Chapter 48: The Joker and the Fool

Chapter 48: The Joker and the Fool –Livana– "I promise you, Liva, it was always you." His voice dripped with sweetness. The kind of sweetness that could make someone fall in love. They’d be a fool. But maybe—just this once—I could be a fool, too. "I know," I sighed, letting the breath slip out like silk. "Carrie... she always steals Laura’s boyfriends. And maybe..." I tilted my head slightly, feigning innocence, "her best steal was you." My voice was soft, wounded, delicate. Pitiful. I could win an award for that performance. I could feel it. Maybe Richard was Carrie’s best steal. But if she managed to pull one more string—if she managed to seduce my husband—I’d bow to her. Hell, I’d even get her a plaque: Best Whore in the Family. "I’m so sorry, Liva. We could start over. Let’s get to know each other." "Mmm." I leaned back into the seat, fingers lazily stirring the ice in my bubble milk tea. The sound of the pearls tapping the plastic was oddly soothing. "You know... I heard everything." I shrugged, casual. "The plans. The betrayal. Even you—mid-thrust, I’m guessing—grunting over Carrie while she faked every moan and every orgasm." I paused, listening. The silence told me everything I needed. "I don’t think we can start over." Still no response. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel the heat rising in his face. Shame, panic, regret. It painted itself across the air like thick cologne. "But you see... My husband? He’s an expert. He knows exactly how to make me happy." I smiled, a slow curl of lips. "Your performance with Carrie? No. I’d never be happy with that." I clicked my tongue. A gentle, dismissive sound. "But good luck, okay? After all that nonstop fucking with my cousin, maybe she’ll finally give you the heir you’ve been trying for. Too bad she’s not an heiress. Not a Braxton. Not a Carrington. Just... another cheap imitation." "Livana..." His voice dropped—quiet, disappointed. "Damon is good at everything." I smiled again. "He’s loyal. He never strayed. He’d kill for me." I leaned forward just slightly, close enough for him to feel the shift in the air. "Would you kill for me, Richard?" "Livana, that’s—" "There is one way back in," I said brightly, clapping my hands once. "You kill my husband." The pause was perfect. I could feel the tension radiating off him. I knew the look on his face without needing to see it. That broken, stunned expression people wear when they realize they were never really in control. "So?" I asked lightly. "Can you? I’m offering you a choice, Richard. Marry me. I’ll take care of your family’s company." "If I kill him..." "Then you get to marry me." I smirked. "But your hands have to do it. No middleman. No hired help. That’s the rule." The silence was rich and lingering. I took another sip from my tea. "Mmm. This one’s good," I murmured. I stood slowly, reaching for my walking stick. "Let’s go, Jane. I think I need to buy lingerie." "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood." We walked out, and I slid into the car where Kai was already waiting—laughing so hard the seat shook. The door shut behind me with a crisp click as I folded my arms. "What’s funny, Kai?" He tried to contain himself. "Are you serious? He can’t even land a punch on Damon, let alone kill him." "Kai, I need lingerie. Drive." I bit my lip to hide my own smile. Let him enjoy it. He must’ve been listening—my walking stick had a recorder tucked inside, and I was certain he’d heard every word of the conversation. "Don’t get us killed, alright? Eyes on the road." Kai chuckled. "I have to admit, you played him perfectly." I tilted my head, imagining Richard’s face—pale, shaken, speechless. It was almost a shame I couldn’t see it for myself. I slipped on my sunglasses as we pulled into the mall. The scent of polished floors and perfumed air told me exactly where we were. Victoria’s Secret. I ran my hands across the silk and lace, the textures whispering promises to my fingers. I even tried a few on, just to make sure they fit just right. They did. Damon would lose control the moment he touched the fabric against my skin. That’s what I wanted. To seduce him. To possess him. And maybe—just maybe— I already do. –Damon– He’d be a fool to accept that offer from Livana. Marry her? I scoffed. Maybe in a fake wedding—if he somehow managed to kill me. But even then, he could never touch her the way I could. No one can. If he dares try, I’ll have people handle him. Quietly. Permanently. "Hmm. How am I supposed to fix this if your daughter’s the one who started it?" I asked Garrison coolly. "Damon, our family has upheld perfection for decades. Marrying into the Carringtons that woman—" "Shh." I raised a finger and closed my eyes, slowly shaking my head. "Do not put my wife’s name in your filthy mouth, Garrison." When I opened my eyes again, they were sharper. Harder. I stared him down, watching as his surprise bloomed. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that. Probably stunned that I called him by his first name. "Tyrona is innocent," Garrison insisted. I watched the veins bulge in his neck—strained, desperate, clinging to the illusion of her purity. "Hmm," I hummed thoughtfully. "But she’s not innocent of lacing my wife’s lotion with chemicals." I sighed, dragging out the silence. "Garrison, man... you really need to open your eyes. You’ve already failed as a father." I leaned forward, voice lowering with dark promise. "And you’ll fail again—if Livana dies." "Damon, that’s enough!" Grandpa Wilbert barked. "Stop threatening him." "You too, Grandpa." I leaned back in my chair, utterly relaxed. "I love my wife. Deeply. I won’t turn a blind eye to anyone who hurts her. Even if it’s your daughter." "Damon Blackwell," Garrison said as he stood. "Are you declaring war on your own family?" "No." I smirked. "I’m simply securing justice for my wife. She is family. Isn’t that right, Grandpa?" I glanced over at the old man. He only glared. "She’ll carry our heir soon." "You’re throwing away everything we built," Garrison warned, his voice tight. He knew. Deep down, he knew. The Carringtons and Blackwells were always one spark away from flames—and he might be the reason for the fire. I checked my phone. "Oh. My wife’s here." I stood, buttoning my jacket. "Excuse me, gentlemen." As I left the drawing room, I could already hear my mother downstairs, cooing over Livana. My steps quickened, excitement blooming in my chest. I saw the gifts—boxes, bags, even some from the Victoria’s Secret collection. I knew what that meant. Lingerie. Silk, lace, every color perfect against her flawless skin. The thought alone stirred something dark and primal in me. But I couldn’t touch her. Not yet. Two weeks more. She had to be ready—truly ready. I approached her and kissed her. Once wasn’t enough. I kissed her again, deeper, until she gave in for a second, then gently pushed against my chest. "Let’s make love," I murmured, voice low, rough with longing. "No." Her tone was cool, clipped. I blinked, suddenly aware of where we were—right in front of my mother and grandmother. My mother pushed me back with a slight frown. "Livy!" Alyssa squealed from the staircase. "I’ve got some gossip! But first—my room!" "Hmm, okay," Livana said with a small shrug. Emotionless, as always. Strange. Alyssa never liked Livana. Or Tyrona. Or anyone, really. Why the sudden closeness? I watched my sister tug Livana away. My wife... always so unreadable, so composed. It only made me want her more. "Where are Livana’s things?" I asked Jane. She gestured to the pile of bags. I waved to a nearby maid. "Take these to our room. Carefully. Thank you." "Son," Grandma Isabella said, reaching for my arm. "Let’s talk. Just us." "Of course, Grandma." I offered her mine and led her to the sunroom, guiding her to the sofa and helping her sit. Her back had been giving her trouble again. That’s why we’d made sure every room had soft cushions and back support—especially for her. I sat beside her and took her hand, studying the fine lines etched into her face. "I heard about your argument with Garrison." I nodded once. "I don’t like Tyrona either," she admitted. "But it was for business. Even if we don’t need the Dela Vegas, they were a sensible alliance." "Well, that sucks," I said with a half-grin. She chuckled softly. "Indeed." Then her smile faded. "Protect Livana, no matter what. Her mother was dear to me. It’s a shame we’ve come to this with the Braxtons." She sighed and shook her head. "I want peace with them, Damon. They’re not bad people. It was all a... misunderstanding." My jaw tensed. "I’ve always wondered what the misunderstanding was about." I’d heard whispers of it my whole life. The Carringtons. The Braxtons. Their hatred for us. And Livana—she must’ve grown up hearing things about my family too. Maybe that’s why we’re here now, wading through poison masked as politics. Grandma exhaled slowly, her voice dropping. "We framed them. Almost drove them to bankruptcy." My eyes widened.