CHAPTER 222: DEEP SLEEP

–Damon–

I sleep.

I always sleep.

Because that’s the only place I still get to see my wife—calling for me, scolding me, reaching for me with those cold hands that somehow always felt warm against my chest.

Then a tap pulled me out of it.

"Damon."

I blinked awake to Jane’s face.

"Watch over Sky," she said softly.

"Hmm..." I turned to the other side—but Sky was already crawling toward me. He smacked my face with all his baby strength.

"MAMAMAMAM!" he declared triumphantly.

I sat up, grabbed him with one arm.

"Did you say Mama?"

"Mamamam..." he blew spit everywhere, those purple eyes wide and searching.

Jane noticed the unopened envelope beside me.

"You haven’t opened this?" she asked, brows drawn. "You really should, Damon." She touched Sky’s head. "I’ll leave him with you. He’s been calling you."

"DADA!" Sky shouted suddenly, clapping like he just discovered his own hands.

I smiled despite the heavy weight in my chest. I kissed his forehead and felt the ache deepen.

Jane left. I picked Sky up and gently set him inside the crib. My whole body felt stiff—sleep didn’t help anymore. I dragged myself to the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth...

And I remembered how Livana used to stand behind me, arms around my waist, teasing me for brushing too fast.

God, I miss her.

I miss her like breathing hurts.

I tied my hair, pulled on a shirt, and returned to Sky. I wiped the drool from his lips.

"Can you do it on your own, Sky?" I murmured—half a question, half a plea. If I followed my wife to wherever she is now... would he be fine without me? The thought tasted like poison. His tiny hands smacked my cheeks again, grounding me, pulling me back from the edge I keep staring at.

"Mamam!" He pressed his forehead to mine. I closed my eyes and let myself feel it—his warmth, his affection, a piece of her in him.

"Maybe next time..." I whispered, pulling him close.

Downstairs was chaos. A good, loud, business-type chaos. Huge photos of Sky were displayed—marketing shoot for Baby Line, probably. Sky squealed, clapping wildly, pointing at the giant poster of himself like he was meeting a celebrity.

"Wow, you look adorable," I kissed his cheek.

Mom approached, pinched my chin immediately.

"Shave. And stop kissing him with that beard."

I checked Sky’s cheek—she was right. It was a little red.

"Later," I groaned, following her to the kitchen.

"You need to eat," she nagged. "No coffee. Water."

I buckled Sky into his high chair. He smacked the table hard and pointed at the dishes across the eighteen-seater table.

"Nomnomnom!" he screeched.

"Yes, yes, my dear," Mom kissed his head. "Impatient boy."

She handed him a teether filled with mashed fruit. He bit it like a feral creature.

I tried eating soup, but my stomach twisted. The urge to drink was clawing at my throat. I checked the cabinets—nothing. No alcohol. No cigarettes. Mom must’ve hidden everything.

So I nibbled on carrots like a sad rabbit.

Mom pushed a bowl of soft fruits toward me.

"Eat this. All of this."

As soon as she turned around, I dumped half the fruits onto Sky’s tray.

He grabbed them with both hands and devoured them like a tiny monster.

"Damon!" Mom gasped as she rushed back.

Too late. Sky had already inhaled everything.

"Oh dear," she sighed, checking his mouth. "Don’t give him those again! He’ll choke."

"He looks fine," I said, completely unbothered.

Sky locked onto my bowl like a missile.

"Nomnomnom!!" He roared, reaching furiously.

"Sky, not for you," Mom said gently.

But I barely heard her.

Because suddenly, in my head, I heard her—

my wife’s soft laugh.

That elegant, feather-light voice.

"Mom, let him."

My heart clenched so hard I had to close my eyes.

If Livana were here, she would say exactly that.

She would sit beside him...

She would guide his small hand...

She would smile, cold and beautiful, and tell everyone he could eat as much as he wanted.

I swallowed hard, staring at Sky’s purple eyes.

Those same eyes that used to look at me from across our bed, sharp and enchanting.

"Liva..." I whispered under my breath.

And God, it hurts.

It hurts so much I just want to close my eyes again—sleep until I find her, even if it’s only in a dream.

"Damon."

Mom’s voice cut through the fog, and I forced myself to look at her.

"Tomorrow will be our little one’s first birthday."

"Ha?" I blinked at her, confused, the world tilting sideways. "No... that can’t be right. Liva just gave birth to him."

"Yes," she said gently, stroking my arm like I was the child. "And that was last year."

Her patience felt like a knife.

So time moved that fast...

Then why does it crawl for me?

Why is every day slow—too slow—for me to die and follow my wife?

–Livana–

I laughed—really laughed—when I saw my son throwing a grand, Oscar-worthy tantrum over a simple bowl of fruits. His tiny fists balled up, his face scrunched, tears rolling dramatically as if someone had stolen his entire universe.

And Damon... my ridiculous, beautiful husband picked him up with a patience he barely had for anyone else, feeding him slice by slice in those strong arms.

It was rare—so rare—to see him hold our son now. My stupid husband stayed in bed all day, sleeping like the world didn’t exist. His hair had grown past his jaw, messy waves framing a face I used to kiss endlessly. The beard? God. That beard really needed to go.

I pressed my fingers against my temple, feeling a headache coming.

The wheels of a swivel chair rolled behind me, then Deanne purposely bumped into my back.

"I miss a dick," she announced dramatically. "A specific one."

I didn’t even bother looking at her. "Sorry, babe. You can’t go out yet."

My fingers danced across the keyboard, eyes glued to the monitors. "You’re too sexy for your own good. Attractive, lethal—those lunatics are still hunting you. And your boyfriend is drowning in work."

"At least let me see him," she groaned, shaking my shoulders like a child asking for candy.

"A dildo isn’t enough?" I asked dryly.

"If a dildo was enough, do you think I’d be whining?" she snapped. "My human sex toy knows exactly how to use his tongue and fingers."

I shoved my fingers into my ears and started singing loudly.

Deanne tried to pry my hands free, still rambling about Caine and his sinful skills.

I pushed her face away, rolling my eyes—until the screen in front of me pulled my attention back.

My husband is currently walking toward our family portrait with Sky in his arms. Most of it were big photos of me and my husband in a wedding gown that I never thought would look so gorgeous in the chosen wedding gown.

"Mama!" he exclaimed pointing at the wedding photo, voice bright, proud, certain.

My lips trembled. I pressed them together so hard it almost hurt.

I missed him.

I missed him so painfully I felt hollow.

"Yes," Damon murmured, voice so soft it broke me. "That’s right... your one and only mom."

My baby pointed again—another photo of me.

"Mama!"

Deanne clicked her tongue. "Now hearing that? Yeah, I’m going to see my Caine and make babies."

I shoved her away again.

"Fine. Go in disguise. One week. Maximum."

She squealed and hugged me so tight I almost choked. Then she sped off like she’d been launched.

I rubbed my temple. My head was pounding again—too much radiation, too many sleepless days. But I couldn’t rest. Not yet. Not when Damon and Sky needed me without even knowing it.

The Lancaster family deserved a break.

Lore needed a life outside the screens.

Deanne and Sophia needed a taste of freedom.

But me?

I would stay here, glued to these monitors like a ghost haunting her own life.

"Liva," my mother called softly as she approached. "Take a break."

"I’m fine," I lied, smiling faintly. "I’m just... watching him."

"And Deanne looked excitedly horny," she said with a chuckle, sitting beside me. "I think Sophia deserves to see her boyfriend too."

"Yeah..." I sighed. "Let them all go. I’ll just stay here and celebrate Sky’s birthday through screens."

My mother chuckled gently, her warmth steady beside me.

I watched Damon hand our son to Jane, then drag himself back to his room—like a grieving man returning to his coffin.

That bastard...

He still hadn’t opened the asset I inherited to him and our son.

The one house only the two of them could enter.

The house where I slept every night—waiting.

Waiting for him to come.

But no.

He preferred to sleep at home.

Hide at home.

Break at home.

Never stepping out.

Never working.

Not for months.

A stubborn, heartbroken man—a big, frustrating pain in my ass.

My chest tightened.

I felt bad for him.

I know how much he loves me.

So much it’s breaking him from the inside out.

So much it’s driving him insane.

I wish...

I just wish there was a way to reach into his mind and pull him back.

Control the storm brewing inside him.

Shake him awake.

Tell him I’m alive.

But all I could do was stare at the monitors... and wait.

Wait for the moment I could finally go home.

And hope that when I do...

My husband is still whole enough to hold me.