Chapter 26: Another Blackwell

Chapter 26: Another Blackwell – Livana – It felt damn good to finally slap her. Hard. She flew back so fast I could hear the thud. They had packed up her bags and cleared almost everything in her room—and that’s when they discovered the bottles: toxic chemicals, labeled and sealed. At least, that’s what I heard. Damon said he secured them himself. She’d been storing poison in her bedroom, probably for her experiments. I also wonder if she’s the one who made me blind. I don’t have concrete proof, but if I do, I’ll make sure to take her to hell. Now, with my husband’s hand injured, he won’t be able to please me the way he should. No more rubbing lotion on my back, or smoothing sunscreen over my face. Not for now, at least. I sighed and tilted my head toward Damon. He was on the phone, speaking fluent Italian, his voice low and smooth. He hadn’t touched me since the injury. The doctor checked his hand twice, said it was a mild chemical burn and recommended an ointment. "Ohh, sorry babe," Damon said, a slight teasing note in his voice. "I won’t be able to use my hands this time." I felt him lean close. As expected, his lips pressed against my cheek. He smelled like aftershave—or was that bubble gum? Someone told me he quit smoking a few years ago. I fucking hate your smell. The words echoed in my head. Familiar. I touched my temple, brows tightening. That memory—he’d smelled like cigarettes. That must’ve been when I was drugged. God, I hate the scent of tobacco. But that night, I remember—blurrily—that he took me to the bathtub to cool me down while he brushed his teeth and even gargled some mouthwash. He kissed me again that time, and that’s when I kissed back. I was horny because of the drug, and that’s when we... did the deed. "But hey," he added, "I can still touch you." He poked my arm playfully. I turned toward the motion, eyes open. I could make out the blur of his neck and the outline of his face, but it was like looking through frosted glass with a black cover in the middle. . "The reaction’s mostly gone," he said. "Just a little redness. Should heal in a few days." Footsteps approached. Confident ones. The sofa dipped beside me with a bounce, a gap of space left between us. "I heard the commotion earlier," Damien said. "Your sister’s a pain in the ass." "You’re just figuring that out now?" I crossed my arms. "So, are you finally breaking up with her?" Damien let out a loud laugh, dramatic like some cartoon villain. Damon slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. "I think he’s lost it," Damon muttered. I scoffed. "Both of you have." "There’s no breaking up," Damien said. His tone carried a smug smirk. "She’ll be begging me not to leave." As long as he doesn’t hurt my sister, I don’t care what mind games he plays. But if he does... I’ll make him an eunuch. Like they used to do in ancient Korea. No offspring, no legacy. "I’ll make sure she throws more money at me," he added. I frowned. That was odd. I didn’t bother asking, though. I had more important things on my mind. "So," he continued, "how does Laura like her men?" "You should know that," I said, brushing Damon’s hand off my waist. "I’m going upstairs. Need to check on something." I made sure my phone was in my pocket. "Jane?" "I’m here, Miss," she said, and I felt her hand guide mine. She led me into Damon’s bedroom and left quietly. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone, dialing my investigator. "Did you send Laura the details of the man?" "Yes, boss. The man’s being held by Damon Blackwell. According to my research, he was beaten to a pulp three years ago—two weeks after the incident." Silence. Efficient. Precise. Damon did it all without a trace. I mattered that much to him. He worshipped me. Besides Laura, he was the only one who saved me. And I hate him for it. God, I hate him so much. "What about the man’s identity?" I asked. "Wiped clean, Boss. No records. But we’re searching internationally. He fled fast when Damon Blackwell got involved with tracking the mastermind." "Good. Hire more people. If necessary, an assassin. But I want him alive." "Yes, Boss." I hung up with a sigh, folding my arms. I nearly ended up disfigured from whatever mix Tyrona brewed. She underestimated Damon. If anything happened to my skin, he’d probably hire a surgeon on the spot. My phone buzzed. I answered and held it to my right ear. Heavy breathing. Unregistered number. "Livana." That voice. "Livy, can we talk? Can we meet?" "Who the fuck is this?" "It’s me. Richard." "Oh." I barely recognized his voice. Ruined. Worn down. "I’ll reserve the entire café. Just us." "I’m out of town," I said coolly. "Maybe next week. I’ll let you know." "Livy... is there a chance—" "Fuck no," I cut him off, a bitter laugh slipping through. I hung up and tossed the phone aside. Crawled toward the pillows. Sleep. Maybe if I slept long enough, I’d wake up and be able to see fully. Just maybe. **** I had fallen asleep without realizing it. When I woke, I sat up slowly and reached for my walking stick beside me. Just as I was about to move, I heard familiar breathing—soft, steady, and close. I turned my head toward the sound. That felt like Damon. I reached out, and he met me halfway. My fingers brushed against his hand—bandaged. The texture was rough beneath the cloth. "Let’s just sleep," he murmured. "My cousin arrived after he heard about me marrying you." "Oh, your perverted cousin?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "Yes," he said with a sigh. He gently pulled me down beside him, and I rested my hand on his chest. I lay against his arm as he wrapped it around me. His injured hand moved carefully, gently caressing my back. His breathing was a little shallow. I blinked, trying to focus on the vague outlines I could make out in the dim light—shapes, not features. "I prepared a dress for you—for dinner," he said softly. He brushed his lips against my forehead, then added in a low grumble, "I’m getting it now." He rolled over me, spreading my legs gently. His weight pressed down just enough for me to feel the heat of him. I slid my hand across his chest and down—over the firmness of muscle, until I reached him. Hard. Big. Familiar. Thick and just long enough to fill me. I remembered the feeling well—how he made me lose myself, made me reach that place I could only describe as heaven. It might have been the first time I reached out like this, intentionally. I could almost feel the smirk curling on his lips. "How do you want it, wife?" he asked. "I’ll do it myself," I whispered. "That’s more like it." Our lovemaking was fiery, intense as always. Later, we finally made our way downstairs. I was wearing a dress with sleeves and a turtleneck—soft and warm, like a cardigan. Damon had picked it out. "Hello, everyone," I heard Laura say cheerfully. "Hello, sis." She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my cheeks. "Laura!" a man’s voice called out—brash and too familiar. "Oh... hello, Brandon," Laura replied with little enthusiasm. "Nope. No hugs." "And this must be my cousin-in-law?" he said with a grin in his voice. "Brandon," I replied flatly, raising my hand in his direction. "No kisses, hugs, or whatever else you’re thinking." "Why so cold?" he teased. "I’m a Blackwell too. You’re both sleeping with Blackwells—why not another?" I frowned. What the hell was he implying? I heard his steps move closer. "Blackwell shares. Sharing is caring, right?" he added smugly. "That’s how your mother raised you," I replied coolly. "Our mother didn’t teach us that kind of sharing. That sort of logic leads to people like you. Like what you just said." "Keep your dirty mind off them, Brandon," Damien snapped. His voice was low, but firm—intimidating, dangerous. I didn’t sense Damon nearby. From the distance, I heard him giving instructions to the staff. "Ohh, sexy," Laura purred in Damien’s direction. I crossed my arms. "Hey, I didn’t say anything about that," Brandon laughed. Dinner was served. Laura was as chatty as ever, and Brandon tried to keep up. Damon stayed quiet beside me, but his attention never wavered. He described the food on my plate—divided neatly into four sections—telling me exactly where to find each dish. But dinner wasn’t as simple as food and chatter. They started asking me personal questions—about my family, about how I planned to introduce Damon to them. My grandfathers and father... they’d probably beat Damon to a pulp. He laughed at the thought. Of course, he wasn’t the type to be shaken easily. If he ever got hurt, it was because he chose to be. "Let’s go to our spot," he whispered after dinner. He led me outside to the sofa—the same place where we’d made love without shame. "I’ll get the wine and stuff, okay?" he said, bending down to kiss my forehead. I relaxed into the cushions, letting the night air wash over me. I closed my eyes, savoring the calm. Then—footsteps. The wind shifted, and I felt it in the direction the person came from. Heavy steps. Intentional. "Who is it?" I asked. No answer. I gasped when strong hands pinned me down. Lips crashed into mine—rough, unwanted. I struggled, panicking as his weight bore down. His tongue forced its way past my lips. No. It wasn’t Damon.