CHAPTER 195: VEINS OF BLOOD AND LIES

–Tyrona–

My son cried even after I fed him. I sighed and studied his features — the same sharp set of his father’s face. Shame he’s already dead. I glanced at Carrie by the door; her eyes were perpetually sullen, probably because her mother’s in prison.

"Don’t worry too much, Carrie," I said, exhaling. "I wanted to sleep longer and he’s been so loud."

"Livana gave birth yesterday," Carrie replied, solemn. "That child will inherit the Blackwell, the Braxton, and the Carrington." She looked almost reverent. "Grandpa Edward promised me I might lead—"

"Nah. Promises are made to be broken. Let’s be real, Carrie." I laughed as I scooped my three-month-old from the crib, settled onto the sofa, and fed him.

"Let’s also be real, Tyrona. You’re part of this, too."

"Of course." I scoffed.

I made the situation plain: those secret agencies around the world? They’re treating Livana’s device like a game — playing tag with it as if it were a child’s toy. "By the way, did you know Livana has a lab in Japan? Somewhere there. The Red Bull—" I rolled my eyes at the name— "told me they’re making something inhuman."

I shrugged. I wondered, genuinely and with a chill of curiosity, what else Livana hid — what obsession with science or monstrosity she nursed in secret.

"Probably something that would make the world better?" I said, sarcastic, and laughed as my baby stopped crying the moment he latched on. I kissed his forehead.

"So Livana and Damon nearly died because you suggested Mom do that?" Carrie asked.

"We had an agreement. I provided men to do the dirty work..." I answered.

"They failed."

"Yes—because Livana had that device that can track any crime," I explained, and Carrie exhaled.

"I’ll order takeout," she said.

"Thank you." She hugged herself against the Danish chill. She’ll acclimate. She’s been managing my small business in Denmark surprisingly well — not as entitled as I assumed.

I watched my handsome boy look at me with those familiar eyes. His father’s eyes. My plans are unfolding. I am moving toward killing Livana. Once she’s gone, Damon will crumble. Without his obsession, his world will unravel — his empire will falter.

He’ll lose his child. He might even try to end himself. The thought made me smirk as I looked down at my son.

I can’t wait for Damon to lose his head. Just like he did to Alejandro.

–Livana–

Caine was busy fussing over something in the nursery, pretending to be useful while I sat there, holding my child. He moved deliberately in front of me, then squatted so our faces aligned. I continued my act—blind, harmless—but that bastard knew better. Playtime was over.

I turned my head toward him and glared.

"What?" I asked coldly, my tone cutting through the air like frost.

He snapped his fingers, grinning. "I knew it! Damon’s too stupid—and too blind—to realize you can actually see."

"For fuck’s sake, shut up!" Deanne threw a cushion straight at his face.

"So Damon probably knows, but he doesn’t care," Caine said, crossing his arms. We locked eyes—his mossy green ones glinting with mockery—and I felt the temptation to gouge them out.

"Deanne, could you get me a spoon? I think I need to remove his eyeballs," I said icily.

Caine burst out laughing. "Sis, don’t be like that. My Deanne loves my eyes." He winked. "Especially when I’m making her cum."

"Words, please," Deanne sighed, gesturing to the baby in my arms.

"I’m kidding—mostly," he said, standing up. I watched as he leaned toward Deanne, who tried to glare at him, but her expression softened when he kissed her cheek. I rolled my eyes and scoffed quietly.

Then the door opened. Familiar footsteps—steady, confident. My husband.

"Okay, bad news," Damon announced dramatically.

I tilted my head slightly, watching as Deanne pulled out her phone. Damon shut the door behind him, his expression shifting into that boyish charm he sometimes displayed—dangerously handsome, muscular, yet pretending to be lighthearted. He smiled and walked toward me, bending down to kiss my lips.

"I love it when you look at me like you’re about to burn my soul," he murmured.

"The bad news?" I asked coolly.

"Just as you expected—your stepmother escaped prison. They’re searching for her now."

"Hmm." I hummed, calm as ever, while Damon pressed a kiss against my temple.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked, tilting my chin so I faced him. "Do you want me to find her and kill her?"

"No, not at all. Let them handle it," I replied evenly. He bent down again and kissed me.

"Got it." He winked. "I’ll cook. What do you want to eat?"

"I think Chef Wally can cook seaweed soup."

He pouted, and I looked back down at my baby.

"Can you work on something else, my husband?" I asked with a faint smile. He smiled wider, like a boy eager to please.

"Like what?"

"Recovering the losses from your assets."

He sighed, standing straight, gaze flickering between me and our child.

"I’m on paternity leave."

"Yeah, he’s right," Caine added with a grin. "Paternity leave."

I squinted at Caine, then shifted my gaze toward Deanne, who was focused on the air purifier’s manual.

"Is she pregnant?" I asked bluntly.

Deanne looked at me, puzzled. "What?"

I exhaled slowly and looked up at my husband. "Please get me water."

"Sure." He winked, fetched a bottle, opened it, and handed it to me. I took a few sips, meeting his eyes again.

"Go," I said, waving him off.

He didn’t look hurt—he was used to my coldness by now.

"You know," he began, voice soft, "I can carry our child so you can rest."

My back ached at the mere suggestion. He gently took Sky from my arms—but instead of holding him, he handed him to Caine.

"What are you doing?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"I’m going to take care of you," he grinned.

"Our baby first, before me," I corrected sharply.

"It’s fine, Liva. I got Sky," Caine said, rocking the baby.

I sighed, glaring silently at Damon until he relented and took Sky back from Caine. I stood and walked slowly, still sore—only a week since giving birth. Damon followed, our son in his arms, while Deanne and Caine stayed behind to tidy the nursery.

"Hold onto me," he murmured. I grasped his shirt lightly as we moved toward our bedroom. The maids had just finished cleaning—everything smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic.

Inside, I went straight to the bathroom. Damon placed Sky in the crib, playing one of his gentle compositions from the small speaker. The baby cooed softly.

I began cleaning up, changing out of the maternity diapers. It wasn’t pleasant, but strength doesn’t return by waiting—it’s built, little by little. Damon knocked, then slightly pushed the door open.

"Babe—"

"Damon, for fuck’s sake! Leave me alone!" My voice echoed against the tiles.

"Sorry," he sighed.

"Take care of our son!" I barked. His footsteps retreated.

He’s overprotective to the point of suffocation. His concern feels like silk wrapping around my throat—soft, but tightening. I finished my routine calmly and stepped out, only to find him still standing by the door like a sentry. I glared.

"Can’t you just stop lurking around me?"

"How can I not?" he shot back, eyes weary. "I’m worried, okay?"

I noticed the dark circles beneath his eyes. "It’s normal," I said quietly, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Stop worrying. Prioritize our baby before me."

"No," he said stubbornly, holding my hand to his face. "You’re my wife. I’ll prioritize you."

"Wrong," I sighed, pulling him down by the nape until our faces nearly touched. "Our baby comes first. I can handle myself. They depend on us completely, Damon."

"Fine, whatever," he muttered, kissing me before I could say more. I closed my eyes, returning the kiss. He lifted me gently and laid me on the bed.

"Alright," he said, brushing my hair back. "I’ll ask Chef Wally about that seaweed soup. Then I’ll be right back." He carefully placed Sky in the small bed beside me, kissed my forehead, and stood.

"Phone," I said simply.

He nodded, fetched it from the dresser, handed it to me, and finally left.

At last—silence. Peace.

I dialed a number from memory. It rang only once before a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, my First Princess! How’s the new mom doing?" my mother greeted, her tone lively and elegant as ever.

"Hi, Mom," I sighed. "I’m stressed. My husband’s being... excessively protective."

"I’m all ears, Ice Queen," she laughed.

That old nickname. Ice Queen. It began as Damon’s remark, and now it’s my mother’s favorite endearment. It suits me. Cold enough to survive; elegant enough to command.

Now, I know this is a secret so grave I can’t even share it with my sister. Laura would be far too emotional to handle it.

Our mother is alive.

How she managed to fake her death is beyond me—but she did it flawlessly. We haven’t spoken face to face since the day I gave birth in the hospital. Damon was with me the entire time, never leaving my side, unaware that the quiet nurse tending to me was my own mother in disguise.

I wanted to push him away, just for a moment, so she could take care of me instead. I knew she wanted that—to tend to me herself, not as a mother, but as a ghost watching over the living.

She told me she had been there when Laura gave birth too, hidden under another name, another face. She’s always been there with us, lurking between shadows and light, never caught, never forgotten.

And whatever her plan is, I will not interfere. I owe her that much—her secrecy, her silence, her stage to play upon.