CHAPTER 216: BOUND BY LOYALTY, DRIVEN BY THE MISSION

–Sophia–

Missing my boyfriend. Ugh, yeah—obviously. But fuck it. Better safe than sorry. Livana locked us up in this secure little fortress so we won’t get assassinated. Apparently the assassins are after Deanne. And honestly? I get it. The woman is gorgeously sexy—too sexy to kill on the spot. They’d take her as a hostage first; she’s Livana’s adviser, after all. High-value asset. Premium kidnapping tier.

"What’s with the countdown?" I asked Lore, our resident mad tech genius, who currently looked like a gremlin hunched over four different monitors.

"Oh, that’s the countdown to Livana’s estimation for when the evil stepmother shows up," Lore said casually, like he was talking about weather rather than murder.

"And how did she gather that kind of information?" I asked, paddling my foot on the floor so the swivel chair I was riding zoomed toward him like a lazy rocket.

"Our beautiful, goddess-like boss is basically a hawk," he said, not looking away from the screen. "I think she also asked the Shadows for intel. I don’t know how she charmed them, but Damon’s Shadows practically worship her."

I leaned back on the chair, crossing my legs in full femme-fatale fashion.

"I am not entirely surprised."

"How can you even track the Shadows?" I asked out of nowhere.

"I can track a few of them," he said with a proud shrug. "But they’re called Shadows. So they can’t be traced if they don’t want to be. Especially when they’re up to... you know, evil-adjacent errands."

"Can they clear up Damon, Kai, and Caine’s records too?"

"They’ve been doing that for a while," Lore explained. "It’s hard to track them when they’re erasing traces of themselves. And that incident in Chile and Istanbul? They had evidence it was a setup for the Demon King."

"Ohh." I gaped, dramatically turning to Deanne.

"Yup," Deanne said, typing aggressively on her laptop. "That’s why they dropped the charges so fast and wiped his records clean."

I nodded, letting my head fall back into the chair.

"I miss fucking my boyfriend..." I murmured, because honestly my libido has no filter.

Lore scooted closer like I had just revealed the secret to immortality.

"Out of curiosity... what is it like?"

I smacked his arm.

"Kid, you shouldn’t ask such things."

"HEY! I’m nineteen, okay?"

Deanne and I both gaped at him.

"Oh," we said in unison.

"You look fifteen!"

I nodded, assessing him like a disappointed aunt.

"A teenage corpse," I added under my breath.

Deanne burst into laughter.

"Agreed."

Lore scoffed loudly.

"Well at least I do my skincare! I also go out sometimes..."

"Bro, you need to go out a lot," I said, patting his head like he was a malnourished puppy.

"Yes, I do that! We get sunlight in the sunroom," he defended himself.

"Poor you, couldn’t get a love life," Deanne said, half sympathetic, half mocking. Mostly mocking.

Lore rolled his eyes and spun in his swivel chair like a dramatic anime character.

"Anyway, once I get out, I’m going on dates."

"Have you even signed up for college?" I asked, raising a brow.

"Livana promised I could enroll next school year," he said. "Real dorms. Expensive shit. A whole new ecosystem."

"Well, that’s good," Deanne nodded. "That means she’ll be staying here a lot."

"Hmm, yes."

I already imagined Livana staying here, watching her loved ones from afar. Painful. Heavy. And we’d be here too... confined. I’ll miss Kai and his sweet talks, his romantic gestures, that soft-but-deadly aura he has. Just thinking about him made me sigh like a lovesick, oversexed poet.

I wonder when I’ll see him again.

But distance means safety. Protection.

We’re Alpha women—we protect our lovers too. We’re not selfish. If one of us falls, it’ll hurt both Livana and Damon. We’re best friends. A little feral, but loyal.

"Alright, I made all of your favorites," Auntie suddenly appeared, holding a tray like a divine messenger. "But you should eat in the sunroom. The sun is perfect today. Lore, I can manage that."

Deanne nodded and we all headed upstairs. Lore’s parents were off working somewhere—not on the server today.

"You sure, Auntie?" I asked as she nodded and started pushing Lore’s chair. I grabbed the handle and pushed it like a wheelchair.

"Can you suggest girls I can chat or date?" he asked, the courage of a confused duckling.

Deanne glared at him.

"Hey, you can do that—but not here."

"I’ll be going out next week," he shrugged. "To enroll. Louie will help me. I’m... a scholar of the company. For now, at least."

We entered the elevator, stretching dramatically as the lift ascended like we were in a music video.

Upstairs, Logan was wearing an apron. A frilly apron. Holding a cardboard box like a very sexy, very irritated househusband.

"What’s that?" I asked.

"Stocks. Pantry refill. Also—Jane sent you both a letter."

I zoomed to him so fast my chair screeched. I snatched the envelope with my name and handed Deanne hers.

My heart fluttered already—like a slutty little butterfly—ready to read Kai’s letter.

–Jane–

I didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment I was watching the soft rise and fall of Sky’s breathing—my guard up, senses sharp—and the next, I woke up standing by the window, fingers lightly pressed against the cold glass.

Sleepwalking. Again.

My heart dipped. Not in fear—fear is something I exercised from myself years ago—but in irritation.

A dangerous habit, resurfacing at the worst possible time.

At least this time, I didn’t have anything sharp in my hands. The thought alone made my stomach tighten. I can’t risk wandering with a weapon around Sky or the twins. I can’t risk being near anything that could become one.

So I’ve been locking myself—literally.

When exhaustion claws at me, I clasp cuffs around my wrists before sleep overtakes me.

A precaution. A restraint. A self-imposed imprisonment.

Anything to keep the children safe from even the smallest possibility of me losing control.

"Jane."

A knock at the door jerked me back into myself. My head throbbed, sharp in some places, dull in others. There were aches scattered across my body—sleepwalking always leaves traces, little physical ghosts of where I must’ve wandered.

I opened the door.

Livana stood there, smiling softly, her baby nestled securely in her arms. She looked serene—dangerously serene.

"It seems you need more sleep," she teased, "or sex."

She giggled.

I let out a dry chuckle—bitter, humorless. If only it were that simple.

"Sleepwalking?" she asked.

I nodded. She already knew; she’d warned me countless times to rest. But after everything that’s happened... rest feels like a luxury I can’t afford. My routines are broken, my patterns scattered. I can’t blindly return to the old rhythm.

"Can we talk?" she asked gently.

I nodded again, and we walked toward her study.

The room absorbed us in warm shadows—quiet, private, strategic. Once inside, Livana carefully handed me her baby.

She trusts me that much.

Enough to place her entire bloodline into my arms without hesitation.

It made something sting in my chest—an emotion I refused to label.

I sat while she moved around the study with practiced grace, opening hidden vault compartments I hadn’t noticed before. Metal glinted, locks clicked, and documents brushed against her fingers with the sound of secrets being rearranged.

Finally, she extracted a document and handed it to me.

A property.

Undetectable. Unregistered.

A residence familiar enough to raise alarms in my mind.

My stomach tightened.

I knew that place.

And from the look in her eyes...

She intended to execute that plan.

The one I silently prayed she wouldn’t have to choose.

There must be another way.

I was already sifting through possibilities—alternate routes, secret passages, supply chains, hidden allies. Anything but this.

"Liva—"

She smiled, soft and tragic all at once.

"I named it after my son," she said. "Only Damon and my son can go there. Tell him that."

"But—" I stammered. The word felt small, useless, flimsy in my throat.

She placed the document into another vault.

A slender, impossibly narrow compartment—perfect for papers, keys, cards, the kinds of things you only touch when the world is ending.

"The code? It’s your birthday," she said, sliding the vault shut with a decisive click.

My breath caught.

"Everything for my son and the twins is prepared here," she continued. "They will be secured. Protected."

She smiled—calm, composed.

Too calm.

Too composed.

Like someone who had already accepted the darkness waiting at the end of her path.

"I’ll be gone for long."

Her steps were soft as she approached me. With her free hand, she cupped my cheek, the gesture tender—almost maternal, almost farewell.

"I trust you with my son," she whispered. "Give Damon some lecture for me, okay?"

I pressed my lips together, trying to hold myself together.

Trying not to crack.

Trying not to show the tightening in my chest, the fear curled like a shadow just under my ribs.

Because I understood.

This wasn’t a request.

It was a passing of the torch.

And those words—I trust you—were the heaviest command I’d ever received.