, ignoring the question. "She said she was leaving," Mom answered. I turned to one of the maids. "Call her back. Now." The maid grabbed her radio and moved quickly. I turned to Livana and sighed. "I’m sorry, baby." "Damon, your hands..." Mom reached for them, but I stepped back. "Don’t touch it, Mom." She looked at me, concern deepening. "Was it Tyrona?" Livana asked. "Yes, love." "I want to slap her," Livana said, deadpan. "You’ll get your chance," I muttered, my voice sharp. Mom sighed. "How did Tyrona do it? What exactly happened?" I turned to the staff. "Search her room. Look for chemicals or anything suspicious." They nodded and disappeared upstairs. Jane approached with a first-aid kit. When they brought Tyrona in, I didn’t wait. "What?!" she snapped. I held up the sunscreen and squirted it onto her face. She screamed, wiping at her eyes, and I emptied some of the lotion next. "Stop!" "What did you put in this?" I demanded. "You’re crazy!" she shrieked. "You did this to yourself!" I raised my red hands. "I test everything on myself before it touches my wife. So don’t insult my intelligence." "I can’t slap her if her face is already damaged," Livana said coolly. "Damon, stop," Mom said, stepping in and handing Tyrona a box of tissues. She ran to the fountain near the wall and splashed her face. Red—but not severely burned. Not yet. "She did this?" Mom asked quietly. "She’s a chemist. Of course, she did," I muttered. Livana sighed beside me. She looked... disappointed. Not afraid. Just tired of it all. I threw both bottles onto the floor. "Dispose of every product in my room—lotions, shampoos, soaps. Everything," I ordered the head maid. She nodded and rushed off. "Sir, let me treat your hands." "If you knew it was toxic," Mom said, her voice rising, "you shouldn’t have thrown it in her face!" "It was a small spatter, Mom," I replied, rolling my eyes. I sat as Jane gently applied something cool to my hands. The sting eased, but the anger didn’t. Livana still stood, facing the direction Tyrona had fled. When Jane finished, Tyrona returned—fuming, red streaks visible on her face and neck. She charged toward Livana. Bad idea. Without hesitation, Livana slapped her. Hard. Right on target, as if she could see. Tyrona reeled back, stunned. She raised her hand to retaliate. "Tyrona, stop!" Grandma barked. "Grandma!" Tyrona cried, playing the victim. Livana didn’t flinch. She raised her other hand and slapped her again—clean across the cheek. "That’s not fair, Tyrona. That’s foul play," she said with quiet authority. "My skin is precious. Damon is obsessed with it. So don’t touch the things that turn him on." I stared, mouth slightly open. Mom and Grandma looked just as shocked. She was calm. Collected. As if schooling a child. And I couldn’t have been more in love.