Chapter 89: The Queen’s Command

Chapter 89: The Queen’s Command –Damon– I love watching my wife’s eyes roll back as she comes—utterly consumed, entirely mine. I love it when she dominates me, when her body commands and my soul obeys. But what I love most is when her gaze locks with mine. I don’t know if she can see or not—honestly, I don’t care. I meet her gaze anyway, holding it, pretending we’re staring deep into each other’s eyes. She has the most unique eyes—violet, deep, haunting. Like stormy amethyst stones. I could get lost in them. I want to get lost in them. Forever. "Wow," I chuckled when I caught her getting dressed. Right on schedule. Same time. Same date. For four years now. Yesterday was her father’s anniversary with his second wife. And today? We’re back in the same hotel room where we first made love. Coincidence? No. I made the reservation myself. But the day and time? 8:30 a.m.—the exact minute she walked out after our one-night stand. The same day she was attacked. I remember every detail. Every second. Because those memories—those specific, vicious memories—are tattooed into my brain like scars. Permanent. Bleeding. At first, it was the best damn thing that ever happened to me—her. Us. The way she clung to me, the way our bodies spoke in rhythm. I had never felt that alive. She was fire, and I let myself burn in her. But when the sun rose... When I opened my eyes and she was gone... I managed to catch up with her—but it was too late to stop the attack, too late to save her sight. I shattered. I almost lost my mind. It felt like something vital was ripped from me. That morning didn’t just haunt me—it transformed me. From that moment on, I knew: I’d never let her out of my reach again. Not ever. Not even fate gets to touch her without going through me. "Is this a remake of our one-night stand?" I asked, watching her slip into her dress like a dangerous goddess. She paused, then extended her hand to search for her purse. I beat her to it, pulling out a wad of cash. "I had this ready just in case," I teased. She tilted her head toward my voice. "Am I facing you now?" "Yup." I leaned back on the headboard, memorizing her all over again. Black dress. Hair tied. No makeup. Just sunscreen and that unfair, natural beauty. She tossed the cash at me. I caught it, laughing. "Where are you going?" I asked. "Conference outside." "Don’t go out. Wait for me." I stood and gathered the money. Then pulled her down to sit on the bed. "Brush your teeth and take a bath," she said simply. "Okay, I’ll hurry." I bent down and kissed her—soft, possessive. Fear tugged at me. She was attacked once. And now, with Benjamin in the Philippines, and Tyrona tangled with the Mexican Heir Syndicate... anything could happen. I washed quickly, brushed, dressed in jeans and a crisp shirt. Slipped the cash back into her purse and slid into loafers. She was already in her sunglasses. I held her hand and carried her purse in the other. We went downstairs. Jane was already waiting, with three more bodyguards. I never took chances with her safety. Not anymore. "Where’s your meeting?" I asked. "Secluded area. You don’t have to go." I walked her to the car. "Can I go?" I asked. "No." She turned, sliding her hand up my chest, fingers tracing my throat, to my cheek. "Be a good boy and do your work." "I will." I kissed her again. She kissed me back. Jane helped her into the car. I handed over her purse. "Love, call me, okay?" She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. I watched the car disappear into the street, two armed men trailing behind on motorbikes. "It’s adorable for a husband to see his wife off to go shopping or work," a voice murmured behind me. I turned and found Grandpa Edward, cane in hand, approaching with slow, deliberate steps. "Grandpa," I greeted, smiling. "Good morning." "I hope you’re not like your father—or her father," he muttered. I chuckled. "Come on, Grandpa. You know I’m nothing like them. I’m crazy about Livana. You’ve seen it." He groaned, narrowing his eyes. "Crazy? You mean the kind of crazy where I was called into her school dozens of times because of your bullying?" "Not bullying. Admiration. I protected her. From the real bullies." "Hmph. You were the problem," he grumbled. I gently took his arm and gestured toward the breakfast hall. "I just love her," I said earnestly, lowering my voice. "If you could only see how adorable she looks when she’s angry..." He scoffed. "Idiot." I laughed heartily. Let him grumble. Let the world judge. I’ll take it all, if it means I get to love her like this. Unapologetically. Obsessively. Forever. –Livana– I inhaled slowly, the air perfumed with the faint traces of black orchid and burning sandalwood from the incense across the room. My fingertips pressed lightly against my temple, tracing slow, deliberate circles. These bastards were giving me a headache—not just the Americans. The disease was spreading—political greed, foreign desperation. Now several governments were clawing at my mother’s legacy, unaware of the catastrophe they flirted with. What she built... it could tilt the balance of power. Topple regimes. Turn mere countries into empires. It must be destroyed. But first, I need to find the remaining prototypes. "Jane," I said softly, hearing the subtle rustle of fabric as she turned. "Yes, miss?" "Call Bernard. I need him to do something for me." She hesitated. The air shifted—nerves. "But... what if he betrays you?" "He can try," I exhaled, letting the words drip like venom. "He’s being watched. Every breath, every blink. He just doesn’t know it yet." "What do you want him to do?" she asked. "Prepare for his departure to Russia. I need the prototype the Federal Security Service is hiding. And when he finds it... we destroy it." Jane nodded silently. I could hear her pulse quicken—just slightly. The scent of her lavender lotion wafted past me as she moved. Then came another set of heels—sharper, more arrogant in sound. Miss Faux. America’s hurricane in heels. Always on time. Always dressed like war was a fashion show. "Miss Faux," I murmured. "Yes, my queen." I could almost taste her presence—chilled mint, soft leather, a whisper of rouge. Tight bun, cat-eye glasses, pencil skirt drawn over wide hips like a second skin, and those Louboutin stilettos clicking in precise rhythm. Dominance wrapped in elegance. "I need you to assist Jane with Bernard’s documents." "As you wish," she purred, fingers tapping rapidly across her digital tablet. "Should we give him a new identity? Perhaps even a new face?" I tilted my head. "Hmm. Let’s not make him too handsome. He gets cocky when he feels attractive." She laughed, sultry and low. I could feel her smile. I liked her—her loyalty, her style, her mind sharper than her heels. Women like her were rare: gorgeous, cunning, lethal. "And the President of the United States," she continued, "still insists on meeting with you." I let out a soft, amused laugh. "No. They’ve likely seen my face online already—those filtered images people obsess over. But no. I’m far too introverted... and honestly, I despise pompous handshakes." Miss Faux chuckled. "Understood. Such men are beneath you anyway." "Mm," I hummed in agreement. She stepped closer. "By the way, where’s Logan?" "Hmm..." I paused, tilting my head slightly, pretending to search the dark corners of my memory. "I... might’ve sent him to Sophia. Or perhaps gave him something else to do? I forget. He’s useful when he’s busy." "If you remember, do let me know." "I will," I replied. Though truthfully, I wasn’t worried. Logan always returned—bruised, bloodied, or grinning, depending on the day. Either way, I owned his loyalty... and his silence. The world was tilting, and the balance was mine to tip. Quietly. Elegantly. Permanently. –Tyrona– I followed her. Like a shadow stitched into her silhouette. Wherever Livana moved, I wasn’t far behind. I had to know what she was hiding—what little secrets slithered behind that blindfold of hers. Whether she was backed by the American government or had her hands curled around their throats, it didn’t matter. If she flipped the balance of power... it would be the end of my empire. Everything I built—every transaction, every synthetic serum, every body I owned and sold—depended on control. And Livana? She’s the one variable I can’t calculate. The one queen piece I didn’t place on the board. The Madrigals and I had just sealed the latest shipment—flawless girls with vacant eyes, born to serve and die in silence. And the drugs? Oh, the drugs—my latest masterpiece. Refined. Potent. Experimental. I was about to test them on the subjects from Belarus, and yet... here I was. Chasing her. Again. "Darling, stop frowning," Alejandro murmured, his mouth grazing my neck. He nuzzled me like a bored pet. I pushed him gently, not out of affection—but because his neediness irritated me tonight. "My love, please," I muttered, my eyes glued to the black car ahead. "I must know what Livana is trying to hide." "You’re getting obsessed with her," he sighed dramatically, like my paranoia was inconvenient. "We didn’t even have proper lovemaking last night." I scoffed, "That woman slept in the same goddamn room where she and Damon screwed—while he was still engaged to me. Does that not sound sick to you?" "Didn’t you say Damon’s obsessed with her?" Alejandro chuckled darkly. "Of course he’d reserve that room. The man’s deranged. Dangerous. He’d skin the world for her if she asked him sweetly." I bit my nail and glared through the tinted window. "We lost them," I growled. Panic. Rage. Frustration. "Send out our men. Now." "Damn—traffic!" my driver hissed, slamming the wheel. And just then, I noticed them. Two bulky motorcycles, dressed in civilian leather but riding too neatly—too intentional. They weren’t ordinary commuters. They were blocking us. "Baby, do something," I snapped, smacking Alejandro’s thigh. "They’re intercepting us." Without a word, he pulled out his phone. Calm. Almost bored. Typical. He scrolled quickly, then barked into the receiver, "Livana’s car—black Bentley, license 5—6—F—Victor. Pull satellite. Cut traffic cams. Find a back route or force a stall. Get it done." I licked my lips, seething. The heat of fury rising under my skin like wildfire. Livana thinks she’s untouchable—so poised, so elegant, so damn mysterious. Everyone sees her as a blind goddess playing chess while we claw in the mud. But I’ll rip the blindfold off her eyes. And I’ll make her see exactly who she’s dealing with. Even if I have to destroy everything... just to watch her burn.