CHAPTER 176: HER DARK PLAN

–Livana–

My father was bailed out and arrived in the afternoon. The moment he saw me, he rushed forward, fell to his knees, and reached for my hand—his trembling fingers brushing mine like a sinner clutching for salvation.

"Please... forgive me." His voice cracked. He pressed his lips to my hand, desperate. "I’m sorry, Livy..."

I stared down at him, my face an unbroken mask of calm. There is no forgiveness for him. Not now, not ever. If Mother were here to tell me to forgive, I might have listened. But she’s dead—and with her death, forgiveness was buried too.

"Are you on your knees?" I asked, my tone as level as a blade balanced on its edge.

"Yes."

"Get up. Even if you kneel for an entire year, I won’t forgive you." My words were soft, almost kind—but frozen to the core.

"What can I do?" he asked, voice trembling. "Tell me, Livana. Please."

A faint smile curved my lips. I tilted my head slightly, letting my eyes fall where I imagined his outline to be. Acting blind had its advantages. People revealed more when they thought you couldn’t see their shame.

"Divorce her," I said smoothly. "Then testify."

He froze. I could feel his hesitation in the silence that followed, the air thickening like coagulating blood.

"It’s fine if you can’t," I murmured, withdrawing my hand. I lifted it slightly to my right, where Damon’s warmth instantly met it—steady, protective, possessive. "I’ll find other ways to keep her in that cell."

I knew Carrie was listening nearby, her breathing uneven. She might not have accepted everything yet, but deep inside, she knew. She knew her mother was a murderer.

"I’ll do it," Father finally whispered.

"Dad, please!" Carrie’s sobbing broke through the tension.

"Damon," I said quietly, "let’s go home."

"Yes, my love." Damon’s voice was composed, his hand guiding me toward the main door.

"Grandpa, Grandma," I said, pausing by them. "Take care of yourselves, alright? I’ll be checking on you through the nurses."

"Take care, dear," Grandpa replied, voice soft and weary. Damon’s hand rested on the small of my back as he led me outside, his touch grounding me against the whisper of the cold air.

The hummer door opened with a mechanical hiss. Damon helped me in, arranging pillows around me. I could hear the soft rustle of documents being loaded by the staff—the sound of evidence and retribution.

"Liva, can I visit you?" my father asked before Damon shut the door.

"I’ll think about that," I replied evenly. Damon finally closed it, then rested his palm over mine.

"Where to?" he asked quietly.

"To my mother’s mansion."

He nodded. "Okay."

The drive took an hour and a half—an ocean of silence broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional whisper of the tires over gravel. When we arrived, I headed directly to my mother’s study. The scent of aged wood and faint perfume lingered there, like her ghost. Choco’s nails clicked softly against the marble floor as he followed me.

I used my walking stick, tracing the familiar path. Once inside, I shut the door. I bent down, unclasped Choco’s collar, then reopened the door and tossed it outside.

"Babe!" Damon’s voice carried concern from the hallway.

I ignored it. My hand found the edge of my desk—smooth, cold—and I sat. I opened my computer, the faint mechanical hum greeting me. On the screen, I checked the footage of my laboratory. The images were grotesque, yet fascinating: human flesh crafted by science. Clones, imperfect bodies—different skin tones, no faces, no souls. Just vessels waiting to be filled.

Now, besides Logan, I needed someone else to oversee it. Someone I trusted—or someone I could control. Sophia and Deanne were loyal, yes, but their talents belonged to accounting and the recovery of Casey’s hidden assets.

I closed the laptop with a click and slid it into the vault.

I walked downstairs again, Choco padding beside me. Damon intercepted me halfway, his body radiating heat. He was wearing an apron over a white tank top—his scent a mix of fish, garlic, and warmth. Irresistibly domestic.

"So," he said lightly, "are you done with work? Can we eat now? I made something delicious for you."

His tone carried pride, maybe a little need for approval. I allowed myself a small smile.

He led me to the dining table; I could hear the clinking of plates, the faint bubbling of sauce, the whisper of a knife against a board. Chef Wally was nearby, moving with precision.

"Smells delicious," I said. Damon chuckled and hugged me from behind, his lips brushing my cheek and temple, kissing me like a man addicted to the taste of his sin.

We sat together—Damon, Chef Wally, Jane, and I. The air was warm with laughter and the aroma of seared fish. Still, my thoughts drifted to Laura. I wondered if she was safe at the Carrington residence. I hoped so.

"By the way," Damon said, gently rubbing my back, "it’s David’s birthday tomorrow."

"You forgot, didn’t you?" I teased.

He laughed. "Yeah."

"I already prepared gifts for him. Where will it be held?"

"At our hotel. Close friends and business partners only."

"I see."

"Are we going?" he asked.

"Of course. He’s your brother," I said smoothly, savoring the tenderness of his meal. "Which dish did you prepare?"

"The smoked tuna."

I nodded approvingly. "It’s juicy. I approve."

He grinned—I could feel it, not see it. His excitement was palpable.

"Then maybe," I mused, "it’s time Chef Wally takes his first tour. How about Japan?"

"Woah!" Chef Wally gasped.

"I know you’re already skilled with sashimi and knife work," I continued.

"It’s not perfect yet," Wally admitted, his excitement growing.

"Then travel. Go to the rural areas. Learn whatever you wish."

"But who’ll cook for you, madam?" Damon interjected playfully.

"You," I said simply.

"Oh." He paused.

"From snacks to meals."

"Okay!" he said, half-nervous, half-ecstatic.

"But I’m here to attend to your other needs too," Jane cut in with a dry tone.

"Oh, about that," I said, tapping my utensil against my plate. "I have something to ask of you, Jane. It might take months."

"Wow, you’re taking Jane?" Damon asked, sounding uncertain.

"You’ll be a house husband," I replied smoothly. "Didn’t you say you wanted a break from business?"

He exhaled dramatically. I couldn’t see his expression, but the way his hand tightened around my thigh told me enough—possessive, conflicted, intrigued.

"Yes, you can pack tonight. The flight’s early tomorrow. I’ve already wired your allowances."

"Woah," Jane muttered, unfazed. "Can I swap with Deanne or Sophia?"

I smirked faintly. "Trying to avoid Logan?" I teased, taking another bite of the tuna. "It’s just work. And I trust you, alright? You’ll report to me—not my husband."

"Ouch," Damon muttered.

"Yes, Jane," he added, amused. "My wife’s the boss."

After our meal, Jane and Wally cleaned up while I enjoyed dessert—a soft, creamy texture melting on my tongue. Wally’s meticulousness was impressive; even the air smelled faintly of caramel and butter.

"There are frozen ramens for snacks," Wally noted. "And desserts labeled with expiration dates."

"Wow," I said, mildly surprised. "You prepared all of that in a day?"

"Yes," he replied proudly. "Less sugar this time."

"It’s alright, Chef. I trust my husband not to fail," I said with a teasing smirk. I could feel Damon’s eyes on me, worried, almost boyish.

"Jane, escort me to my office."

I rose, Choco following at my heel. Jane took my hand gently. We walked to my office, the familiar scent of paper, metal, and faint jasmine greeting me. I unlocked the door with my fingerprint and code. Inside, Jane shut it behind us.

I moved easily—too easily for a blind woman. I approached the vault, retrieved my computer, and placed it on the desk.

"I think you already have an idea of my plan," I said, entering my passcode and pressing my fingerprint. "Come here."

Jane hesitated, then stepped closer.

"I want you to secure this." I turned the screen toward her. The footage flickered to life—the laboratory, the half-formed bodies, pale and still.

Jane gasped, stepping back. "What is that?"

"I can only trust you, Jane. After this, you’ll be free. But you know what you signed."

I faced her, sensing the shift in her breathing—the guilt in it.

"I know you’re loyal to Damon," I said softly.

"Why are you doing this? What do you gain from it?" she asked.

I smiled faintly, though she couldn’t see it.

I couldn’t answer her. Because the truth was, I wasn’t doing it for myself.

"I need a clear vision before taking this mission, Livana," Jane said. "I can be your nurse, your bodyguard... but this? This is too much."

I knew it was hard for her to betray her original master.

"Are you going to leave Damon?" she asked quietly.

"We both know that’s where this is heading," I replied, my voice stripped of any emotion. "Damon knew it too. Divorce. I want a divorce."

The word divorce left a faint tightness in my chest. I pressed my lips together, unsure if it was guilt—or relief. Do I really want to leave a man so devoted to me?

Maybe he’ll find someone else to obsess over. Damon will survive without me.

"You don’t know him well enough," Jane muttered. "I read people for a living—their body language, their thoughts, their lies. Damon’s the easiest to read when you’re around. He’s not even trying to hide it."

I lifted my gaze to meet hers. She might have overstepped.

"What you’re saying is heartless," she whispered.

"You carry too many emotions, Jane," I said, exhaling slowly. "This isn’t about the heart. This is business."