CHAPTER 231: LIVANA’S FIRST DEATH ANNIVERSARY

–Damon–

It’s been a year since my wife left me. And here I am, drowning myself in alcohol again inside my wife’s mausoleum. Fully air-conditioned, with a sofa and a fridge. I had someone install that for me. Just across from it is my mother-in-law’s.

"Cheers, love." I raised my beer. "You know, your son is growing really talkative and such a foodie. He’ll do perfectly well without me."

I finished my last beer and went through the fridge to grab something stronger.

"Bro!" Caine exclaimed. "I just received a ghost email from Livana. I think she set this up last year."

"Nonsense," I murmured.

"Anyway, the letter isn’t for you, but for me."

Outside, everyone is drinking and doing some silent shit for my wife’s first death anniversary.

"Mama!" I looked toward the door where he crawled up even though he can walk. Step by step, he climbed the stairs. "Mama!" He balanced himself to stand and ran toward Livana’s photo by the stand.

"Let’s go home." Caine shoved his phone toward me.

"Timer?" I scoffed. "Exactly on the day she died?" I read it.

Dear Caine,

I know you’re probably shocked. But I sent out letters to everyone I know. And no, I don’t think this is the day that I die. But for my first death anniversary, please, pretty please, take my husband out of my graveyard and make him have fun.

"Have fun, my ass! If you didn’t leave me, I wouldn’t be here!" I hadn’t even finished reading it and I was already about to throw Caine’s phone, but he caught me and continued reading it.

"Now, grab his ass out of my mausoleum and take him to some bar!" Caine shouted. "Sky," he looked at my son who was raising his arms toward Livana’s photo, "Baby Sky, you take over and protect this place. I’m taking your father."

Caine pulled me, but I pushed him away. But it wasn’t just him this time—Kai was there too, and Jane. Jane carried Sky while the two idiots dragged me outside.

"Get off!" I shouted at both of them. David turned the car around, already ready. They shoved me into the backseat, Kai and Caine on each side as David drove off fast. I closed my eyes hard, trying to sleep, trying to dream about my wife.

"Where’s Logan?" I asked. "That fucking Logan is never around. Why?"

"Logan is working," Caine said. "They’re all working." He sighed. "Even Deanne."

"Wow, they’re working on Livana’s death anniversary," I laughed. "Yeah, maybe we should go to the club, hit me up with heavy drugs." I kept laughing.

It probably took an hour before we got to the club. It’s a new club filled with a lot of powerful hotshots. We went to a VIP area with a nice view. I ordered whiskey on the rocks as Caine waved at our asshole friends—Jordan, Ike, and Aaron. These assholes flaunted a girl with white-blonde hair. Tall and slender, mocking my wife.

Caine stood up to reprimand them. It’s disgusting how hideous the woman looked. I guess they think she’s beautiful, but no matter how hard people try to copy my wife, it twists my stomach into knots.

A group walked past us, clearly protecting the woman in the middle. My eyes lingered, from her legs down to the ankle. She was wearing a sword stiletto. A rare piece by Cesare Paciotti. Black hair tied into a bun, and a phoenix tattoo on her nape.

I stood and started walking toward her. Powerful aura. Just like my wife.

They headed to a more private area, and I didn’t hesitate pushing the bodyguards aside.

Someone grabbed me, but I was desperate—desperate for my wife. I reached her arm. She didn’t turn her head, and suddenly I was surrounded by more men.

"Get your hands off!" someone growled while holding my wrist. I noticed a Bishop pin.

"It’s fine," that voice said. That voice—soft like a feather yet powerful. She turned to me. Black eyelashes, black brows, and gray eyes. Even if her face was altered, I knew it was her.

"Wife," I whispered. I cupped her face, and she slapped me on my left cheek. It jolted me awake, and I stared at her again. I pulled her face and crushed my lips to hers. I sucked her lips—she tasted like my wife.

They pulled me away and held me down as Livana smirked down at me.

"It’s alright, my business here is done."

They finally let me go. I removed my coat and wrapped it around her body. She was wearing something too revealing. I shoved my nose against her neck—it smelled like her, no matter what perfume she used.

"Damon!" I heard Caine or someone shout, but I pulled her closer like her body was molded into mine.

"Not here," she hissed as I dragged her away, her bodyguards following.

"Here," someone opened a room for us, then took us to the elevator. I didn’t know anything else until we were in a room. Livana shut the door and turned to me, and I took another slap. But it didn’t hurt—I felt nothing physically. My chest felt tight, suffocating.

"You’re not dead," I rasped as I reached her neck, holding it—not tight enough to hurt her. My eyes locked with hers as she scoffed.

"I’ve been waiting for you! But you never opened the damn letter!" she hissed.

"What are you talking about? You left us! What about the body? I held you—"

She cupped my face.

"Every day, I waited for you and our baby. In the small house that I purchased, where I hid." She slapped my chest. She’s angrier than I am. "You lost weight! Look at you! You’re a mess! I told you to take care of our baby!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’s angry. Why is she angry? I should be the angry one.

"Wash your hair," I muttered as my hand reached her fitted dress and unzipped it.

She wiped her tears and smacked me again.

"Have you eaten?"

I didn’t answer.

"Have you eaten!?" she smacked me again, and I shook my head. She sniffled. "I was here for business. Deanne is in the other room with Logan. I emailed Caine because I wanted to see you."

"I’m here," I kissed her lips and showered her face with more kisses.

She closed her eyes and exhaled, then pulled out her phone.

"Send out the dinner," she murmured as she pushed me back. I followed her, grabbing her waist. She finally turned to me and started unbuttoning my shirt. She froze when she opened it.

"Where are the muscles?" she hissed, smacking my chest.

"Ow..."

"Damn it. We’re not making love tonight!"

"Because I’m thin?" I asked.

"Exactly. You didn’t take care of yourself, did you?"

"I’m sorry."

She pressed her lips and looked away. She sat on the bed and reached down for her shoes. I knelt and removed them. I took mine off and placed them next to hers by the closet. She went to the bathroom and I followed. She removed her contacts and soaked them in solution. Then, I helped her undress.

I removed the pins in her hair and caressed the tattoo.

"Is this real?"

"No."

I turned on the shower and made sure it was the right heat for her. She sighed as she reached my face.

"You haven’t shaved yet." She looked at me with pain. She ran her fingers through my hair. "I like your long hair... we can’t cut it yet. They’ll know I’m alive."

I kissed her hand.

"Livy," someone called outside. "Food’s here." Livana stepped out of the shower, put on her robe, and went out. "Lore already cleared the footage. I’ll go to Caine so they’ll stop worrying about Damon." It was Deanne. I could see in the reflection.

They knew Livana was alive. I felt betrayed.

"They don’t know yet. Just tell them Damon probably moved on or something," Livana murmured, and Deanne sighed.

"Alright. Damon!" Deanne called. "I’ll be here at ten in the morning. She needs to come out at that exact time. I’ll leave the hair color, alright?"

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

"He got it," Livana said. The door closed. She came back and approached me.

"Lore knows," I mumbled.

"I’ll explain to you soon." She removed her robe and hung it. She reached my face and pulled it down as I closed my eyes, feeling her kiss, my hands all over her naked body.

"Don’t leave me again," I whispered.

"I won’t."

I carried her into the shower and washed her hair. The dark ink faded under the warm water, revealing her natural color. I kissed her lips and massaged her scalp. I couldn’t stop staring at her—the woman I thought I had lost forever.

I don’t want to sleep tonight. I’m terrified I’ll wake up and lose her again.

I helped her as usual—drying her hair, lotion, dressing her up. She led me to the dining table where our food was set. Still warm—whatever they put in it kept the heat. Instead of sitting across from me, she sat on my lap and fed me like I was pathetic.

I held her, smelled her, stared at her. I can’t be dreaming. I won’t lose my wife a second time.

"Let’s finish this so we can make love," her voice whispered like a symphony in my ears.

I can’t be dreaming. I won’t let this go. Not again.