CHAPTER 157: ICE HEART

–Livana–

I sat across from my father and Grandpa Reagan in the library of the Blackwell residence. Even without sight, I could feel their gazes on me—curious, assessing, trying to read the reason why I had summoned them.

"Your grandmother asks if you could stay at the mansion," Father began. His tone carried that same rehearsed warmth I had long grown tired of. "I know the Blackwells spoil you and Laura, but your grandmother misses you."

"Hmm." I leaned back, resting my head against the tall sofa’s curved wings. They framed me like a throne. "I would like to... but Damon is protective. And truthfully, I don’t wish to leave the residence. I have no energy to travel, and the fog in my head lingers."

"Then I’ll visit often, with your aunt," Gregory replied.

I paused. That suited me—for now. Louie had yet to bring me the evidence that would damn her for my mother’s death. Until then, silence was wiser than confession.

"Hmm." I lifted a shoulder in a dismissive shrug. "Fine with me." A sigh escaped. "And what of Carrie’s job hunting?"

Though I did not lift my gaze, I sensed my grandfather turning toward my father. The silence told me enough—Carrie remained useless.

"She’s best friends with Tyrona. Why not work with her?" My lips curved into a smirk. "Perhaps she already does—as a villain’s assistant. Suits her, doesn’t it?" My tone dripped with sarcasm.

"Carrie is doing her best, dear," Father defended her, as always.

Pathetic. I often wondered why my mother hadn’t chosen a better man to father us.

"Of course she is," I laughed lightly. Even the small effort made my head throb.

"Reagan." A familiar voice sounded from the door. "Care for a game?"

"Certainly. I’ll beat that pretty ass of yours today." Grandpa Reagan’s sudden, uncharacteristic playfulness almost made me laugh aloud. Almost. I was glad his friendship with Wilbert Blackwell had healed, even after years of bitter blood.

When they left, it was just Father and me.

"Father," I said, my tone smooth, deliberate.

"Why so formal, my dear?"

"We haven’t spoken like this in a while, have we?" I crossed my legs slowly, an empress preparing her decree.

"Yes." He sighed. "I’m sorry we all grew apart after your mother—"

"No." I blinked languidly, each motion a dagger wrapped in silk. "We grew apart long before that. In my teenage years, to be exact. You should remember. How I wish you had never been my father."

"Livana." His voice cracked with surprise.

"I knew of your infidelity even then. You were always weak, always swayed." Rising, I reached for my walking stick, each tap on the floor echoing my resolve. "I hate you, Gregory. I always have. After Mother’s death? I swore to bend this family to my will. Even if you are the man."

"Livana, wait—let’s talk about this. I’m still your father, I—"

"I decided long ago." My words were ice.

He faltered. "I think you did. I’m sorry you had to see—"

"Yes. It was disgusting."

The door creaked. Jane’s voice floated in, gentle. "Madam." She reached for my hand, steadying me.

"I’m tired," I murmured.

"I’ll take you to your room," she said softly.

"Liva." My mother-in-law’s voice called faintly from behind.

"Mom, see my father off." She must have caught the venom in my tone, for she hesitated before replying.

"Su-sure."

Jane guided me upstairs. She helped me into bed, tucking the duvet around me as my lids grew heavy.

"What of Dr. Anderssen?" I asked.

"He’ll arrive in an hour."

"Good." My eyes closed. "Check my baby’s pulse. I don’t want paracetamol, or any drug that could harm the child."

"Of course."

The cool metal of her stethoscope pressed gently against my stomach. Relief came only when I heard her confirmation.

A knock rattled the door. "Knock, knock!" Laura sang as she waltzed in, her dress fitted around her swelling belly. How quickly she grew.

"Sis, tell me the sheets are new."

"They are."

"Perfect! I’ll sleep over the whole afternoon. Deanne and Damien are busy, and Louie said he’ll drop by tomorrow." She settled beside me.

"Jane, may I borrow that?"

"Certainly." Jane handed her the stethoscope. Laura placed it against her belly and gasped. "Wow." Then she checked mine. "Mine’s louder."

"There are two in your womb, dummy." I chuckled faintly.

"You may rest now, Jane," I told her. "I’ll ping you when needed." She smiled at my raised smartwatch before leaving.

Laura returned the stethoscope to its bag. "Dad looked gloomy when he left."

"Did you speak with him?"

"Yes." She pouted. "He said he’s glad I’m strong enough to carry twins. We spoke a little, but... he left with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen on him."

"Oh." My response was flat, unbothered.

Laura chuckled. "So it’s you—the culprit who broke his heart."

I stifled the urge to roll my eyes; my headache protested.

"He deserved it. You really are the ice queen. Only Damon is immune." She giggled.

"It’s ironic," she continued. "He wanted us to respect him as father, to rule as elder of the Empire. Yet you overpowered him—took the underground business and raised it higher than he ever could. It’s as if you were born for it."

She reached for my hand, squeezing softly. My breath caught—the touch echoed a dream I couldn’t place.

"I know you’ll never forgive him," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "And you shouldn’t. He neglected us. He deserves nothing."

"Stop crying," I sighed.

She wiped her face quickly. Then, like the clingy sister she was, she crawled into my bed, curling against me. Perhaps she was tired of clinging to Damien. Either way, I let her.

I had slept for an hour before Jane woke me with a gentle touch. Dr. Anderssen had arrived.

I sat up, smoothed my hair, and made my way to the small living room attached to my chambers. The doors were closed, keeping the space cocooned and private. I could hear the soft click of metal against wood as he set his briefcase on the table, the distinct clatter of delicate instruments inside—handheld devices that smelled faintly of sterilized steel.

He sat beside me, the fabric of his coat whispering against the sofa. A cool droplet touched my left eye, then the right, before the careful gleam of his instruments followed.

"There’s a cloud in your eyes," he murmured. "It would be better to check them in the clinic."

"Or," I tilted my chin, letting my fingers graze the walking stick resting by my side, "we could bring your equipment here. The compound has space for a clinic."

"Perfect." He smiled—I could hear it in his voice. "How’s your sight?"

"More blurred than before. Likely from the ambush."

"Hmm." He nodded. "Continue with the eyedrops. I’ll coordinate with Miss Jane to arrange the setup in the compound."

"Do that." I inclined my head. "My husband seems... overly curious about my condition."

A bitter chuckle escaped him. "My neck is also wrapped in his string."

"Don’t worry," I smirked faintly. "You’ll be safe. He won’t harm you."

He looked toward Laura, whose yawn broke the air.

"Certainly," she said lazily. "That man only listens to Livana. So, Doctor, relax."

He laughed nervously, but before the air could settle, the door opened.

I didn’t need to turn. The cadence of those footsteps, the weight of that presence—it was unmistakable. Damon.

"Oh, Doctor." His tone coiled like smoke, mocking and dangerous.

"Mr. Blackwell," Anderssen replied quickly.

A low chuckle slipped from Damon’s throat. Predatory.

Laura sighed audibly. If eye-rolls had a sound, hers would have thundered.

"What is it, my husband?" I asked smoothly. "You sound as though you’re threatening Dr. Anderssen."

"Oh, I am." Out of the corner of my blurred vision, I caught the shadow of Damon’s hand pressing onto the doctor’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to unnerve.

"Damon, stop scaring him," Laura scolded, rising in an attempt to intervene.

Anderssen didn’t wait to test Damon further; he gathered his tools and excused himself swiftly.

My husband’s weight shifted closer. A moment later, he placed something soft and velvety in my palm.

"A rose," I murmured, brushing my fingers across the petals. "Black."

"Yes." His lips brushed my cheek. "Like my love for you."

He sat beside me, his presence overwhelming, as he caressed my stomach. "You have a pawn working in the compound."

"Yes." My reply was flat, unbothered. "He’s been here for years, tracing what happened to me in the past."

"I see." His hand lingered on my belly. "I must leave early. A flight to Spain—matters to attend."

"Hmm. Very well."

"I’ll miss you."

"It’s fine," I smirked. "Perhaps by the time you return, my head will have healed enough for me to ask the doctor if we can... resume."

His body stiffened.

"Livy," his voice dipped, thick with restraint, "as much as I want to blow your mind with pleasure, I have to hold back. You’re pregnant."

"Perhaps in two or three months," I mused, leaning against him. "Your body is eager. Last night... You were all over me. Did you spend three hours at the gym to clear your head afterward?"

"Darling, three hours is nothing." His laugh was low, edged with obsession. "Half my mind was already saturated with you—always you—tangled with fantasies."

A scoff nearly escaped me. My head throbbed too much for laughter.

His hands slid to my breasts, cupping, kneading, his mouth trailing soft kisses along my neck and shoulder.

"Oh, damn. These are bigger."

I let him. I wanted his touch—needed it, even. It soothed the storm inside him, and it kept his thoughts away from Dr. Anderssen.

He must never learn that I already had my eye operation.