CHAPTER 219: NOSTALGIA

–Livana–

I looked at my mother, who still wasn’t done with her quiet little act. She cared so much for Laura but could never show herself fully and truthfully. Caring for her... wanting Laura to feel a motherly love and warmth, even though she knew Laura still missed her real mother.

"I can’t wait for your hair to grow longer," he muttered, and I grinned.

"I know."

I remember well how he used to touch my hair, brush it so gently. He does it every day after we got married. And back in high school—God—he would always sit behind me just to braid my hair or brush it. I ignored him then; wasting energy on him seemed pointless. But apparently, he had a fetish for my hair even back then.

I reached for his hand, stopping him. He leaned closer, kissing the top of my head.

"Remember, we are living a dangerous life." I told him.

"I know."

"Protect our family. And our baby."

"Yes, of course."

"Now," I whispered, voice dipping lower, "let’s make love."

I stood, took the brush from his hand, and tugged him to our bed—my childhood bedroom. Grandma kept it exactly as it was. Neat, untouched, with small traces of gifts from my mother... which turned out to be from him.

Hair brushes? The expensive Victorian ones?

Yeah. Those were from him.

I pushed my husband onto the bed—not to please him, but myself. But he was so obsessed with me that he enjoyed every second anyway.

I woke up instinctively. I slipped on my robe and headed to the playroom. Jane was changing my son’s diaper while Logan lay on the sofa, snoring like a dying engine.

"Jane," I grinned, "you seem well-rested."

She chuckled. "Yes."

"I’ll take the little one."

Once she finished changing him, she handed me my baby. I kissed his head as he yawned.

"Alright, Jane. Take a whole day break."

She nodded, though instead of resting, she already seemed to be planning to clean up the entire room.

I only grinned and glanced at Logan before heading back to my bedroom to feed my son. I sat beside my sleeping husband and unclasped my robe. Sky immediately latched onto my right breast like a starving little koala.

My husband, on my left, crawled toward me to claim the other one. I flicked his forehead, but he still peeled the robe aside and sucked anyway.

"Damon," I chuckled.

"What?" He grinned, his hand sliding between my thighs.

Sky stopped feeding and cooed, eyes fixed on his father. He kicked Damon’s face.

"Ow."

I burst out laughing. Damon sat up and glared at his own son.

"Unbelievable."

Sky giggled and latched back onto my breast happily.

"Wife," Damon pouted childishly. I opened my left arm, and he snuggled into me, kissing my neck and cheeks.

"Sleep more," he murmured. "I’ll check something downstairs."

"Can you come back with food?"

"Sure, sure."

He kissed my lips, slid off the bed, and dressed. I watched him leave before looking down at my baby.

"Be good to your daddy, okay? I’ll be gone for a while." I murmured softly. "I love you, Skyler."

He looked up at me with those gemstone eyes—purple, like mine.

A gentle knock interrupted me. That knock. That code.

Mom.

"Come in," I called.

The door opened, and my mother—still in disguise—entered with a bowl of soup.

"I made your favorite," she said, closing the door behind her.

"Here I thought my husband would get one for me."

"I think he’s taking his time. But you need seafood soup for your milk."

I couldn’t help smiling as she set the bowl on the table by the window. Then she looked around the room and picked up the hairbrush.

"Yeah," I said dryly, "that one’s from Damon, too."

She laughed.

"You know him well now."

She sighed. "I’m worried about your sister."

"It’s because of the show earlier."

"Mm." She nodded.

"What’s your plan?" I asked.

"I’ll tell you next time."

She approached me, kissed my forehead, then Skyler’s.

"I’ll be leaving. I need to clean up a little dirt."

"Uhuh. Take care."

She left quietly.

I looked at Sky, who was already drifting off. I felt like sleeping too... but I still needed to eat before his next feeding.

–Damon–

I noticed a maid coming out of my wife’s room—the chubby one. The same maid who stabbed the evil stepmother’s thigh without hesitation. She walked the other way. I didn’t suspect anything. Livana seemed to trust her, and that was enough for me.

I entered the room with a tray of food. No soup.

"Babe!" I said cheerfully, pretending disappointment when I noticed another tray already waiting. "Oh, you already had food prepared here?"

"But I need more." She tucked our son gently onto the small mattress we placed in the middle of the queen bed. Then she fixed her robe, sat down, and opened the casserole. Steam rose immediately—way too much for one person.

"Come on, love. Join me."

"Right." I grinned and sat across from her. The two bowls were perfectly placed for us. I scooped a serving into her bowl first. Scallops, shrimp, clams—no shells. Familiar. Very familiar.

"It’s your favorite," I said.

She nodded. "Yes. That certain maid can make my mom’s soup."

I scooped my portion and used the porcelain spoon meant for soup. I blew on it and sipped.

"Wow. Indeed."

Nostalgia. Strong.

I had tasted this soup only once before—in this very mansion—when her mother invited me over after I confessed I wanted to court her. Livana came home from fencing practice and stared daggers into my soul. Her grandparents weren’t home then—off doing charity work abroad—so her mother had full control.

I chuckled and nodded at the memory.

"The first time I tasted this was when your mom invited me here," I said.

"Yeah," she scoffed. "I was so pissed. What annoyed me more was when mom casually suggested you sleep over with Damien."

I laughed and took another sip, now with more meat.

"Of course I grabbed the opportunity."

I stopped when Livana placed a shrimp over my spoon.

I smiled, admiring her without shame.

"Alright, what did you do the whole night?" she asked as I savored the bite. It tasted even better because she gave it to me.

"I watched you at the gym practicing your swordsmanship... blindfolded." I raised a finger, opened my phone, and showed her.

She frowned immediately. "That’s too much, Damon."

"I have more if you’d like."

I handed her my phone proudly.

"Everything from my old phone was transferred here and to my laptop," I announced, triumphant.

She watched, scrolling through the clips. I took her spoon and fed her, then wiped her lips gently with a napkin.

"Even this?" She showed me a photo—her in a swimsuit when she joined the swimming club. Played once, got bored, moved to another club. Typical Livana.

"Yeah," I grinned. "I took that with my best camera. Look at the quality."

She sneered. "Isn’t she beautiful?"

"Beautiful enough that I printed it and put it in a frame in my room."

She glared. "Let me guess—you jacked off every night with that photo. Pervert."

"How could I not?" I leaned closer, voice low. "I am obsessed with you."

"Hmm. But good shot," she murmured, continuing to scroll.

Then she stopped again. Another photo.

"Seriously?" she asked, showing me a picture of her sleeping beside a hospital bed. After the pool incident. When Tyrona tried to drown her.

"Oh, I was there the whole time. Your mom was handling a few things."

"That’s sweet... and very perverted of you."

She opened her robe just a little—just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the beautiful curves underneath, bare, warm, sinful.

I swallowed hard.

She tilted her head, teasing me without mercy—then suddenly closed the robe again and reached for the sandwich I made. She took a few bites and continued scrolling. The sound from another video played.

"WOOO! I LOVE YOU, LIVANA!"

My voice. Shouting like an idiot.

"Is this your archery competition?" I asked.

"Yeah. I gave you a dirty finger." She chuckled and kept scrolling. "There’s a lot of these."

"That’s a more-than-one-terabyte phone. My laptop has even more."

Her brows knitted as she showed me one more photo—her asleep next to me. The night we first made love.

"Oh, memories," I teased.

"Tell me you didn’t take a video of us fucking."

"No," I admitted, smirking. "I wasn’t in the right mind to think of that. I burned every second into my memory."

I fed her while she scrolled through my phone, her delicate chewing making something primal stir in me. She ate slowly, savoring each bite as I filled her bowl again. I stood, dragged my chair right beside hers—close enough that her bare knee brushed my thigh—and continued feeding her like she was my queen and I was her devoted, lovesick servant.

She scrolled lazily, amused by pictures she thought she’d forgotten.

"More photos of you and Damien in Mom’s mansion with Laura?" I sneered playfully.

"Yeah. Laura invited me."

She chewed, and I couldn’t help but grin. "It was the best."

"Where was I at this time?"

"You were with your mom in the company."

"Hmm..." she hummed, barely paying attention as her thumb moved to the next image.

Then she stilled.

I leaned in, glancing at the screen.

A photo of us at graduation.

She wasn’t smiling—of course. She never did back then. I asked her for a photo, handed her flowers, and like an idiot drunk on love, I even proposed to her. Right there. Public. Loud. Pathetic.

She stared at me with that deadpan, soul-crushing glare of hers. I kissed her hand anyway. She was seconds from smacking me in the face with the bouquet. I slipped the ring onto her finger—she let me only because she didn’t want to cause a scene.

Then she told me, very calmly, in her frostbite tone:

No.

She wasn’t marrying me.

Everyone in that graduation hall knew what that glare meant. Livana’s icy refusal could have frozen the sun.

And now?

Now she’s beside me, wearing my ring, carrying my name, mother of my firstborn. She eats the food I feed her. She wears my robe, sleeps in my arms, and begs for my touch.

Lucky doesn’t even begin to describe it.

I’m the man who gets to make love to her until she trembles.

The man who gets to worship her body, kiss those cold lips warmly, turns her indifference into desire.

Every fantasy I had—every shameless, desperate want I kept locked in my chest all those years—

It all came true.

She’s mine.

And I’m hopelessly, eternally hers.