CHAPTER 103: MONSTERS CRY TOO

–Laura–

I still don’t know why my sister suddenly told me to fly to the States—Las Vegas, of all places—but hey, I’m not complaining. I’m sure we’re going there to have fun... probably. Still, it made me curious. She gave strict instructions to have her men keep an eye on me. I mean, I almost got killed—twice... maybe three times? Who’s counting?

"How about this one?" Damien held up a scandalously sexy negligee, grinning like a teenage boy.

I gave him an exaggerated eye roll. "Seriously? Babe, you’re not helping. I need my autumn boots."

He rummaged through my shoe rack in my showroom. "Why do you have so many high heels? Not a single pair of flats? All of these are high-heeled autumn boots. You’re pregnant, love."

I scoffed. "Babe, I can still walk in heels. I have core strength and balance like a flamingo. Just bring them over."

"Sure," he said, clearly not convinced.

While he was off on his quest, I started checking my everyday clothes. I figured I’d pack light. Vegas has shops. A lot of shops. I’ll survive.

"What’s taking you so long?" I called out, heading into my showroom—only to find Damien wearing the boots, tiptoeing around like he was on a catwalk.

I sighed. "What are you doing?"

"What?" he said innocently. "I’m testing if they’re comfortable. If I know how they feel, I’ll know which ones to pack."

I walked over, reached for the boots I actually needed—the ones lined with fur and quality leather—and held one up for inspection.

"These have adorable inner cushions. And memory foam insoles. Like walking on clouds."

"Ohhh," he said, impressed.

"Now, kindly take them off my boots, foot model."

He chuckled, sat down, and removed them carefully, placing them back with exaggerated reverence.

"Can you tell our handsome chef to make me some bubble tea?" I asked sweetly.

"What kind?" He hugged me from behind, hands gliding over my belly.

"Fruity tea. With popping boba. Lots of ’em."

"That’s all sugar." He kissed my neck and pulled out his phone. "By the way, did you hear the news about Alejandro Madrigal?"

I paused. "Hmm? What about him?"

"He’s dead. Apparently, Damon’s shadows ended him."

"Huh. Poor guy. He was handsome," I said truthfully.

I could feel Damien frowning behind me. I smirked.

"Stop calling other men handsome in front of me." He kissed my cheek, pressing his stubble against my skin.

"Ow—see? That’s what I mean. You need to shave." I pushed him away.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Noted."

"Tell me again—why did Damon kill him?" I asked, picking out two more pairs of boots and handing them to Damien. He packed them neatly beside his shoes in the other suitcase.

"Livana got a request from the Head of the Madrigal family to have him executed," he said casually. "Turns out, the guy wasn’t a Madrigal by blood. Since the family has a no-bloodshed rule for their own, they had to outsource the kill."

My eyes widened. "Oh... that’s unfortunate." I handed him a pair of rubber shoes like we were just chatting about laundry.

"Yup. Very unfortunate," he echoed, zipping the suitcase shut with a dramatic zip like it was the period to a morbid punchline.

We’d been at this for thirty minutes when a knock came at the door.

Damien got up to open it. Our dashing young chef, Wally, stood there holding a tray like an angel from above.

"Wow," I gasped.

"Perfectly healthy for you, Miss Laura," he said with a charming smile. "And I never forget Sir Damien’s cravings either."

As he placed the tray on the table, I clapped my hands like a delighted child.

The bubble tea came in a tall glass with a lid, its bottom filled with jewel-toned popping boba like edible confetti. But that wasn’t all. There were cookies, nachos, and a glorious spinach dip on the side.

"Oh my God." I hurried over as he set it all down. "You are the god of food!" I declared as he bowed modestly.

"You’re coming with us to Vegas, Chef," Damien said. "I can’t cook every single craving this pregnant lady has."

Chef Wally chuckled. "Sounds like a vacation to me."

"I don’t know," I grinned. "Maybe when she’s asleep."

They both laughed while I rolled my eyes—my attention already fixed on the food.

"I’ll go pack," Wally said, heading for the door. But then he turned back. "Do I need to bring my knives?"

"We’ll get you a new set when we arrive. Pick anything you like," Damien winked.

"Perfect," Wally said, and left with a grin.

Damien joined me at the table. I sipped my fruit tea and smiled as the popping boba burst joyfully in my mouth.

"This is perfect," I murmured. I glanced at Damien, noticing the faint dark circles under his eyes. "Babe, you need a skincare routine. You’re looking exhausted—probably from taking care of me and the company."

He smiled softly. "I’d do it for the rest of my life."

My heart melted. He’s my husband. My best friend. My midnight snack partner. The guy who springs out of bed at the sound of me vomiting, who rushes to my side when I feel dizzy, who carries me like a feather when I’m too tired to move.

"Thank you, Damien," I said quietly.

"You don’t have to thank me."

"Damn, I’m lucky."

"And I’m the most blessed man on earth," he replied, grinning.

"I can’t win against your sweet-talk," I said, shaking my head as I admired his cheerful, gorgeous face.

"Nope. You really can’t." He winked.

We ate in warm silence, with occasional hums and crunches. Chef Wally really knew how to please a pregnant woman’s heart. He worked full time for us, constantly experimenting with new dishes and pastries—and I was always the first to taste-test everything. That might explain why I gained a little weight. Thankfully, my metabolism still runs on overdrive. Fingers crossed my gown still fits.

"About Alejandro Madrigal’s death..." I began thoughtfully. "I wonder how Tyrona’s taking it."

"She’s probably furious."

I nodded. But honestly? I didn’t have to worry about that. My sister handles things like that. She made it clear she didn’t want me involved in anything dangerous. And frankly, I agreed. That kind of drama doesn’t belong anywhere near my company.

We always have contingency plans, anyway.

–Tyrona–

They killed him.

My handsome Alejandro. That bastard is useless to me now. And yet... he gave me everything I asked for—properties, jewelry, connections. All the pieces I needed. But still... it hurts.

I didn’t love him. I never loved him. And yet, there’s this dull ache in my chest, deep and unexpected. Like something important slipped through my fingers before I even realized I was holding it.

My plan—our plan—is unraveling. Just like that.

Without Alejandro, I’ll never become part of the Madrigal family. And as it turns out, he wasn’t even one of them by blood. A fake. A placeholder. A charming imposter.

But I always have a backup.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand and stared at the velvet box on my vanity. Inside it sat the rare pink diamond—his planned proposal to me. He never got to kneel, but the certificate already had my name on it. Typical Alejandro. Lavish. Bold. Possessive in all the right ways.

A playboy? Absolutely. His eyes constantly wandered, especially toward the Carrington sisters. But I know I had his heart. Even if he had lust for others, I was the one he always came home to.

I slid the ring onto my left finger. It fit perfectly. A soft gleam from the window hit the stone, scattering fractured rainbows across the room. Pink diamond, white gold band. Delicate yet powerful. Inside the band, his engraved words caught my attention. I traced them with my thumb.

I couldn’t read them right now. Not without falling apart.

A soft knock interrupted the silence, followed by the slow creak of the door opening. I quickly wiped my tears.

My mother stepped in, her expression as heavy as my heart. She was holding an orange paper bag.

"This came under your name," she said softly, her voice laced with restrained grief. "The Madrigal family wanted you to have all of the purchases he made for you in advance."

Behind her, the maids entered, arms full of bags—designer, exclusive, luxurious. All his final gifts. All delivered post-mortem.

I reached for the one my mother held, my fingers trembling. I opened the box and gasped quietly. The dust bag was different.

I knew what it was.

I slipped it out carefully: an obsidian black Hermès Kelly bag with platinum hardware. The one I wanted. Not the one he gave me a few months ago—this was the exact model, color, and finish I had once mentioned in passing.

He remembered.

He listened.

The tears came again, hard and fast.

I clutched the bag against my chest like it was the last trace of him I had left, and I sobbed—hysterical, guttural, shameful sobs. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve me—a woman who used him, manipulated him, treated his love like a tool.

But he still gave it to me.

He cared.

He loved me.

And I... I—

They killed him.

Livana killed him.

And I won’t forget that.

I don’t care if she was just the hand that held the blade. I will tear down everything she has—her legacy, her comfort, her illusions of safety. One crack at a time.

I’ll make her feel what it’s like to lose something... something you didn’t realize mattered until it was already gone.