CHAPTER 220: A WORLD WITHOUT HER

–Livana–

Once we arrived at my mother’s mansion, I made sure the milk was fully stocked in the fridge. Everything needed to be perfect before I left. My husband would be working remotely from home—well, "remotely," meaning he’d be glued to his laptop while obsessively watching our baby like a hawk. Jane would assist him, but knowing Damon, he would barely let Sky out of his sight.

Laura and Damien were tucked away in their room. I convinced them to stay here despite having their own place. I needed everyone within reach... just in case.

"Alright, feed our son. Don’t forget about him."

"But Jane is here." He pointed at Jane as if she were a breathing reminder that he wasn’t alone.

"Yes, she’s here." I crossed my arms and glared.

His smirk faded into a chuckle. He leaned in, kissed my lips—soft, lingering—and then, without warning, squeezed my butt. I gasped, eyes widening, and smacked his shoulder as he laughed.

"Come back quick, okay?" he murmured against my cheek. "I can’t wait to make love to you again."

"We can do a quickie." I grinned, and he reacted instantly—like a touch-starved puppy given a treat. He scooped me up and practically sprinted to our bedroom.

Right... this might be the last time for a long while.

So I let him have me the way he wanted. I whispered the I love you’s he craved, held him the way he needed, memorized every breath against my skin. When we were done, we dressed in silence—heavy, careful silence—and he escorted me to the garage where Logan waited.

"Drive safely," he told Logan, then kissed my temple, lingering there for a second longer than usual. I slipped into the backseat. Logan drove, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. I crossed my arms, leaning my forehead against the cold, tinted window.

Barely a kilometer away from the mansion, cars began tailing us.

Logan sighed. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yes." My voice was steady, but my stomach twisted itself into knots.

"Aren’t you worried your husband will kill himself over this?" he muttered.

"I am worried." I pressed my fingers to my temple, trying to ease the ache. "They’re still checking on the Blackwell."

"And they’ll go after Laura next." Logan exhaled sharply.

"Yes. And Laura doesn’t know anything."

"Damn," he murmured.

We arrived at the condominium where they stored my body.

The Rooks were already there. They would help with the execution of the plan—the gruesome illusion of my death.

Inside the cold room lay my clone. Lifeless. Identical. They had already added patches, lacerations, bruises—details so realistic that my chest tightened.

I reached out. My fingers brushed the cold skin. It was horrifying how real it felt.

And all I could think about was my husband.

My poor, loyal, obsessive husband.

How badly this would break him.

"Let this game begin," I whispered, voice hollow. They dressed the body in an exact replica of my clothes—down to the texture, the seams.

Then came the rings. My engagement ring—his symbol of devotion—and my wedding ring. I slid them onto the clone’s cold fingers. Perfectly aligned. Perfectly damning.

"Liva," Logan called as he pushed the door open. "They’re in position. Are you ready?"

I nodded, though my throat felt tight.

They moved with precision—my stand-in wearing a wig matching my hair, sunglasses, my height, my figure. Makeup shaped her facial features to mirror mine.

It was uncanny.

I stayed behind in the condo. In a few hours, Livana Braxton-Carrington Blackwell would be declared dead.

I looked at my hand.

It felt so... empty.

I missed the weight of my engagement ring almost immediately—as if my body realized it before my mind did.

My anxiety crawled under my skin. I reached my forehead, closing my eyes.

I knew this plan would work. It had to.

But my husband...

My fragile, violent, beautiful, unhinged husband...

What if he shattered beyond what I could fix?

What if he broke so badly he’d go feral?

What if—God forbid—he looked for another woman?

...No.

No, that wouldn’t happen.

He is Damon. Damon who breathes only for me. Damon who would burn the world just to hold my hand.

But with this plan, I would break his soul.

Shatter it clean.

"Fuck..." I whispered, breath shaking. My heart ached as I thought of him—and of my baby boy.

"I’m sorry, Damon," I murmured. "But I promise... I’ll come home soon. Once I’m done with this."

–Laura–

Sky was crying nonstop — the kind of cry that shakes a baby’s whole tiny body. I even tried feeding him myself, holding him close, whispering, swaying, doing everything... but he wasn’t looking for me. His little fists kept clenching, his face turning red. He wanted his mother.

Jane finally took him and rushed to Damon’s office. The moment Damon picked him up and lifted him, Sky’s cries cut off like someone pressed mute. He giggled — giggled — eyes bright, like nothing had happened.

"It seems he’s doing perfectly fine with you," I said, crossing my arms but feeling oddly relieved. "You take care of your son. I’m going to work."

"Wait—" Damon called, stopping both me and Jane.

"Jane will be helping me with the twins." I winked at her and waved off dramatically, pretending I wasn’t already stressed.

I rushed to my office, where my husband was also working. I sat across from him, grinning mischievously.

"Please don’t seduce me again, Laura. I have to finish this report," he groaned.

I giggled and slowly opened my cardigan.

He stood instantly, leaned forward, and closed it with a glare.

"No," he hissed.

"Fiiine." I grinned, fixing it. I turned on my laptop and checked my schedule, moving to another table for my meeting. It dragged for more than an hour, and halfway through, hunger punched me in the stomach.

My husband — my lovely, thoughtful husband — appeared with snacks Chef Wally prepared. I gave him a quick kiss before returning to my meeting.

The meeting lasted a few more hours, cracking my skull open with stress.

Then my phone rang.

Logan.

I muted the meeting and answered.

"Hey, Logan."

"Laura." His voice was low. Too low. "I can’t reach Damon."

"He’s in his office."

"Look..." Logan muttered. "There has been an incident."

My whole body turned cold. "What incident?"

I stood up immediately.

Damien turned on the television since he finished his work — and everything inside me froze.

Flash news.

A car.

A wreck.

A car being rammed.

Livana’s car.

My sister’s car.

"Logan!" I screamed. "Where’s my sister?"

Silence.

Then—

"I’m sorry."

"What? What are you sorry about?" I yelled, my voice breaking as Damien rushed to my side.

"Babe—"

"Where are you?" I demanded, shaking.

Everything after that became a blur.

I called for Damon.

I yelled at Jane to look after the kids.

I was panicking so hard it felt like my ribs were collapsing inward.

I cried during the entire drive. Damon sat pale and shaking, completely silent, like his soul had left his body.

I just prayed — begged — that my sister was alive.

That Logan was wrong.

That this was all a misunderstanding.

But when we arrived at the hospital, they didn’t lead us to a VIP room.

They led us to the morgue.

My legs went numb. The world spun. There was a body under a white cloth. The doctor gently lifted it.

And I screamed.

My heart shattered.

Broke.

Collapsed.

"Liva!" Damon’s voice cracked as he rushed forward. He cradled her limp body, desperation pouring out of him. "Babe, wake up." He shook her gently, then grabbed the doctor by the collar. "Do something! Why is she not waking up?!"

My heartbeat was deafening. My sister. My twin flame in life. My first friend. Gone?

No.

No.

No.

"We are so sorry, Mr. Blackwell," the doctor whispered.

"No!" Damon roared, crying like the world was ending. Because for him — it was.

I felt my chest tighten. My vision blurred. Damien held me as I collapsed, my breath slipping away.

"Laura," he whispered, gripping me tight before everything went dark.

I woke up in a hospital bed, my husband on the phone with one hand, holding mine with the other.

I sat up quickly — hoping, praying — that it had all been a nightmare.

"Hey, hey, take it easy," Damien murmured, helping me.

"No..." I shook my head and stumbled out of bed, forgetting my shoes. I ran. Damien followed.

I rushed down to the morgue again.

Damon was still there — still holding her.

"Damon," Damien said softly, trying to pull him away. "That’s enough."

"Get off!" Damon screamed, eyes bloodshot, clinging to Livana’s lifeless body like if he let go, she’d disappear forever.

It hit me then — how dangerously, painfully in love he was. How unstable he looked. I felt a sudden fear he might follow her. End everything.

"Damon," I called, voice trembling. "Damon, Sky is waiting back home."

He froze.

Barely.

Like the name created a tiny crack in the madness swallowing him.

"Come on," I said, trying so hard to sound strong even though I was breaking.

But he refused to leave her. He stayed by Livana until our grandparents and the rest of the family arrived.

I expected composure. But my dad... my strong, composed dad... he broke too. Completely. It was like watching pillars crumble.

My husband hugged me tightly, stroking my hair.

"It’s your call," he whispered. "Damon is not in his right mind."

I looked at Damon — hollow, trembling, clutching his wife. I didn’t know what to do. He was her husband. Her everything.

"Damon," I called again, voice cracking.

Damon’s mother arrived. Aunt Alyssa rushed to him. I hoped — desperately — that she could pull him away. Damon hesitated, then slowly released his hold. Alyssa hugged him as he collapsed into her arms, while Dad held her up.

I hadn’t even touched my sister until then. When I finally reached out and held her hand, the coldness almost broke me. I recognized her rings instantly.

"Damon," Aunt Alyssa whispered to him, voice trembling.

But Damon didn’t speak. Neither did I.

"Damon," I finally snapped, tears falling uncontrollably. "Then I’ll make the call."

His eyes widened, panic striking him.

"No!" he shouted. "I’ll take care of my wife."

I stared at him.

"Take care of your wife?" My voice went cold. "Gather yourself, Damon. You still have a son to protect."

But he didn’t hear me.

Not really.

He was too far gone.