Chapter 32: To Produce

Chapter 32: To Produce – Laura – I woke up to gunshots. Or something that sounded like them. Whatever it was, I still didn’t have the energy to get up—not after last night’s heat session. Two horny best friends crossed a line. No protection. Just recklessness and lust. I did take my morning-after pill today. But no—starting now, he’s putting on that damn protection. I’m not risking it again. Another loud bang. Definitely a shotgun this time. I groaned, slipped out of bed, and pulled on my robe, making my way to the window. There she was. My sister. The whitest of us all, sitting pretty at the garden table like it was a tea party—except, instead of sipping tea, she and her husband were playing with the bastard from last night. And yes, with a shotgun. "Damien!" I shouted, startling him awake. "Hm?" he mumbled, groggy and half-asleep. "Look at those two! They’re savages! They’re torturing that poor man!" He rubbed his eyes and blinked at me. "Wait... you’ve never seen your sister work in the underworld?" "No!" I grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the window. "Come on, you have to see how insane this is." "Fuck," he muttered, dragging me back into bed and pinning me with a grin. I glanced at his saluting manhood. "I need to get rid of my—" "No." I shoved his face away. "I need to take my pill, and no, you are not finishing inside me again." I slipped into the bathroom and rummaged through the drawer until I found the packet. I popped two pills just to be safe, then rinsed off the leftover mess from last night. I paused when Damien appeared behind me, his hands sliding to my waist. "What? What now?" I asked, half-exasperated. "Why are you so annoyed?" he said, yawning as he lazily gathered my hair and cupped both my breasts like he was fiddling with stress balls. "I just..." I shook my head. "I never thought my sister could be this—" "Demonic? Like a gang boss? Mafia royalty?" I was quiet. The way he said it sounded absurd. And yet... I’d always known our family had underground ties. Decades deep. We basically run the underworld through different branches. The government knows—but no one talks. Anyone who does disappears. "She’s known as the White Queen," Damien said softly. "No one ever sees her. She just sends commands. And they carry weight. Damon’s been hearing whispers—how she secured billions in a single trade." I stared at him, stunned. My sister? That sister? The sweet one who hugged me like Mom used to? The one who bakes cookies when I’m sad and buys me ridiculous gifts just because? She looked innocent. Too innocent. But now... now I wasn’t so sure. – Livana – The echo of the shotgun rang out for the fifth time. Were they finally done playing? I reached for my tea, fingers finding the delicate porcelain with ease. Though my vision remained faint and hazy, it wasn’t as opaque as before. A shadow here, a light there—I could sense movement. Perhaps my eyesight was beginning to return. "Stop pouring blood on my lawn," I sighed, calm and composed. "Take him elsewhere. Somewhere... more private. He needs to speak." "Of course, my Goddess," my husband replied. He didn’t need to say much; I heard the heavy march of boots and the rustling of fabric as they obeyed. They wouldn’t kill him. Not yet. I needed answers. I’m not that savage. My husband is. But I’ve done things. Things I don’t speak of. "So," Damon’s voice neared, soft and deep, "where were we? I was thinking—Korea or Japan. A second honeymoon, just us." "I have other plans." "Oh..." "Good morning," Wally’s voice chimed. "Breakfast is ready in the front garden." "Thank you." I stood gracefully, reaching for my walking stick. This house was mine—I knew every inch of it. No one dared change a single detail, not even a misplaced vase. Damon trailed beside me, persistent as ever. "So, what are your plans?" His tone was curious, almost pleading. He still wanted to understand me. But he never would. "Call Damien and Laura." He passed the task to someone else, then took my hand and led me to the garden. He helped me down with care, like I was porcelain. I sat and waited. It didn’t take long for Laura to arrive—stormy and unfiltered, just as I expected. "What in hell was that?" she hissed. "There was a man bleeding out on the lawn! You were shooting him!" Her words were meant for Damon, but her eyes might as well have been on both of us. "At least he’s not dead," Damon muttered. "Not dead? We’ve never had blood spilled here before, and now you’ve turned the lawn into a crime scene!" "That’s what I said," I murmured into my teacup. "It’s bad luck, Damon!" "Control your girlfriend," Damon said under his breath, and I smirked. I heard Damien trying to calm her, but it was pointless. Laura was more of a firestarter than I ever was. "It’s alright, Laura," I said smoothly. "No more bloodshed on the grass. Right, Damon?" "Yes, babe. Let’s eat." We all sat down. Chef Wally introduced the spread: a full protein-rich breakfast with fruits. Clean, balanced. I silently prayed we’d avoid drama—at least until dessert. But of course, Damon couldn’t resist. "So," he began, far too casually, "how was last night? Did you two finally do the deed after months—no, years—of pretending?" "I beg your pardon?" Laura snapped, catching the bait instantly. "I heard your bed banging all night," Damon teased. "I figured the whole forbidden Carrington-Blackwell union had finally been... consummated." "For your information," Laura snapped, "the bed doesn’t bang. It’s made of solid narra wood. Heavy. Sturdy." "Ohhh, so you did thedeed." He sounded delighted. "Yeah. And he did well," she replied, so casually it made me smile. I took a quiet sip of juice, hiding the satisfaction in my expression. Good. I needed her fertile. I needed an heir. I couldn’t give one. But she could. "What am I, your sex toy now?" Damien muttered. "Are you not?" Laura shot back without missing a beat. I focused on my fruit bowl. The tang of pineapple. The soft crunch of pear. I would enjoy my breakfast, even if they burned the garden down. "Oh, come on!" Damien groaned. "This is your fault, Damon. You started it." "Well, now we know. You two are finally screwing," Damon said with a shrug. Laura leaned closer to me. "Let’s go to the club tonight. There’s a race—I’ve got a good feeling about my bet." "Sure," I replied smoothly, just to end the conversation. "The breakfast is perfect, Chef Wally," she added, and for once, I agreed with her. — After breakfast, I changed into a bikini and slipped into the cold pool. I let myself float, still, graceful—until someone cannonballed in and the waves rocked against my skin. Strong arms circled me. Damon. "You look stunning in a bikini," he murmured, his hand brushing low across my abdomen. "So... do we have a baby in there?" Baby? How absurd. He didn’t know. I laughed softly, removing his hand and turning to face him, my fingers trailing up his muscular arms to his shoulders. "Sorry to ruin your fantasy," I said. "But I can’t get pregnant. Ever." Silence. I touched his face, mapping his features with my fingertips. He didn’t speak, but I could feel it—the quiet disappointment hiding behind the calm. "You can get someone else pregnant," I said, voice cool. "But if you do, you’ll never touch me again. We’ll remain married for the sake of the contract. That’s all." "Nonsense," he snapped. His tone chilled. "I’ll summon every fertility expert on earth if I have to. We will have an heir." His hand gripped my jaw. "You’ll obey." I tightened my grip around his neck. "I don’t want to get pregnant, Damon." I released him and swam away, letting the pool’s edges guide me toward safety. He pulled me out and carried me to the lounge chair, draping a robe over my shoulders. "I have an appointment," he said. "I’ll see you at the club." He kissed me lightly before leaving. I wrapped the robe around me. Moments later, I heard someone approach me and he speaks as soon as he’s close. "By the way, Livy, your sister—" "Where is she?" I asked, reaching out for my drink. Someone—probably Jane—placed it into my hand. "She’s in her room, hunting for the perfect dress." "Hmm." I sipped my juice. "Jane, leave us." "Yes, miss." "Anyone else around?" I asked. "No. Just us. Why?" "Since you and Laura have been... involved, did you use protection?" "No." "Did she take any pills?" "Yeah." "Make her stop drinking those pills. Get her pregnant as soon as possible." "Are you serious?" "Don’t you love her?" "I do. But she’s clueless, and... yeah. I love her." "Then tell her. Show her. I expect an heir in three months." "That’s insane, Livana. She’s your sister." "I don’t care whose sperm it is. She needs to produce an heir." I stood, reaching for my walking stick. "If you can’t do it, I’ll find someone else who can." "That’s not fair, Livana." I didn’t reply. Fairness wasn’t the point. This was about family. About legacy. Even if we’ve been scratched off the family tree— We’ll plant a new one.