Chapter 95: Grandpa Reagan

Chapter 95: Grandpa Reagan –Damon– I woke up earlier than I expected. And there she was—my wife. So damn beautiful. Her skin practically glowing in the soft morning light, her lips slightly parted, her body draped in exhaustion and satisfaction. Yeah, I wore her out. Of course I did. Can you blame me? I pressed a kiss to her forehead before heading to the sink to brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face—because let’s be honest, I needed to cool down before I did something that would keep her in bed all day. I pulled on a pair of jogging shorts and stepped outside, only to find Grandpa Reagan already waiting... and frowning. What a sight to ruin a morning. "Livana? Is she awake?" he asked. I grinned like the charming bastard I am. "Grandpa, it’s been two weeks since we last saw each other. Maybe we should let her sleep in?" "You rascal!" he snapped, lifting his cane like he actually intended to whack me with it. I dodged, still grinning. "We have an important meeting today, and we can’t be late! Wake her up!" he barked. "You’re such a bummer, Grandpa." "Wake her, you rascal!" "Alright, alright." I raised my hands in surrender. "I’ll wake her up." He narrowed his eyes. "Wake her and leave. Quietly." The way he said that—as if he knew what I usually did when I woke her up. Smart old man. I turned on my heel and headed back inside, grinning when I saw her sitting up in bed, naked, the sheets barely clinging to her chest. A masterpiece, framed in morning light. I closed the door quietly. "Damon?" she murmured. "Oh, yeah, baby. I’m ready for the—" "No." She cut me off coldly. Damn it. "Oh, come on!" "Robe." She stuck her hand out in my direction, not even bothering to turn her head at me. I grabbed her bathrobe and draped it over her shoulders, my fingers brushing her skin. She slipped out of bed, graceful even in exhaustion. I helped her into the robe, pulled her close, and kissed her cheek. "Good morning. I love you." She nodded. "Hmm. Go do your routine. I’ll take a bath." "I’ll join you." "No." She said coldly. "Leave." "Fine," I muttered, stealing a kiss from her lips anyway before walking out. Of course, Grandpa Reagan was standing right there, arms crossed, looking like a wartime general. How long had he been eavesdropping? "We have an hour, Livana." "Yes, Grandpa," she replied calmly. He turned and stomped off. I sighed, closed the door behind me, and headed outside to run around the villa grounds. A few laps to burn off the... energy. I spotted Francis, Kai, Logan, and Caine, all busy with their routines. Then I saw Deanne and Sophia doing yoga. Yoga? Seriously? Shouldn’t they be sparring or drop-kicking trees? Anyway. Five laps later, I stopped in my tracks. There she was. My wife. Being escorted by Grandpa to the Hummer like some damn royalty. And hell, she looked the part—wearing a deep purple dress that hugged every perfect inch of her. I swear, I forgot how to breathe. Before she could climb into the car, I ran up to her, slightly winded. "Hello, gorgeous." "I’m off to work," she said plainly. I smirked and tilted her chin, stealing another kiss. Grandpa groaned and slapped my back. "Get off her! We need to leave." "Grandpa, your blood pressure is always so high. You should try yoga." "It’s because of you! Now step away from my granddaughter!" Livana chuckled as I helped her into the Hummer, then turned and held the door open for the old man. "Stay safe, babe. You too, Gramps." Grandpa grunted. Livana gave me one of those rare, sweet smiles, and I closed the door behind them. I sighed and turned to find Deanne standing there, frowning and holding two arnis sticks. "Why are you cringing?" she asked, tossing one to me. "Am I?" I caught it mid-air. "Yeah." She rolled her eyes and smacked me—lightly—with her stick. "I just hate it. Every time you come back to the Philippines, after a few days, poof—Livana’s gone." "Stalker," she muttered. She knows. Hell, everyone knows. I stalked Livana for over a decade. Every time she came to the Philippines, she stayed just long enough to get my hopes up—then disappeared. Like clockwork. And every time? Deanne shows up... then they’re both gone. Untraceable. I followed her to the lawn, where everyone was gathered for training. "I don’t hit women," Kai said to Sophia. "Don’t be such a pussy, Kai." Logan roared with laughter, Caine chuckling beside him. I glanced at Deanne. "So, you’re going to hit me with a stick instead of talking this out?" She smirked. "You seem to know me well." I tightened my grip on the arnis stick. "Livana’s mine." "Not entirely," she said, eyes gleaming. I hate her. –Livana– Grandfather is a master of negotiation. I suspect that’s where Mother inherited her sharp mind—and where I, too, learned much of what I know. But today, I need him to serve a different purpose: to make them believe that I am not powerful. That I am merely a young woman clinging to the strength of her lineage. I need to appear weak. Harmless. The Secretary of Defense stood before us. His name? Thomas Cox, if I recall correctly. Tall, with stark white hair and a voice that carried both confidence and caution. He looked to be in his forties, though something in the way he spoke suggested decades more in experience. He bore the unmistakable features of a true American statesman. I wore my usual sunglasses and a wide-brimmed hat—not to be fashionable, but to shield the truth. It wasn’t about standing out; in fact, the opposite. I didn’t want them to know that I could still see—however limited, however flawed. These men were trained to notice the slightest detail. I had to outthink them. "I’m so pleased to finally meet you, Miss Livana," he said warmly, extending his hand. I tilted my face slightly, angling my eyes toward his chin so it would seem as though I were merely facing his voice, keeping my gaze steady and unfocused. A blind woman pretending to be blind—it was exhausting in its irony. Grandfather gently tapped my hand. "Handshake, darling." I extended my right hand, and Mr. Cox shook it with a deliberate but gentle grip. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cox," I replied smoothly. "I understand how valuable your time must be." "I like your straightforwardness," he said with a grin before turning to my grandfather. "She has your daughter’s fire." Grandfather Reagan chuckled, the sound low and knowing. We proceeded into the conference room. I removed my hat with practiced grace and laid it neatly on the table. They offered us drinks—polite, expected. I declined with a soft thank you, and my grandfather followed suit. Once we were seated, Mr. Cox wasted no time. "What we sent you was a prototype," he said, his tone firm. "Your mother built a compact but incredibly powerful device." "I see," I replied with a simple nod. "And you want it?" "You may keep it," he said. "But we believe it would be ideal for the defense systems we provide to our allied nations." I smiled faintly and removed my sunglasses, keeping my gaze just past his right earlobe. A subtle misdirection. "Mr. Cox," I began evenly, "what my mother created... was a mistake." "Livana, you misunderstand," he said, leaning forward. "This device isn’t meant to threaten other nations. Of course not. We would never use it that way. I imagine you’re opposed to such things?" "Yes," I said with calm finality. "I want no part in it. And I will not allow my company to be entangled in government affairs—ours or anyone else’s." He studied me, then nodded slowly. "You’ve spoken to our ambassador." "I have." "And yet you declined the President’s personal invitation?" "I did," I said without hesitation. "I believe there’s nothing further to discuss. The President’s time, like yours, is precious. I wouldn’t dare waste it." He turned his attention to my grandfather. A final appeal. "Reagan." "My role here is simple," Grandfather said, his voice laced with both warmth and warning. "I’m merely escorting my granddaughter. I’ve long since retired. Her decisions are her own." Mr. Cox turned back to me, his expression unreadable. "Is there anything we can offer you, Miss Livana?" I smiled, blinking slowly. "No, thank you." Then, with the clarity of a verdict, I spoke: "I will destroy the device." My words were deliberate. A promise, not a threat. "There have already been attempts on my life—on my family’s lives. Assassins, syndicates, foreign interests. The world moves quickly when something dangerous is whispered into its ear. That device has spread far more than you realize. And I will not let it live." My grandfather reached for my hand beneath the table, giving it a soft, reassuring squeeze. His silent way of saying: You’re doing perfectly fine. And I was. Because this time, I was no one’s pawn. "Your daughter worked with us before, Reagan," Thomas said, his tone diplomatic, yet persistent. "Perhaps there’s still a way we can glean something—something valuable we might use for the defense of our allied nations?" He was trying to appeal to reason. To nostalgia. Maybe even guilt. "I’ll think about it," Grandfather replied. His voice held the perfect note of contemplation. Not too eager, not too dismissive. To someone like Thomas, it might have sounded like a crack in our united front—an opening. But I knew better. We had discussed this thoroughly before coming here. Grandfather would never interfere in my business. Not anymore. Not unless I asked him to. He only said that to maintain the illusion. Because to men like Thomas Cox, a woman must appear delicate to be taken seriously. So let them see me as fragile. Let them believe I can be swayed by the gentle push of a trusted elder. It was part of the game. And I knew how to play it better than anyone.