Chapter 94: The Devil in Tuxedo

Chapter 94: The Devil in Tuxedo –Sophia– We still haven’t figured out how to kill him—Alejandro Madrigal, I mean. But then my boss showed up in Kentucky, and just arrived yesterday. I honestly thought she wouldn’t go through with her plan. She always throws us off. Always so damn unpredictable. Right now, I’m in my dazzling gown, arm-in-arm with Logan, attending whatever gala my boss decided we had to crash. I turned my head to look at Logan—clean, polished, and annoyingly handsome from head to toe. He even slicked his hair back and styled it with wax, like one of those absurdly perfect tycoons in a fantasy romance novel. "Stop staring at me," he said, smirking, "or you’ll fall too hard." I grinned, sauntered closer, and flirtatiously adjusted his bowtie. "Please," I scoffed. "Bro, you don’t attract me like that." Then my eyes drifted past him—aaaand what the actual hell? Another unexpected pair. Caine and Damon? What the hell are they doing in Kentucky? Damon. That devil in a tux. Too handsome. Too smooth. Which obviously means: danger. And there’s Caine, all suave and effortless, casually mingling with people like he owns the room. But where the hell is Livana? Does she even know her husband is here? "What?" Logan followed my gaze and turned his head. His brows lifted. "Seriously?" "I don’t think Livana has a clue," I muttered. "It’s her first gala after three years of being locked away in that mansion. She’s gonna steal the spotlight faster than her husband drops panties with a smile." Damon hadn’t noticed us yet. Logan and I blended in well enough. But he? He was a goddamn celebrity. The crowd was already buzzing around him like bees to honey. "The Queen has arrived," a voice announced in our wireless earpieces. "Copy that," I said under my breath, turning toward the grand entrance. And there she was—Livana didn’t come alone. Her grandfather, Reagan Braxton, was with her. Deanne trailed closely on the other side. She held her purse in one hand and her walking stick in the other, with Reagan guiding her forward like the world itself was parting for her arrival. "Who is that?" a woman behind us whispered. "Is she new here?" murmured another. "Wow... she’s gorgeous," one of the men muttered, awe thick in his tone. "That’s Livana Braxton-Carrington. She’s blind," someone informed them. "Oh, damn. Still don’t care... I want her," one of the fuckboys said. I rolled my eyes so hard they almost fell out of my head. I glanced at Logan—he was already shooting daggers their way. And then Damon—without anyone even saying a word to him—sensed her. Of course, he did. He always does. He turned, excused himself politely, and made his way toward his wife before anyone else could even think about it. I took a sip of my champagne and smirked. Grandpa Reagan looked just as surprised to see him. Damon greeted the old man with a bow, gently pressing his forehead to Reagan’s knuckles in that respectful mano po gesture. Then he took Livana’s left hand, kissed her knuckles... and then kissed her lips. "He really didn’t know she’d be here," Logan murmured beside me. From behind us: "Wait, she’s married?" "To Damon Blackwell?" "Lucky bastard." I rolled my eyes again. But, ugh. I had to agree. The man really was lucky. Too damn lucky to have Livana. "But wait—who’s that sexy woman with her?" I spun around and narrowed my eyes. "That’s Dee," I said flatly. "She’s a lesbian." I made sure my voice carried. The message was clear. I wasn’t about to let them start sexualizing Deanne. One more word, and I swear—I’ll personally cut off their dicks. They looked away—embarrassed. Good. –Livana– My husband is in Kentucky? That’s... very unfortunate. I had other plans after the gala. Getting stuck in a hotel room or in our rented villa with him wasn’t one of them. Besides, Grandpa needs full protection and constant attention. Then again, I’m blind—technically, I don’t have to be the one doing that. Truthfully? It’s harder to pretend to be blind than to be actually blind. "Wow, it’s fate," Damon whispered in my ear. I grinned. "What are you doing here?" I asked calmly as his hand brushed along my exposed back. "Business," he replied with a grin. "Grandpa, I think there are more people who want to speak with our dear Liva here." "I expected that," Grandpa Reagan responded, his voice warm. "Let’s take a seat first, my dear." He patted my hand gently and began guiding me toward our table. We didn’t even reach our seats before the gala host approached us. She was radiant in a flowing silver gown, her demeanor bubbly and charming. Her eyes landed on mine—too directly—but I stared past her with practiced vacancy, as I should. "Miss Liva! Mr. Braxton! It’s truly an honor to have your presence here. I am Micah," she greeted brightly. I smiled in the way one does at a corporate meeting—poised, businesslike. Grandpa took the lead in speaking. "The pleasure is ours, Micah," he said, and I felt him shift slightly toward me. "I must say, the sentiment is mutual," I added, extending my hand—not perfectly aimed, of course. She adjusted, took it, and squeezed warmly. She was still smiling far too wide. "You are gorgeous. Truly gorgeous," she said, clearly mesmerized. I chuckled softly. "I’m sure you are, too." "Please," she gestured toward our table. And there he was again—Damon. My dangerously handsome husband in that fitted midnight tuxedo, being his usual clingy self. His fingers trailed lightly against my bare back. Irritating. I reached for his hand, releasing Grandpa’s arm as I leaned slightly toward him. "Go and do your job," I muttered through gritted teeth. His lips curled into a playful smile. "Baby, it’s been a week since we last saw each other. A week? Or two?" I slid my left hand up his chest, letting my fingers trace the line of his neck, grazing my nails lightly over Adam’s apple. "Damon," I whispered with a sigh, "I’ve been working my ass off and cleaning up everyone’s mess." "Me too," he purred, his voice low and teasing. "How about a spa after this event?" "When I say cleaning up, I mean paperwork. Endless. Relentless. Paperwork." He clicked his tongue, clearly unimpressed by the unglamorous truth. "Okay, okay!" he laughed, gently pulling me along and helping me into the seat next to Grandpa. "Dear, I believe they’re eager to speak with you," Grandpa noted with a chuckle. I exhaled. "Damon can handle that. Deanne said he’s been quite chatty with the women earlier." "Oof. Jealous much?" he teased, clearly entertained. But I only dismissed his comment as the event started. **** The gala itself wasn’t all that eventful—but my appearance alongside Grandpa certainly caused a stir. A calculated surprise. As expected, the assassins aiming for me failed. My pawns? Every one of them was working at this event, blending in flawlessly. Flexible, resourceful, obedient. Later, we arrived at the villa we’d rented—or more accurately, an Airbnb. Damon, who had originally booked a room in a nearby hotel, moved in with us. I knew the moment I saw him that rest would no longer be part of the evening. But there was an upside. He scrubbed my entire body in the bath—meticulously. Massaged my soles, my calves... and, naturally, it all ended in another round of relentless lovemaking. And who was I to stop him? Yes, I was aroused. But him? He was insatiable—like he’d been holding back for months. His arms wrapped tightly around me while I leaned over the table, both of us completely bare. He moved with purpose, and though I could feel his climax nearing, I didn’t want it to end. I wanted more. He kissed my hair, then my lips. "I’m done," I whispered and pushed him away gently. As much as I wanted more, I needed rest. "Okay," he said softly, lifting me into his arms and placing me on the bed. He grabbed the damp towel from the bedside table and wiped me clean. My face, my chest, between my legs—gentle, methodical. "Sleep. Because tomorrow, we’ll be having an intense workout," he teased with a grin. I laughed quietly. He leaned down, catching my lips in a kiss. I instinctively deepened, whispering his name as I pulled him closer. Then he pulled back. "I know you missed me," he said with a smug smile. "Whatever, Damon." "I love you. And I love making love to you," he whispered, tucking the duvet over me like I was made of glass. Yeah. I need to rest. He can do whatever he wants afterward. I turned to my left side, eyes drifting toward his tuxedo on the floor. Midnight blue. Sharp, tailored. His hair was perfectly styled. He really was captivating—no wonder women gawk at him, dropping into suggestive poses and practically offering their chests like balloons at a fair. I shouldn’t think about those things. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. I only married him because he’s useful. Right? But I have to admit... he’s like a demon disguised as a devastatingly gorgeous man in a suit.