CHAPTER 221: MISSING HER

–Laura–

A week of mourning.

Seven days of watching people we hardly knew come and go, offering condolences for a sister they only admired from a distance. We almost forgot about Logan—he was still confined in the hospital. I visited him once. He talked about the ambush, about how he tried, how he failed. He apologized until his voice cracked, but I knew none of it was his fault. None of us saw this coming.

"Jane," I called softly.

She was clutching Sky a little too tightly, like he was the last piece of Livana we had left. Damon... he hadn’t touched his son since the day we lost her. It was as if Sky didn’t exist to him. As if we didn’t exist.

"He hasn’t drank any milk?" I asked.

Jane shook her head, worry etched in her eyes.

I tried feeding him myself, but Sky only drank enough to survive. He cried endlessly—heartbreaking, exhausted cries that shredded the air. Dr. Green checked on him, but everything came back normal. We even used the milk Livana stocked in the fridge. It ran out days ago.

Sky whimpered again, and I gently hushed him. And then I saw it—

Damon, lost in his grief, hollow, drained of life... yet Sky didn’t cry around him.

I approached him.

"Damon," I called, but his eyes were unfocused, empty.

"Hey," I whispered, touching his arm. "Hold Sky."

He blinked, like waking from a trance, and reached for his son. Slowly. Hesitantly.

"Don’t drop him," I murmured.

Sky looked up at him—and cooed. Just like that. As if he recognized his father, even when Damon barely recognized himself. Jane brought the bottle, and Sky latched onto it instantly. I allowed myself a small smile. I sat beside Damon, watching him carefully, making sure he wouldn’t drop the baby. Watching over both of them.

Days passed like this.

Damon drank more. Began smoking. Stopped crying entirely.

He was grieving so deeply that I feared one day he simply wouldn’t wake up.

I had to force him to hold Sky, to feed him. I had to drag him into the shower when he reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. It was like caring for two babies—one too little to understand loss, the other drowning in it.

On the day of Livana’s burial, Damon refused to leave the mausoleum. I assigned people to watch him through the night, to ensure he didn’t bring anything sharp, anything that could make this tragedy worse.

"David was there," Damien murmured that night as he set Zendy into the crib. "He’s escorting him home."

"That’s... good." I sighed as I fed Sky. "There goes our little owl," I whispered, touching his tiny nose as he drifted off.

Morning came too quickly. Jane informed us that Livana’s lawyers had arrived. Lawyers? For what? I had to wake Damon myself—dress him like a child. I felt like his mother instead of his sister-in-law.

We were all grieving, but someone had to stay functional. I knew Livana wouldn’t want to see her husband reduced to this.

My husband met me outside the room. I exhaled shakily.

"Watch over him, okay?"

"Alright," Damien whispered, kissing my forehead before holding me close.

We all gathered downstairs—family, grandparents, Aunt Alyssa, the Blackwells. Sky was crying again, and Damon stumbled down, eyes bloodshot, half his weight gone. He sat down without a word. I placed Sky gently in his arms. Damon stared into those little purple eyes... Livana’s eyes. A cruel reminder.

"I guess everyone is here," the lawyer began. "I’m Harold Langford. Miss Livana’s counsel."

I barely absorbed anything after that. Damon wasn’t listening at all. He just held Sky close, his entire world narrowed to a child who was too young to understand heartbreak.

"Here, specially for you and for my son," Harold said, handing Damon an envelope.

Damon took it mechanically, unread, uncaring.

Properties were divided—some for me, some for the twins, some for Damon and Sky, even some for Aunt Alyssa and David. But nothing about the underworld empire. She hid that from us. Protected us from it, even in death.

Jane brought another bottle for Sky, and Damon fed him again, absentmindedly, as though it was the only task he could still perform.

After the lawyer left, Damon didn’t move. He just held Sky to his chest like the boy was the last thread tethering him to reality.

Aunt Alyssa made porridge. Damon ate in tiny bites—barely enough, but enough to keep him alive.

But his cycle didn’t break.

Months passed.

Caine took over the empire because Damon couldn’t remember it existed.

He forgot about work. About life. About himself.

We had to place Sky in his arms repeatedly, reminding him that he still had someone to live for.

Then Damon fell sick. Fever, chills, muttering Livana’s name in his sleep. His mother took care of him—this giant man, broken like a child.

"It’s Sky’s check-up," Jane informed me one morning, dressing the little boy. According to Livana’s will, Jane was Sky’s third guardian—responsible for every appointment, every detail. She threw herself into it wholeheartedly.

After Livana’s death, things grew eerily peaceful. No more spies. No more monitoring. The bodyguards stayed, but the shadows watching us vanished.

Months passed.

I noticed Jane frequently took Sky out—more often than usual. Livana’s terms explained it, so I didn’t question it. There must have been a reason. Livana always did things with reason.

At dinner—one of the rare times I managed to drag Damon to the table—I decided to bring something cheerful to the air.

"Alright! I have ideas for Sky’s first birthday next month," I announced brightly.

Everyone joined in—grandparents, Aunt Alyssa—all sharing thoughts, planning colors and themes. Damon ate slowly, detached, the maid quietly setting soup before him. The chubby one—the kind one—offered me soup as well.

"Smells like Mom’s soup," I whispered with a tight smile. "Thank you."

We continued discussing decorations and games.

"Any suggestions, Damon?" I asked, sipping my soup.

He shook his head. Silent. Blank. Lost.

I sighed, massaging my temple.

We hadn’t dared speak Livana’s name in front of him. Not yet.

One wrong word, and he’d break.

Completely.

–Livana–

My little one latched onto me instantly, like a starving little caveman who’d been wandering the desert for days. His tiny brows knitted together in urgency, his warm little hands gripping my skin as if he owned the world and I was merely his personal milk bar. I kissed his forehead, breathing him in — that sweet, warm baby scent that always, always grounded me.

"So, your dad hasn’t been feeding you well, I see." I sighed dramatically, brushing a thumb over his cheek as he suckled harder. "I gave him the deed to this entire property and he has still not opened the damn envelope. Your father... God. Stubborn doesn’t even cover it."

My son suddenly unlatches, points at me with that serious little face of his, and lets out a coo that sounds oddly judgmental — like he understood every word.

"Yeah, yeah... you’re right. It’s probably my fault." I kissed his forehead again, softer this time. "I should’ve known better."

"Hey, Jane!" Logan barged in like a one-man hurricane specifically engineered to piss off Jane. "Wanna sleep with me tonight?"

Jane didn’t even blink. She simply turned, stared at him with that soul-flattening glare, and replied, "No." A sigh. Then the kill shot: "I’ll sleep with you when I’m attracted to you. But hey, that’ll never happen."

She even smiled sweetly afterward — so sweet it could have rotted Logan’s ego on the spot. I laughed, shaking my head as my little boy paused mid-feed, watching the chaos like it was a sitcom made just for him.

"Oh, here they go again." I whispered to him. "Your godparents are fighting... again."

He giggled, clapped his tiny hands, and wriggled with excitement as if it were the best show on earth.

"I bet your dad isn’t talking to you at all," I mused.

"Yes," Jane confirmed immediately, folding her arms. The exhaustion was clear on her face. "He’s not talking. Not to Sky, not to me, not to anyone." She exhaled. "Liva... when are we ending this charade?"

"Just a couple more days," I murmured, adjusting my baby as he started to slow down. "They’ve been busy cleaning up their mess. All of them. That’s why they stopped watching over Blackwell’s operations."

"Ohhh." Logan nodded in sudden realization. "That’s why I’m stuck being Jane’s driver?"

"Exactly," I said, smirking as my son drifted in and out of sleep, still breastfeeding like his life depended on it.

They stayed for about two more hours — arguing, teasing, being themselves — until my little one finally fell asleep with his mouth still slightly open, his head resting heavily against my chest. I carried him gently to the car, placing him in his carrier with the softest touch I could manage.

"Drive safely," I told Logan, who lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

As they drove off, a sharp ache tugged at my chest. Watching my son leave me — even temporarily — never got easier. It felt like something being pulled out of me by force, like an invisible thread snapping then reattaching, only to snap again.

But Damon... my husband... my storm. He was losing weight, losing sleep, losing pieces of himself while believing I was gone. I needed him to open that envelope. I needed him to see me. I needed him to breathe again.

I sighed deeply, rubbing my chest as if that could ease the tightening pain there.

"Jane better scold him," I muttered to myself. "He needs someone to snap that damn brain of his back into shape."

I returned to the small house I was staying in — the one connected to our server, tucked a kilometer away from the main base. I drove through the underground tunnel, the familiar hum of the engine echoing in the quiet darkness. It was always cold there — cold in a way that burrowed under your skin — but I welcomed it. It kept me awake. Focused.

When I reached the main base, Lore was waiting by the entrance, grinning like a proud puppy.

"Hey."

"Lore," I smirked. "What’s up?"

"So... since you’re here... am I ready to enroll?"

"Yes, of course." I pulled off my helmet, shaking my hair free.

"Enrollment is next week," he said with a grin that stretched ear to ear.

"Hmm, good." I folded my arms. "You’ll be training Alyssa in mixed martial arts."

"Sure," he nodded eagerly.

"She started the basics in her club, but you? You’re basically artillery in human form. That gives her an advantage."

"Ahhh," he nodded proudly. "Guess I should start packing."

"Yes," I chuckled. "Enjoy college life."

"Oh, I will." He even saluted before running upstairs, cheerful like he wasn’t standing in a fortress designed for war.

"Liva," Deanne called from across the hall.

I turned with a smile. "Yes, dear?"

She handed me a tablet. "Here’s your itinerary for the next two months."

I scanned through it. "Hmm. Interesting."

"I’m sorry I can’t leave this fortress yet," she said, though she didn’t look sorry at all.

"It’s fine," she laughed. "I want Caine to get blue balls while being away from me."

I pressed my fingers to my temple. "Whatever, Deanne."

But even as I joked with them, even as I breathed and talked and planned...

A part of me...

A heavy, aching part...

Was still tethered to my son’s sleeping face

and my husband’s breaking heart.