Chapter 88: Wife’s Side Hustle

Chapter 88: Wife’s Side Hustle –Livana– I sat with composed elegance inside the private meeting room I’d asked the hotel manager to prepare. The scent of aged mahogany lingered in the air, mixed with the faint trace of floral polish and expensive cologne—mine. The silence was broken only by the soft thud of footsteps, and soon enough, one of my pawns wheeled Bernard Philips inside. I tilted my head in his direction, sensing the hesitation in his breath, the unease in his step. My unseeing eyes fell in his direction regardless. His presence? All too familiar. "What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice cold, detached. "I... I need to see someone," he murmured, lowering his head. I could feel it rather than see it, like the weight of shame clinging to his shoulders. "Tyrona?" I inquired sharply. "No, ma’am. She’s already after me. The Madrigal men are after me." I exhaled slowly, my fingers brushing the smooth edge of the glass beside me. "Then cover that damn face," I said flatly. The door creaked open behind me. I didn’t turn. I didn’t need to. I could feel him—his presence like a magnetic current pulling the air taut. "I knew you weren’t in the powder room," Damon’s voice announced before sliding beside me with ease. "What is he doing here?" I heard Bernard shudder, the sound slight, but noticeable. "I’m still figuring that out. So? Did Tyrona make a grand entrance?" "Nah. I don’t know," Damon replied with a yawn, as if the mere thought of her bored him. Jane entered then, her heels clicking in a rhythm I recognized. "Miss, Tyrona already at the banquet." Bernard flinched again at the mention of her name. I almost pitied him. Almost. "Well, what a surprise," I sighed, voice laced with false nonchalance. "Bernard, apparently the Dela Vegas decided to show up late, despite not being invited." "Do we have to go back?" he asked meekly. "Why not? I love a bit of drama," I said as I rose to my feet with practiced grace. "Bernard, you’re on your own. Whether you get killed or not—well, that’s your business." "My Queen..." he murmured. Odd choice of words coming from him. "Yes, the Madrigals are here," I confirmed coolly. "Alejandro Madrigal, ring a bell?" "Yes... they’ve been together for ten years now." "Wow," I let out a light laugh, one dripping with amusement. "Darling, their relationship has lasted longer than your engagement with her?" "We were never engaged," he muttered. "Let’s just go back and end this night." "Fine." Damon reached for my hand, guiding me. As I turned my head slightly toward Bernard, I added sweetly, "Don’t get caught." Damon tugged me forward, but my heel caught slightly on the plush carpet. Before I could stumble, he swept me into his arms and carried me out. He set me down gently, brushing invisible dust off my dress, then ran a hand over my backside. "Gorgeous," he murmured with a grin I could hear in his tone. We returned to the ballroom. Even before we entered fully, I could hear the noise—the clinking of glasses, sycophantic laughter, the calculated tones of political small talk. And then, of course, there was her. Tyrona, making a spectacle of herself as usual. I didn’t need to see her to know how she looked. I could hear the shift of her silken gown, the deliberate sway of her hips, the way her voice floated—artificially sweet—as she greeted every powerful man in the room. She was flaunting herself in a black gown that likely cost less than her pride. And Alejandro? Of course, his attention wandered. I turned slightly, focusing where his gaze landed. I knew it. My sister. Laura’s laugh rang clear and melodic, surrounded by Alyssa and a few elite ladies. She was radiant, as always—joyful, magnetic. No surprise the man couldn’t help but stare. "Where’s Tyrona?" I asked quietly. "Hmm, I don’t know," Damon answered lazily. "My blind husband." "Oh, I see Alejandro. But he’s staring at your sister." "And where’s Damien?" I asked, adjusting the angle of my head toward her. "Picking up food," he replied, gently guiding my chin. "She’s right there." I listened as Damien placed a tray on the table, then the rustle of fabric—his coat being draped over Laura’s shoulders. The subtle sound of him sitting beside her. Protective. Possessive. Good. "Let’s go." Damon escorted me across the ballroom. I walked gracefully, every movement practiced and poised. As I sat, I tossed my hair back, exposing a hint of bare skin. My husband didn’t like that. Predictably, he laid his coat over my shoulders. "Livana," Tyrona’s saccharine voice chimed behind me. My lips curled into a smile as I turned my head slightly toward her. "Is it your first time attending the Blackwell Foundation?" she asked. "Hmm," I shrugged delicately. "Maybe it is. I’ve been busy... with more important things." "Tyrona," Damon chuckled, his tone light but laced with disdain. "I don’t recall sending you, the Dela Vegas, or any Madrigals an invitation." "Damon!" Alejandro greeted, far too cheerfully. "Good to see you." "You seem to be overstaying in the country," Damon noted flatly. I sighed, lifting a hand to pat his. "Babe, I think they’re planning a wedding. Be nice." "Sure," Alejandro replied, though I couldn’t see his face, I could sense the tension in the air. But my sister—too dazzling for her own good—stole every gaze in the room. "Hello," Alejandro added, his tone changing as I heard his attention shift to Laura. I slid my sunglasses on and tilted my head, catching the subtle pause in Tyrona’s breath. Her composure cracked, even if only slightly. Poor girl. Her man couldn’t even keep his eyes—or anything else—in check. "So, you’re Tyrona’s boyfriend?" Alyssa asked, her tone feigning curiosity. "Guilty," he answered, and I smirked as Damon sat beside me once more. "Well, good for you, Tyrona," Alyssa added, sweet but sharp. "Since you have a handsome boyfriend now, maybe you can finally stop trolling my sister-in-law on social media?" I gasped softly. "Wow... I had no idea." "That’s really low," Laura added with a gentle laugh. I noticed Alejandro didn’t even bother to defend Tyrona. "Well, I’m glad you’ve finally found your ’one,’" Laura said calmly. "Thank you," Tyrona replied, her voice thinner now. And just like that, the crown slipped from her head—and she knew it. –Laura– The hottie Madrigal? Honestly, not so bad. Sure, he had this territorial grip on Tyrona, but... was he really that into her? I mean, come on. He kept sneaking glances—first at Livana, then at me. It was awkwardly obvious. Damien leaned over and adjusted his coat around my shoulders again, tugging it up to cover the bit of cleavage showing through my gown. I mean, Tyrona might have the bigger assets, but pregnancy had definitely done something magical to mine. Plumper. Rounder. Glowing, if I do say so myself. "Damon, the music sounds wonderful! Why don’t you take Livana out for a dance?" Grandma Isabella suggested brightly. I heard Livana chuckle softly beside her. "Grandma, I don’t really dance," she said, her voice graceful, as always. "Don’t worry, I’m a good dancer," Damon cut in with a grin I could practically hear . I glanced at Damien and raised my brows. Honestly, he was the better dancer. "You probably don’t remember it, but I did a strip dance for you during our honeymoon," Damon added casually. "Oh, come on!" Alyssa groaned from across the table. I couldn’t help myself. I turned to Tyrona, offering her my most innocent smile. "Enjoy the party," I said sweetly, watching her tug Alejandro by the arm and practically drag him away. Meanwhile, Damon and Livana were already lost in their own little world. He led her gently to the dance floor, the soft music curling around them like mist. They moved with such ease—like two people who belonged nowhere else but in each other’s arms. I glanced back as Tyrona and Alejandro exited the room. They vanished quietly, without fanfare, without a trace. Forgotten. Poof. I almost felt bad. Almost. The silence they left behind was louder than their presence. She must be burning inside. Poor Tyrona. "Wanna dance too?" Damien grinned, nudging me with his shoulder. "Babe, I only want to see you dance when we’re in the bedroom," I whispered with a wink as I reached for my fork and took a bite of the food he brought me. The garlic butter sauce melted on my tongue—rich, velvety, and warm. "Laura!" Grandma Olivia hissed sharply. "Refrain from talking like that at events like this!" Oops. "Sorry, Grandma," I whispered, biting my lip, trying not to laugh. Damien snorted beside me. I turned my head toward the dance floor again, smiling as I watched my sister. Livana looked radiant—graceful and untouchable. The Alexandrite necklace wrapped around her throat glinted under the golden chandeliers, catching the light with every turn she made in Damon’s arms. That stone suited her. Mysterious. Powerful. Beautiful. "Yeah, let’s dance," I finally said, setting down my fork. Damien stood and held out his hand. I slid off his coat and took it. He led me toward the dance floor, helping me step down carefully, ever the gentleman. He twirled me gently, one hand on my waist, the other holding mine firmly. We swayed together, in sync, like we’d danced a hundred times before. His warmth radiated through me, grounding me. Soon, more couples joined. Our grandparents too. Alyssa was dancing with David, and they even asked the DJ to switch to something a little more upbeat. The lights shifted slightly—warmer, a little more golden, more alive. The music picked up its tempo and so did our steps. I caught sight of Damon and Livana laughing together, heads close, like they were sharing an inside joke. "Don’t twerk," Damien warned teasingly, his hands rubbing up and down my sides. "Just go with the boogie." I laughed, rolling my eyes, and moved my hips just enough to tease him. Then, like shadows slipping away, Livana and Damon quietly exited the floor again. Damien leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Do you want us to go to our room?" he murmured with that devilish grin of his. "I remember... you were supposed to bring me to your bedroom." My heart skipped. I smirked. Oh, I did promise that, didn’t I?