CHAPTER 234: HIS DEVOTION

–Livana–

Sky and I slip quietly into the kids’ room. Soft lights glow—warm, dim, and gentle, like an old lullaby humming through walls. The twins are curled together under their blankets, Logan’s camera fixed on them like a quiet guardian.

I lie down with Sky pressed against me. He latches onto me even though my milk is nearly gone. I stroke his hair, fine and soft as silk threads.

Damon appears at the door. Logan pats his shoulder with that mischievous grin.

"We’re taking a little break," Logan says before disappearing. The implication makes me laugh under my breath—Jane will murder him, yet she’ll still let him hold her tomorrow.

Damon crosses the room and kneels on the small bed. He kisses Sky’s head, but Sky pushes his face away with both palms.

"You’re a big guy now," Damon mutters darkly, clearly offended. "Feeding from your mom is unacceptable."

Sky shakes his head vigorously, eyes slanted with indignation, and reaches for the other side of my chest. I chuckle and stroke his back.

"He’s like you—very stubborn," I tease.

Damon leans closer to kiss my lips. Sky immediately wedges a hand between our faces with a babbled protest.

"Sleep, you little rascal," Damon murmurs, planting a kiss on Sky’s cheek before pushing himself off the mattress. "I’ll chat with your mom."

He heads downstairs. I hum quietly to Sky.

"Sleep, my little love. Mom has to work."

He refuses, eyelids fluttering stubbornly. So I fix my dress, prepare formula at the table, hand him the bottle, and wait while he drinks. When he’s done, he tosses it aside like trash and collapses beneath the blanket. Just like that, he’s asleep—reckless, sweet, and entirely mine.

I check the twins, straighten their blanket, and finally descend to the living room.

Laughter echoes faintly from another room—Jane reprimanding Logan. They’re ridiculous. They’ll be perfect.

Downstairs, my mother sits with wine swirling in her glass, the crimson liquid catching the light like blood in motion. Damon sits beside her, not drinking alcohol, but tea—obedient, because I asked it of him.

I glide behind him, brushing my fingers across his shoulder, grounding him.

"And here we are," Damon murmurs when he notices me. "Now, I think it’s time for you two to explain everything. Does Laura know?"

Mom shakes her head. "Laura knows nothing. It protects her."

Damon exhales.

"You accept that so easily?" I asked him.

"I was angry," he admits, voice steady, hand closing around mine. "But I don’t care. As long as you don’t trick me again."

"You don’t want divorce," I whisper, kissing his cheek. His skin tastes like tea and salt.

"Divorce keeps families safe," I continue, sitting beside him. "Me being ’dead’ lowers the threat. But my chess pieces move fast, and they must stay hidden. For the Blackwell Empire to endure, we play quietly. Carefully. Elegantly."

My husband looks at me like I hung the moon. He doesn’t realize that behind every move I make... the moon is already in checkmate.

He closed his eyes and leaned into me. His weight was heavy, but comforting.

"So that’s your reason, Mom?" Damon asked, steady but strained.

"Livana didn’t know about the compass," Mother revealed. "They handed her the fake one, believing it was real. She used their greed as bait."

"Now I’m curious about the device," Damon muttered.

"Soon," I patted his thigh.

"Take him there," Mother suggested. "But make sure he’s not wearing anything."

Damon’s eyes widened. "Like naked?"

"No," I laughed. "Devices. Metal. Electronics aren’t allowed."

He only wore our rings—mine hanging around his neck like a talisman.

Mother stood. "I will take care of the children. You two should consider this a honeymoon."

I tugged Damon’s hand, barely containing my smile. "Logan and Jane already took their break."

Mother chuckled.

We headed to the basement—our secret artery. The tunnel smelled faintly of concrete and ozone. Electric cars sat neatly in their bays.

We rode toward the main server. The air was colder there; deeper; like being swallowed by the earth.

Commander White stood waiting, posture rigid.

"Good evening, Commander." I greeted.

"Good evening, Your Majesties," he bowed.

Inside, chaos erupted.

Sophia screamed at Deanne, cushion flying.

"It’s your damn fault for getting pregnant!" Sophia spatted.

"Pregnant?" I lifted a brow.

They froze. Then—

"It’s Caine’s fault," Deanne muttered. "He planned this!"

"You should get married first," I sighed.

"We’ll set the venue," Damon offered, eyes roaming the house. "This is... a house."

"Yes," I smiled. "I have a room here too."

Sophia sighed dreamily. "Now I’m envious."

I laughed and took Damon to the elevator. As the doors opened, we heard Lore shouting like a man balancing twenty worlds.

"What the fuck?! Leave the area!"

Damon blinked. "So this is what Sophia meant."

"Yes. He and Louie and their parents built most of this."

Screens, servers, code scrolling. Surveillance of every Blackwell, Braxton and Carrington properties.

"You saw us?" Damon asked.

"I see everything." I hugged him from behind.

Lore barked more commands. "Bishop, E4!"

I led Damon to our control interface—the touchscreen chessboard.

All our empire, in algorithmic war.

He was awestruck.

"This is cool." Damon murmured, his voice low with awe. He didn’t dare touch anything—his fingertips hovered over the glowing screens like a man afraid he might shatter glass with the wrong breath. I took him further into the chamber, my hand brushing his arm as the hum of machines wrapped around us like a mechanical heartbeat.

"So all of these are the servers?" His voice echoed softly in the cavernous room, where cold air kissed our skin and rows of servers blinked like constellations arranged in human-made galaxies.

"Yup." I nodded, watching his eyes widen. He looked like a child inside a planetarium, discovering that the sky had more stars than he ever imagined.

"You watch us from there?" He pointed toward Lore’s desk, where wires tangled like veins feeding into the body of our empire.

"Uhuh."

There was no shame in it. Only necessity. Only survival.

Then there’s Yolanda, busy on her computer—her fingers moving with the calm precision of a surgeon.

"That’s Yolanda Lancaster, Lore’s mother."

Yolanda glanced over her shoulder and gave Damon a gentle, knowing wave.

"Welcome, Damon."

"Thank you." Damon grinned, a little sheepish, a little charmed, and I found myself smiling. He had always been easy to love like that—so earnest, so open, even when he pretended not to be.

"And Jorge is somewhere here as well."

"I’m here," Jorge’s voice floated up from below as he climbed out of the floor hatch like a disgruntled mole. "Hello, Damon."

"Jorge." Damon nodded politely, though he blinked twice, probably wondering how many more surprises this place held. "So, they stay here for years?"

"We have relievers who remotely work to monitor," I explained, guiding him through the low-lit labyrinth of screens and humming towers. "Even Mom works here a few hours a week. I stayed here most of my time too."

"It’s unhealthy."

His tone sharpened with concern, and I felt his hand slide to my back as though to shield me retroactively from every sleepless night I ever endured here.

"Every day they have their routine. They need to get enough sunlight and they need to sleep." I smiled faintly. "Mom always prepares healthy meals and snacks."

"Hmm, I see."

He didn’t entirely approve. His expression softened though—worried, protective. My husband, who once feared nothing, now feared losing me again more than assassins or empires.

I took him back upstairs.

The moment we stepped into the living room, chaos greeted us like an old friend.

Deanne and Sophia were sprawled on the carpet, laughing as though the world wasn’t threatening to end outside our walls.

"Look." Deanne lifted her tablet. "Each of these wedding gowns comes with a sexy negligee. We’re guessing which one Caine would run away from."

"I think being naked is already best," Damon said, deadpan. "Always works for me."

Sophia roared in laughter and smacked Deanne with a cushion.

"Ow!"

They hit each other like children fighting over candy.

"Yeah, naked." I looked up at my husband—my ridiculous, adorable, corrupted man—and shook my head. "Deanne, whatever tease you plan on Caine... it’ll work a hundred and one percent."

"Woah, really?" Deanne’s face lit up. "Yeah, you’re right!"

I reached for Damon, fingers curling around his wrist as I guided him toward my bedroom.

"Liva, Boss."

Lore’s voice cut through the air—flat, drained, and unmistakably urgent.

I turned. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days; shadows clung beneath his eyes like bruises.

"What is it?"

"Our Greenland Rook needs backup. Should I send out the Knights or the Bishops?"

I tilted my head, calculating.

"Send out the Pawns first. Next the White Knights."

"Got it." He disappeared into the elevator like a phantom sucked away by duty.

I smiled faintly and tugged Damon with me again.

We entered my bedroom. Damon’s eyes softened instantly—this was my sanctuary, and now it was his too. I undressed quickly, silk whispering to the floor. His breath hitched as his gaze dragged over me; he pulled his shirt off, shoved his home shorts down, and stepped closer like a man starving.

"How about in our mansion? The big one?" he murmured. "Can we stay there with our son?"

"There are assassins who know that place." I reached up, cupping his face. His stubble scratched my palm, grounding me. "This is our safest one."

I leaned in, my voice softening. "I’m sorry, Damon."

"You are here," he whispered, forehead dipping to mine. "That’s all that matters to me now."

And I loved him for it.

I loved his words, trembling with devotion.

I loved how he was in love with me—recklessly, ruinously, beautifully.

Even if that love had shattered him once.

Even if it might again.

But I would hold the pieces this time.

Every last one of them.