CHAPTER 56: A BIG BROTHER’S ATTENTION

–Damon–

Dela Vega—or whoever they’ve got trying to ruin my operation—just handed me a mess to clean up. I sighed as I folded another shirt into my suitcase, prepping for another damn business trip.

My wife? She’s beside me, determined to be helpful, carefully touching each piece of clothing I might need and handing them over.

She thinks she’s just helping. But the truth is, she already has. She keeps me sane. My anchor in all this chaos. She’s like my life support.

"Wow, this is a good choice, love," I said, picking up a pair of cream-colored pants—ones I’d never wear on my own.

"What color is this?" she asked, handing me a long-sleeved shirt with the same careful touch, her eyes blank yet calculating.

"That’s blue."

"What shade of blue?"

I squinted. "Uhh... I don’t know exactly. But it’s deep blue..."

"Like navy blue? Or night blue?"

"Hmm... night blue!" I snapped my fingers.

"Pair it with those pants," she said, nudging it toward me with a slight smirk.

"Okay." I shrugged, setting them over my bag. Then I grabbed her by the waist and buried my face in the crook of her neck. "I’ll miss you."

"Hmm, I know."

"Be a good girl while I’m away, alright? Don’t get into fights. I’ll have a bodyguard watch over you—besides Jane."

"Maybe I should hire some bodyguards for you, so you don’t end up fucking anyone."

I laughed, mouth brushing her neck. She always had the sharpest claws wrapped in velvet.

"I’ll call you every day. You can even have someone stalk me," I murmured against her skin, nibbling her earlobe. "But mostly, I’ll be eliminating people, my love. And I know you’re soft-hearted and brutal in the strangest ways—but if they report any gut-wrenching details of what I do..."

"I don’t give a fuck what kind of business you’re doing," she cut me off smoothly. "But when you get back, you’ll take a test. Just to make sure you didn’t catch anything—or spread anything."

"Quarantine it is. I’ll be careful."

"Months. For HIV."

"Babe, I swear—I won’t fuck anyone. You can bug me. Hell, implant a tracker." I even pouted like a damn teenager. But it’s true—I can’t touch anyone else. Not because I fear her wrath—though she would absolutely kill me—but because no one else does it for me.

I tried before, long ago—after that one night stand with her. But they did nothing for me. It wasn’t dysfunction. It was her. She cursed me. Claimed me. Ruined me for anyone else. And I liked it.

I inhaled her scent deeply, tightening my hold.

"I have to take your sister shopping."

"Hmm. Maybe I’ll come, too."

"Why?" She turned toward me, brow furrowed. "You told Alyssa you were busy."

"I was. But I’m willing to move the meeting. For our date."

She looked—angry? Offended? Beautiful. Always beautiful.

"No," she said coldly.

"Baby, please..."

"Talk to your sister. You’re some kind of powerful man in this family, but you’re self-centered... and a workaholic."

"Hmm. I thought Mom was handling—"

"She is—but your mom can only do so much. She can’t solve every problem all at once."

She raised her hand, placing it gently over my chest. Her fingers moved with a graceful familiarity, skimming the fabric, tracing the line of my neck, and finally resting on my cheek. Her blindness didn’t hinder her—it heightened everything else. She read me with the ease of someone who had memorized every inch of me, every breath I took.

"After my mom died," she said softly, "I made it my duty to know every move Laura made. She’s clever—manipulative, even. People try to bully her, but she knows how to fight back."

There was a pause, a whisper of breath between us.

"I’m just there to make sure that if she ever kills someone... there are no witnesses. No traces."

She said it softly. Slowly. Like a lullaby soaked in poison.

"Oh, baby. I’m sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"Hmm." I tilted my head. She’s so damn clever. Too clever. "I should spend time with Alyssa. And listen to her endless, nonsense chatter."

"Yeah, that’s right."

We both got dressed—casual. She wore jeans and a shirt, hair up in that effortless way that makes her look like royalty even in sneakers. I drove the sedan to Alyssa’s school. But my eyes kept drifting to my wife. Always her.

I smiled to myself, remembering the first time I drove her—when I was ordered to take her to her mother’s house. Damien and Laura were in the back seat. She sat shotgun, quiet and unreadable, dressed in her school uniform. I kept glancing her way, pretending to focus on the road, but truth was—I just wanted time with her. Even thirty seconds. That one hour drive? It was my victory.

Now here we were again. Waiting in the pickup zone. I honked lightly, and Alyssa and her friends turned. I stepped out.

"Alyssa!" I called. She jumped, squealed, and ran over. I hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head.

"Alright, get in, girls!" I said, opening the backseat. Four of them. They managed to squeeze in.

And then I saw her. Tyrona’s mother. And the little sister. Standing just a few meters away.

Livana hasn’t told me everything that happened yet. But just seeing them? I know. My sister needs more protection than I thought.

And I’ll give it to her. No matter the cost.

–Livana–

Hearing Alyssa talk excitedly about shopping with her friends—especially when it’s Damon footing the bill—fills me with quiet joy. There’s something endearing about it, something warm. It reminds me of simpler times, when Mom would take us to the mall after a hard day, letting us pick out anything we wanted.

That was also the time Damon began tagging along. I hated him then—hated how he tried so hard to win my mother’s approval with constant flattery and fake charm.

Mom, though... she wasn’t naive. She saw through Damon immediately. She knew he had an agenda. She didn’t give him any ideas. She just let him try. She understood, in her quiet, knowing way, that he was already obsessed.

"Can they also get something?" Alyssa asked Damon, holding up a shopping bag and gesturing toward her friends.

"Yeah, sure," Damon answered, effortlessly generous as always.

Once the girls made their purchases in that boutique, we moved to another. The lighting shifted as we walked, and I realized something—my vision was changing.

That persistent shadow, the dark blur that had long veiled the center of my sight, was slowly fading.

My range had widened.

Colors were sharper.

Shapes had more definition.

I had a plan. I needed to confirm it with my doctor once Damon left the country. But for now, I would keep it to myself. No one needed to know that I was starting to see more clearly again.

"Are you thirsty?" Damon asked softly, guiding me to one of the cushioned seats in the lounge area. "I’ll buy you some water."

He left before I could reply, and instinctively, I turned my head to watch him walk away.

I tilted my head again, this time toward the sound of giggles and light footsteps. Alyssa and the girls were nearby.

Alyssa approached, holding up a blouse in each hand. "You can touch this," she said sweetly.

Both were pink, nearly identical in shade—but not quite.

One had a cooler tone, the other warmer.

I set my walking stick beside me and reached out, running my fingers across the fabric. Smooth. Lightweight.

I lifted the one with the cooler pink tone, imagining how it would complement her. It was subtle but vibrant—perfect for Alyssa.

"Babe, here’s your water." Damon’s voice brought me back. He sat beside me and unscrewed the cap. I heard the soft glug as he took the first sip. Then he handed it to me.

I drank half before leaning back against the seat, already sensing the long day ahead.

We strolled more, store after store, and eventually made our way to a four-star restaurant tucked inside the mall. We ordered and settled in. Damon, as always, sat close—listening with a faint smile as Alyssa chattered excitedly. Her voice filled the space between us like sunlight filtering through silk.

But then... the air shifted.

Damon asked about school. His tone was casual—too casual.

One of the girls, Kryzel I believe, suddenly blurted something about Tiffany. A name that changed everything.

Damon didn’t react at first. But I felt it. The change.

Still, his voice remained low, dangerously calm.

"Hmm? Really? Who?" His voice had softened, but I knew it well—it was the voice he used when he was restraining himself. "Who’s been bullying you, Alyssa?"

Kryzel answered before Alyssa could stop her. She explained how Tiffany and her so-called minions had been pulling cruel pranks, humiliating Alyssa in front of everyone. Verbal abuse. Ridicule. Cruelty.

I didn’t need to say anything. Damon would find out everything on his own. He always does.

I reached under the table and gently laid my hand on his thigh. His body was stiff—coiled like a spring—but his expression remained unreadable.

He was calm.

At least on the surface.

But I could feel it.

A storm was building inside him.

And for Tiffany... I quietly feared what would come next.