CHAPTER 109: GODDESS IN SILK, DEMON IN LOVE

–Laura–

I had anticipated Tyrona would make an appearance here tonight. A woman like her doesn’t step into a club like this without purpose—her presence was a declaration of war. Revenge, served over neon lights and throbbing music. We didn’t bother acknowledging her. Or rather, we dismissed her entirely. My husband? A man like Damon wouldn’t give someone like Tyrona a second glance. Not when he already belonged to me—completely. And if, by some twisted whim, he ever dared look elsewhere? I wouldn’t mind.

He would simply pay the price.

It might sound cruel, even delusional, but I’ve always held the reins. From the very beginning, it was my game.

Tyrona’s gaze burned from across the room. I could feel it slicing through the haze of perfume, sweat, and low-lit seduction. Still, I kept the illusion they all believed—I remained blind. Unbothered. Untouchable.

My hand rose slightly, delicate and intentional, and my husband, ever attentive, met it with his. I turned toward him, my face tilting to the left where he sat. He leaned closer, lowering his head to mine. I rested gently against his shoulder and stared in Tyrona’s direction. Our eyes met.

Hers widened.

She wasn’t expecting that. But I kept my face soft, unreadable. A vacant gaze, empty of knowing. Let her doubt it. Let her wonder.

Damon’s hand slid along my exposed back, warm and possessive, his fingers trailing down like silk on bare skin.

"Are you sleepy?" he murmured, voice low and comforting, thick with unspoken promises. "We can leave."

"Let the show finish," I replied smoothly. "Laura and the girls are still enjoying themselves."

"Uhuh."

I shifted slightly, but he tugged me gently, pulling me onto his lap. I let my head rest against his chest like a child seeking warmth. His heartbeat thrummed beneath my cheek—steady, grounding. But when I pressed my palm against him, I felt a sudden change in rhythm.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath. "You smell... intoxicating."

From the stage, the lights pulsed in shifting color—lavender, crimson, electric blue. Music boomed low and slow, like a heartbeat dragged through velvet. Someone—Mom—whooped in delight, and I turned my head in the general direction of the commotion.

Grandma Olivia was onstage, twirling with the male dancers like she owned the damn club.

"I didn’t hear Laura," I mumbled, pretending to scan the sounds.

"She’s snuggled up to Damien," Damon chuckled, the sound vibrating through my body. "Probably exhausted from all the screaming."

"And Deanne?" I asked.

"She’s quiet. Guess this isn’t her scene."

"Maybe we should call Caine. He can dance, right?"

Damon laughed—deep, wicked, a sound only I was meant to feel.

My gaze, vacant and unseeing, floated toward Tyrona again. She was still watching. Still trying to crack the code.

"Is Tyrona still here?" I asked, tone casual.

He turned his head. "Yeah. Don’t mind that bitch."

He picked up his martini, sipping like none of this meant anything to him. But I knew better.

The minutes melted together, stretched by bass lines and artificial fog. After what felt like thirty minutes, we finally left. We were all tired—except the boys, who walked out like conquering kings. Grandpa reached out to Grandma Olivia, taking her hand like they’d just come from a quiet film instead of a strip show.

"Did you enjoy it, dear?" he asked softly.

"Very much, love. You?"

"It was good."

Their simplicity made me smile. Then I saw Laura, limp in her fiancé’s arms, carried like she weighed nothing.

We didn’t take the Hummer this time. A sleek, unfamiliar car pulled up to the curb—deep black with midnight-tinted windows. One of Bishop’s men stepped out from the driver’s seat as Sophia waved.

Smart move.

Since Tyrona’s men had already seen us arrive in the Hummer Limo, they’d likely tampered with it or worse. I wouldn’t put anything past her. But this time, the game belonged to us.

We slipped inside the black limousine bus, cool leather interior cocooning us in safety and shadow. Instead of heading straight home, we drove around the city—laughing, reminiscing, like war hadn’t brushed past us hours earlier.

"I heard Tyrona’s occupying the unit below," Sophia yawned, stilettos dangling from her fingertips.

I kept my gaze forward—steady, vague, vacant.

"Interesting." I smirked. "We can’t invite her to dinner, can we?"

"Well... after everything, that would be... awkward," Mom Amiliee replied gently, adjusting the stroller beside her.

"Liva!" A familiar voice lit me up like dawn.

"Alyssa?"

"Yes! I can’t go to strip clubs, but I had fun playing with Choco!" she chirped, holding my hand tightly. "Where should we go tomorrow?"

"Hmm." I shrugged. "Do you have a list ready?"

"Yup! I’ll make one!"

Damon scooped me up again—effortless. Like I was weightless in his arms.

"Tomorrow!" I called back as Alyssa muttered playful complaints behind us.

Then, the softness of a mattress. His weight pressed against mine. His lips brushed the curve of my neck, and I sighed.

"I’m so horny," he growled. "Why the hell did we drive around? Should’ve asked for another car."

I giggled, sliding my hand along his waist. "I want you now," I whispered.

And just like that, he snapped.

"Let’s get loud."

I smacked his chest lightly. "Close the damn door. Let’s not wake the others."

He pulled away, footsteps retreating. Then—click. The door shut.

He returned, stripping. I felt his fingers hook around both ankles, peeling off the layers. I lay there, relaxed, drifting on the edge of exhaustion and desire.

The bed cradled me, but I knew sleep would have to wait.

Tonight, I wanted Tyrona to hear us.

Let it tear her apart.

–Damon–

She was half-asleep, barely conscious—yet I would never waste a moment like this.

That silky dress? Goddamn. It clung to every perfect curve of her body like it was tailored by the Devil himself to tempt me. Her skin shimmered against the fabric, glowing under the low light, flushed and soft from the pleasure I had just given her.

Her breath caught, her voice barely a whisper, hoarse from the moaning, from the squirts that left her trembling and utterly undone. I didn’t stop until I was buried in her—deep, to the very end—planting our future inside her. Securing it. Marking it.

Still, I wouldn’t leave her like that. She deserved more than release—she deserved reverence. Worship.

I kissed her softly, her lazy moans drifting through the room. Her fingers brushed along my arm, weak but affectionate. Then she turned her head, her lashes fluttering shut. She slept like an angel... no. Not an angel. Angels are meek. She was something divine. A Goddess wrapped in sin and silk.

I pulled out gently and undressed her with care, like peeling the petals off a flower. I draped the sheet over her, shielding her from the chill, from the world. Then I stepped into the bathroom to play the part I’ve perfected—the devoted husband after the storm of love.

Fresh towel. Warm basin. Her facial cleanser. I wiped away the glittering remnants of makeup, then moved down, cleaning her slowly, intimately, even between her thighs—tender as if she were porcelain. Fragile. Sacred.

Once she was clean, I dressed her in soft pajamas. She curled into the pillows like a child, peaceful.

I took a quick shower, dressed, and stepped out of the bedroom—only to find Caine with his tongue halfway down Deanne’s throat on the living room sofa.

I crossed my arms, suppressing a smirk. "Well, well... someone finally grew a pair."

Caine jerked back like he’d been electrocuted. Deanne rolled her eyes and shoved him away before lying down as if nothing happened.

"Wait... is she drunk?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and examining Deanne’s face.

"She is. And it’s insulting, really," Caine muttered. "She only kisses me when she’s drunk. I feel... deeply undervalued."

I laughed. Loud. Cruel. "That woman wouldn’t fuck you sober, and you know it."

I slapped his back hard enough to sting and made my way to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone shifting from sulky to suspicious.

"Hmm," I hummed, slipping my hand into my pocket. "Thought I’d check on Tyrona."

His brows drew tight. "You’re not... going to cheat on your wife, are you?"

I scoffed. "Don’t insult me. Why would I cheat on my goddess?"

I took out my Swiss knife and inspected the blade—sharp, clean, just the way I like it.

Caine’s face drained. "No. No. You are not going to kill her."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re not supposed to spill blood here. Especially not in a foreign country."

I sighed. Deeply.

The itch in my bones wouldn’t go away. I needed to end Tyrona. The thought of her breathing the same air as Laura—it kept me up. She was a threat. Not just to Livana anymore, but now to her sister. Livana’s only sister. And anything that threatens Laura?

Dies.

Killing Tyrona would bring my wife a bit of peace. A gift. Before we move on to dismantling her aunt and that smug little cousin.

"Damon?" I turned at the sound of her voice, soft and sleepy, coming from the staircase.

"Babe, don’t come down!" I rushed to her, meeting her halfway, scooping her into my arms like she weighed nothing.

"I’m thirsty. And hungry," she mumbled, burying her face in my neck.

I carried her down without a second thought.

"Were you talking to someone?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. Just Caine," I said, casting a side-eye toward him. "Caught him making out with Deanne."

She giggled, warm and unbothered.

"You shouldn’t ruin the moment."

I glanced at Caine again, who shook his head like a disappointed older brother watching me about to commit war crimes with a smile.

Right. I can’t kill Tyrona.

Yet.

But the day will come. And when it does?

I’ll make sure she hears me coming.