CHAPTER 117: MOVING HER PIECES

–Livana–

I want a peaceful wedding for my sister. That means finding ways to announce it without actually announcing it. There are methods—safe, subtle methods—to slip the news only to those who need to know. But I can’t share it with the entire family. Not yet.

With Deanne and Sophia at my side, the venue will be arranged. Damien already knows how I want it handled. Damon’s mother, surprisingly, is also lending her hand. My plan is simple: set the date, arrive before anyone else, and have the wedding immediately after—swift, clean, and nearly invisible to prying eyes.

I cross my arms, mind sifting through each step like a chessboard. Every piece matters. Every move is deliberate. It’s not simply about arranging flowers and seating charts—it’s about guarding the entire family. And that is far more exhausting than any ceremony. Still, this is my sister’s wedding. It must be special.

"Want my help now?" Damon’s voice cuts into my thoughts. I turn toward him, my gaze unsteady, keeping the role of the blind Livana intact.

"Okay?" I ask, testing his tone.

"I’ll set up the venue exactly as you want." He hugs me, lips pressing to mine.

"Make sure there won’t be a traitor," I murmur.

"Yeah, sure. I promise."

"And I want Sophia and Deanne fully involved in the setup."

"Okay."

Without warning, he scoops me off the sofa.

"Now, let’s sleep and enjoy the rest of the night making love."

"We just arrived, Damon. The flight was long and—"

"It doesn’t matter, my love. If you want it, you’ll have it." I can feel his grin without seeing it. His body hums with tension, his heartbeat erratic with excitement. Is he truly this desperate after just a day without touching me?

"No," I say calmly. "I want you to take care of it now."

He stops walking but keeps heading toward the bedroom anyway. He lays me on the bed—not harshly, but with that faint edge, maybe one and a half percent of sulking force. I roll onto my side, grabbing a pillow.

"Wake me when you’re done preparing the venue. Then, we can make love."

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. I smirk.

"I’ll bathe first." I slide from the bed, one hand tracing the mattress edge until my foot finds the carpet. "Damon, tablet, please."

He turns his back to me, rummaging through my purse. I take the opportunity to glance in his direction before quickly looking away.

"Is it fully charged?" I ask.

"Yup." He hands me the heavy, custom-guarded tablet, its raised buttons designed for my fingers alone. "I’ll prepare your bath."

"With candles, please."

"Yeah, yeah."

I wait. Five minutes pass before he returns, guiding me to the bathroom. The tub is still filling, bath bomb fizzing into clouds of bubbles. He takes the tablet from me, sets it on the table beside the tub, helps me undress, and steadies me as I step in. He shuts off the water, bends to kiss me gently.

"I’ll take care of it. Enjoy your bath—I’ll join you shortly."

"Hmm," I nod, settling in as he leaves and closes the door.

I stretch one hand to the tablet, unlocking it to pull up my reports. The tracker shows every spy the U.S. has shadowing me. Not just them—Russia, China... it wouldn’t surprise me if Britain wants a piece of the game too.

They’re all searching for the same thing. They won’t believe me even if I destroy it. So I let them watch. I let them think they’re closing in. I let them grow bored.

It’s more entertaining this way—dangling the illusion of secrets while living a life so ordinary it becomes unbearable to watch.

My mother used to say: "Many will give me their attention, but the surest way to lose them is to let my life be dull." She never mentioned the second part—the one I’ve perfected—

It’s only dull if you can’t see the knife under the table.

Staying in the bath for an hour was enough to melt the weight off my shoulders. The water had done its work, loosening the knots in both body and mind. I followed it with my usual skincare routine—familiar motions my hands knew by heart—before drying my hair.

From there, I moved to the cabinet, found a chilled bottle by touch, and twisted the cap. One sip of cold water was all it took to ground me again. I slipped into a silk negligee—not for comfort, but for strategy. Seduction can be a reward, and Damon would earn his tonight... provided he completed the task I had set before him.

I wondered how long it would take him.

Checking my tablet, I saw Sophia and Deanne in transit, a helicopter already waiting at the landing site near whatever Damon had prepared. He had deployed multiple options, of course—one venue hidden beneath another, and then another. Three in total, possibly four if his mood was extravagant.

Just how wealthy is he, to scatter wedding venues like breadcrumbs?

But then again, Damien is his favorite cousin. Blood and loyalty tend to loosen the purse strings.

At some point, I drifted into sleep. My body rested, but my mind never fully surrendered; even in dreams, I was listening. Hours later, the faint sound of the door closing pulled me back to the surface. My senses sharpened instantly—habit, not paranoia.

Light steps, steady and familiar.

"Liva," he whispered, as always—his little warning so I wouldn’t put a bullet in the wrong man.

"I’ll take a bath," he added, brushing his lips against my cheek.

He smelled of flowers—thick layers of them, with a green undertone like fresh-cut grass.

"A garden?" I asked.

"Yup." He chuckled. "You better get those beauties ready for me. I’m ready to whomp-whomp you."

I cringed. Damon was many things—manly, sharp, dangerous—but sometimes, he let the strangest words fall from his lips. Words so bright and absurd they clashed with his usual dark tone. Then, just as quickly, he’d switch back to the possessive, shadowed man I knew.

It was... unnerving. And oddly charming.

–Deanne–

Three wedding venues. Not bad. A man like Damon doesn’t plan without layers. Half of his "staff" are really his men, and Livana’s placed the Bishops in position too.

I’m at the third venue—a villa perched on Damien’s private property, the ocean stretching out like a sheet of blue silk beneath it. Isolated, easy to spot an intruder. Sophia and Kai left earlier for another location.

I wonder which one they’ll choose for Laura’s day. Whichever it is, it will be breathtaking. The kind of wedding that looks stolen from a dream—a fantasy spun in silk and gold, exactly how she’s always imagined it.

They have three days to prepare. I remain here, my mind tugging toward Caine. No word from him. He’s probably on some dangerous assignment again. The thought gnaws at me.

I exhale slowly, watching the crew work. Stage being built, seating arranged, nothing left hollow or false—no space for a bomb to hide. The wedding should go smoothly. Livana will see to it. She always does. Laura and her children are untouchable—they carry the blood of Reagan and Olivia, the next line in the empire’s chain.

A lazy yawn slips from me as I stretch, and my thoughts wander where they shouldn’t—straight to Caine’s mouth, his tongue, the way he stripped away every layer of my composure that night. My first time, and yet... impossible to forget.

If I ever married, I wouldn’t mind marrying Caine. But I won’t. I’ve known him for years—since the days when every girl in middle and high school tried to orbit his gravity. A babe magnet, yes, but always a gentleman. If he asked me, I might just say yes.

And yet, the thought of binding myself to a man—any man—still turns my stomach. Kindness doesn’t erase the chains marriage can bring.

Caine is the exception. The only one who can quiet the storms in me. The only one who can make me forget... why I swore I’d never belong to anyone.

"Deanne?" A voice I know well.

I turn my head. David’s standing there from the entrance, grinning.

"Hey," I greet him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Damon asked me to join you. Said I should guard you."

I scoff. David is nothing like Damon. He’s warmer, more openly affectionate with family. Still a playboy, but raised as a family man under Aunt Ameliee’s watch.

"Deanne, can I ask you something?" His tone shifts—serious, deliberate.

I tilt my head, curious. "Yeah?"

"The Blackwell and Braxton families, along with the Carringtons, have officially announced a partnership. That includes Livana’s father."

"Hmm." I nod, letting him continue.

"I know you and Livana are close. But I’m curious..."

I make a small gesture for him to go on.

"Do you think the Carrington family might be planning something—to fracture the alliance—just after the war?"

His words hang in the air. My mind begins tracing the edges of the possibility, pulling threads together, and then I remember something I wasn’t supposed to—