Chapter 3: The Blackwell

Chapter 3 - The Blackwell –Livana– I'm not sure what kind of dress my sister put me in, but despite how revealing it is, I feel comfortable. She draped a coat over my shoulders and gave me an approving pat. "You look gorgeous," she said, just as the sound of her camera shutter clicked, followed by her soft giggle. "Absolutely adorable. And your eye color—it's just like before." She pressed an eyedropper into my hand. I traced my thumb over its surface, feeling the subtle ridges beneath my fingertips. "Can you feel it?" she asked, grinning. "It's Braille. The label was made for the blind. Let me test it on your pulse." She turned my wrist, and a cool drop landed on my skin. "This should work." "How did you get it so fast?" I asked. "I was already on my way back when Damien intercepted me. He said he knew someone who uses the same product—apparently, it's hard to come by. This might be the solution. He even had it checked by doctors." "Is it safe?" "Yes," she assured me. "Now, look up. Don't blink." She gently pulled down my lower eyelid, and the cool liquid touched my eye. Just one drop—no sting, unlike the harsh treatments before. She repeated the process with my other eye as I blinked reflexively. "Perfect. Let me know if there's any irritation. I'll have a doctor check on you while we're at the party." "You mean... that party?" Laura laughed. "Babe, you know your every move is being watched. This is the only way to get you proper medical care." "If you say so." She slipped a pair of two-inch closed-toe shoes onto my feet before leading me downstairs, dismissing the nurse along the way. "Wow, you're stunning," Richard's voice cut through the air as his footsteps approached. I wasn't surprised when he kissed my cheek and slid his hand around my waist. The urge to spit in his face and beat him senseless burned in my chest—but I refused to waste my energy on him. He forced his mouth onto mine, again and again. At first, I didn't resist, but as his advances grew bolder, I shoved him back hard, disgust twisting inside me. Laura made a sound of revulsion. "Let's go," she said coldly. We climbed into the van, Laura pulling me close while Richard and Carrie settled in the backseat—no doubt pawing at each other the moment they thought we weren't looking. I closed my eyes as Laura arranged pillows around me and reclined my seat. She was the best nurse I could ask for. The next thing I knew, blaring music jolted me awake. "We're here!" Laura announced cheerfully. She removed my glasses and inspected my eyes. To my shock, I could see light—brighter than before, though still colorless, just a haze of white. "Let me clean this up for you. Don't blink, alright?" "Why didn't you study medicine or nursing?" Carrie interrupted, making me frown. If I could see, I imagined Laura shooting her a glare—but instead, Laura just laughed. "I did study nursing and medicine. Now, I'm considering becoming a morgue doctor. You know, opening up bodies while they're 'asleep,' then stitching them back together..." "You're disgusting, Laura," Carrie snapped. The car jolted as she shifted angrily. "Richard, let me out." "I'll wait outside," Richard muttered as Laura continued cleaning my eyes. "It's working," she murmured. "The doctor said there might be mucus buildup—a sign the chemicals in your eyes are clearing." "The coolness feels familiar... like the first eyedrops my doctor used to soothe the soreness." "Hmm, maybe." "I thought I'd be able to see," I whispered. She fell silent for a moment before responding, "I'll do everything to make sure you do." After what felt like an eternity, we finally stepped out of the van. Laura guided me forward, my walking stick tapping against unfamiliar ground. The roar of music and chatter pressed against my senses—overwhelming, but somehow grounding. The vibrations traveled through me, painting a picture my eyes couldn't see. "Damien!" Laura called out as we halted. "Hey, Laura," his voice came from somewhere ahead. The moment my sister's hand slipped from mine, I knew they'd embraced. "Your ex is here," he added in a stage whisper, followed by the wet smack of a kiss. "Hello, Liva." His arm wrapped around me in a crushing hug before his lips brushed my cheek. "Gorgeous as ever. And those glasses? Stunning." "They're expensive. Thanks," I replied flatly, tightening my grip on my walking stick. "I've got us the best view for the race." Damien positioned himself at my left, guiding my hand to the crook of his arm. "You know this race is Damon's homecoming party, right?" "Please. I'd rather not be associated with him." Yet the thought struck me—I'd never actually seen Damon. Not even after the incident. "Liva," Richard's voice cut through the noise. "Over here." "No, I'm taking my sister elsewhere," Laura interjected. "You two enjoy yourselves." "You're engaged to him, aren't you?" Damien asked as I nodded. "Unfortunately." "Oh," he chuckled. "Terrible luck." "Tell me about it." "Big step here." The elevator hummed beneath us as the automated voice announced floors. "Third floor." We walked what felt like a hundred paces before entering a room saturated with the sterile bite of alcohol undercut by something minty and sweet. Damien guided me to a plush sofa, and Laura draped a blanket over my lap. "Don't accept drinks from strangers," Laura warned, pressing a device into my palm. "Press this if you need me. You're safe here." "Understood." "Jane's here too," Damien added. A soft hand grasped mine moments later. "Miss Livana, I'm Jane. I'll be assisting you tonight." "Unnecessary—but thank you," I said. "Damien, you promised me drinks," Laura teased. "Yeah, yeah." Their kiss sounded obnoxiously theatrical. "So what are you two?" I asked. "Fuckbuddies? Friends with benefits?" "Frenemies," Damien supplied as Laura laughed. "We're together, sis. Dad hates it. Which makes it even better." "Come on, sexy. Eyes off everyone else's abs," Damien joked. Their laughter faded as they left, leaving me with the distant rumble of engines and the announcer's muffled voice. The race was starting—and with it, the betting. The door creaked open. Footsteps. "Jane? Who's there?" No response—just the click of the door shutting. I gripped the alert device as heavy footfalls circled behind me. The air shifted, carrying the scent of leather and something faintly metallic. This man was big. I could feel it. "Hello, Livana." The sofa dipped as he leaned over me, his breath warming my cheek. "Miss me?" His voice was the kind of deep that made other girls weak—but it rolled off me like rain. Fingers twisted playfully through my hair. "I've missed you." I kept my face impassively forward. "You're not deaf, just blind. Stop ignoring me, Livana." The sofa jerked—had he vaulted over it? Instead of sitting across from me, he knelt before my knees, prying the device from my hand and tossing my purse aside. His palm pressed mine flat against my lap before he nuzzled into it, his cheek smooth against my skin. "What are you doing?" My voice could've frozen hell. "Getting your attention." I mapped his smirk through touch alone. "Heard about your engagement." A thread of sadness—or was it mockery?—woven through his words. "Does he touch you like I did?" "Stop being vulgar, Damon." "Ah. My name sounds perfect in your mouth." His fingers tilted my chin up. "Relax. I'll take care of you." "I don't want it. Call my nurse and leave." A low chuckle. "Ever think about me? About that night you surrendered to your enemy?" Rough fingers plucked off my glasses. I didn't react. No point wasting energy on the man obsessed with ruining me. "Livana, Livana..." He sang my name like a hymn, searching for any crack in my armor. "Know what your fiancé's doing with your cousin right now? Maybe you should retaliate." "I don't stoop to their level." I leaned back, deliberately trailing my hand up to his jaw. A little playacting might give me the reins. My little puppet. His laugh cut off as his mouth crashed into mine. The door burst open. Moans. Richard and Carrie. "Well, well. Intruders," Damon purred, looming over me like a territorial beast. "Damon!" Richard's shout dripped with outrage. A scoff, then Damon's lips sealed over mine again. The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on. "Livana! Is that you?!" Richard finally exploded. I stayed silent. Let the chaos unfold. Damon's manic laughter. Richard's charging footsteps. The grunts of a scuffle—fists connecting, Carrie's shrill protests—it painted itself vividly in my mind. "How dare you touch my fiancée!" Richard bellowed. My lips curled. Fiancée? Please. He'd been fucking my stepsister for months. Did he really think I didn't know? The sounds of scuffling continued—Damon's fists connecting, Carrie's shrill screams. "Livana! Stop them!" she shrieked. I sat perfectly still, a porcelain doll waiting for the storm to pass. Why would I stop that monster? Richard deserved every blow. Three years ago, he and Carrie had sent men after me while I was drugged. Damon had been my unlikely savior. My family still believed the official story—that I'd simply "wandered into the corridor and been assaulted by a stranger with pepper spray." Every trace of me leaving Damon's room that night had vanished. No surprise. The man wielded power in both the underworld and politics with equal ease. Marrying him might not be the worst idea. Never mind that our families would rage against it. "Should I cut off his favorite thing for you, Livana?" Damon's voice was all dark amusement. "I have no interest in Richard's favorite thing," I said coolly. "Stop this. I'd rather listen to the race." "Ah, right." His laugh was a velvet threat. Then, lower, just for Carrie: "Dry the tears, sweetheart. Livana's blind—she didn't see you riding her fiancé." I tilted my head, playing my part flawlessly. "What was that?" "Nothing important," Damon crooned. Fabric rustled, the door clicked shut. I expected the cheaters to flee—or Damon to leave—but instead, the sofa dipped beside me. His fingers snapped, sharp as a gunshot, summoning unseen attendants.