CHAPTER 59: TRUST

–Livana–

He was meticulous with the check-up, each movement deliberate, efficient. His voice carried a quiet confidence, the kind shaped by years of experience and countless patients. I sensed no hesitation in his touch—just precision. I knew his eye drop formula had helped many recover, yet the version he used wasn’t available on the market. It was reserved, he said, for post-surgical care—something delicate, potent.

"I can perform a surgery to remove those black spots," he said, his voice calm. "However, I can’t guarantee you’ll regain twenty-twenty vision."

"As long as I can see—and you can correct it," I replied.

He paused. I heard the rustle of his sleeve, imagining him nodding thoughtfully.

"Hmm... I believe the person who created that toxic solution miscalculated," he said at last. "They likely intended for you to go completely blind. But instead, it only caused these black spots. Fortunately, they’re treatable. There’s a real chance to restore some of your sight."

"How long is the recovery period?"

"It usually takes one to two months."

"Hmm," I nodded, slowly. "We can’t let my husband know about this, right?"

"It’s completely confidential, Mrs. Blackwell."

"He’s my legal guardian now," I exhaled. "Let’s proceed with the surgery. What preparations are required?"

"Proper rest, mostly. And I’ll need to monitor your vitals closely."

"Understood," I said, another soft sigh escaping my lips. "Let’s get on with it. I need to be functional within four weeks—before my husband decides to search every corner of the globe to find me."

He didn’t respond right away. I could hear the subtle tension in the silence.

"I’m curious," he said finally.

I smirked. "I’m sure you are."

I rose from my seat slowly, sensing the cool air shift around my skin.

"Your husband funded this eyedrop research," he continued. "It’s his money, my science. Why keep him in the dark?"

"Our marriage is one of convenience," I said smoothly, lips curling into a practiced smile. "And I can fund you just as well, Dr. Andersson."

"Alright then. Tomorrow at nine," he confirmed. "Make sure you get a full night’s sleep. That’s all I ask."

"Perfect. And do enjoy the garden while you can. After the surgery, I’ll let you roam the town as you please."

"Thank you."

With the help of my walking stick, I left the sanitized room filled with sterile light and humming machines. Outside, the scent of sterilized linens faded into the lavender air of the hallway, where Sophia waited for me.

"I prepared something for you to eat," she said, a warm lilt in her voice. "Good for your eyes, and—"

"Thank you."

"It seems your husband’s trying to reach me. He called my number—the one I left back at home."

"Hmm. And the burner phone?"

"He’s calling that too."

"I’ll contact him from another number," I murmured.

I retreated to my afternoon room. The air smelled faintly of citrus from the oil diffuser. I reached the small table and ran my fingers across the cool porcelain bowl of fruit Sophia mentioned—kiwi slices and raw carrots, crisp and familiar. I nibbled absentmindedly.

I’d told my husband I’d call him. That bastard—he clearly doesn’t listen. Now he’s trying to track me down.

Dinner was quiet, shared with Adrian, Logan, and Sophia. We ate like a family—or, at least, something trying to resemble one. We avoided business talk in Adrian’s presence. He still seemed tense, adjusting. I had provided everything he needed with Logan’s help—clothes, skincare, perfume, the little luxuries that made one feel human again.

Logan had taken him around the town earlier. I hoped he enjoyed it.

Later, I followed my night routine. Skincare first, then the medicine, and finally, the eyedrop. Cold, sharp against my eye, the liquid stung before settling into a dull warmth. I lay down, phone in hand, and finally made the call.

Our greetings were casual, familiar. Then, the first thing he brought up was a dog.

"I bought a perfect dog, my love," he said, his tone light. "You’ll love him. He’s already trained."

"I can’t wait," I said lightly, pretending to sound intrigued. It was a bit interesting.

He was so doting. A service dog—thoughtful. I didn’t need one, of course, but the sentiment was clear. Part of me suspected it was for tracking purposes, though he assured me otherwise.

"You can still handle your business and leave the dog at home," he said.

"I’m sure—"

I cut him off.

The call was meant to last an hour, but tonight, I needed my beauty sleep.

–Damon–

I couldn’t sleep. How the hell could I sleep when I didn’t even know where my wife was?

I’d been fighting the urge to trace her burner phone. I could’ve done it in seconds—but she’d know. And she’d hate that. Still, I hated this more. Not knowing.

I exhaled heavily, sinking into the old leather chair inside the hidden room, right beside the torture chamber. The screams echoed like background noise. Kai was on the speaker while the others continued the interrogation. I barely listened.

I leaned back, arms crossed.

"This is boring," I muttered under my breath.

Kai glanced at me with a scoff. "You’ve been whining about your wife for days."

"Yeah? Well, our one-hour calls turned into thirty minutes. Then ten. Now she’s always tired."

I shot up from my seat.

"You think she’s sick?"

Kai leaned forward, eyebrows raised. "She’s a healthy girl."

"But how would you know? What if she’s—" I broke off.

"She said she’s just tired from work," he cut in, voice sharp. "Lethargic. Burnt out. Give her space, man."

I knew I looked like a damn child. Probably even pouting like one. But I didn’t care. I just wanted to hold her. To bury my face in her neck. To kiss her until she forgot everything else. To touch her. To make love to her until she stopped pretending to be fine.

But no. I had to sit here and listen to some bastard being beaten while my wife was... somewhere.

And worse? The leather company was falling into chaos. A setup, they said. Someone trying to pin the Dela Vega-Blackwell mess on the Carringtons. Which, in return, would point straight at Livana.

It was too clean. Too political.

The Blackwells and Carringtons were bonded decades ago—back in my grandfather’s era. Their alliance was more than political; it was personal. Built on blood, loyalty, and shared enemies. Nearly unbreakable.

Which made it even more pathetic that someone now was trying to reduce all that history to ashes—just to drag my wife down.

And the worst part?

That bond was already broken.

Shattered through years of betrayal, greed, and silence.

But I kept hoping. Still hoping. That maybe—just maybe—it could be rebuilt.

Made unbreakable again. With trust. With blooming businesses between us. With the kind of quiet power we used to have. And Livana... she could be at the center of it.

She had this vision. This drive. The same fire her mother had.

To help. To build. To create something that didn’t just benefit us—but saved people. Helped the ones no one else even looked at.

And Braxton... they weren’t strangers to us. Ines Braxton—Mom’s friend. Aunt Ines, before she married into the Carrington family. I remember hearing her name in hushed reverence. Mom used to talk about her like she was royalty.

Her beauty. Her composure. The way she handled every situation with flawless, almost surgical precision.

Like Livana.

Like the woman who now bears my name.

It’s terrifying—how history tries to repeat itself. And how the universe keeps giving me reminders:

She’s more than my wife.

She’s legacy.

She’s war.

She’s peace.

And I’ll tear down any bastard who forgets that.

"Can we end this already?" I muttered. I wasn’t the type to complain—but this time? I was spiraling. If she were home, I’d bury myself in work just to finish faster. But with her gone? My mind didn’t shut up.

What if she found someone else?

Was I not enough in bed?

Did I not spoil her enough?

I clawed at my jaw. Those thoughts? They were driving me mad.

"Damon!" Kai snapped. "You need to focus."

"Hmm," I hummed, then leaned forward. The man on the screen was covered in blood, barely conscious. "Stop."

Kai pressed the mic. "Cease."

Then my phone rang.

Unregistered number.

I didn’t even hesitate. I grabbed it and answered on the first ring.

"Livy? Baby?"

"Damon." Her voice. Low. Controlled. But still her.

God, I could breathe again.

"Do me a favor," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Focus. Find the bastard who set us up."

"I will," I grinned, eyes lighting up. "But I deserve a video call. C’mon."

"Do not come home until you catch him. Understand?"

"Wait, don’t hang up yet," I said quickly, heart racing. "Honey, what’s with the temper?"

"I just got a message. The media’s dragging the Carringtons into the drug mess. I know you know we don’t deal with that filth."

I laughed—sharp and dry.

The Carringtons?They don’t sell drugs. They create them. Not just that. Machine guns, tactical armor, explosive drones—you name it. They sell it to governments. In a war, they’d make billions in days.

"Call me later, okay?" I pleaded. "In two hours. I’ll be free."

"I’ll call you in two hours. When you’re in bed."

My heart just stopped. Eyes wide.

God. That’s all I needed to hear.

I’d been losing it. Fantasizing. Obsessing. Scrolling through her photos at night like a madman. I’d even taken secret pictures of her when she was lotioning herself—God, those curves, the softness of her body in the golden light of our room.

I closed my eyes and let out a slow, aching breath.

But none of that compared to the ache of not knowing where the hell she was.

And the thing that terrified me the most?

If I didn’t find her soon... I’d burn this world down to make sure no one else could.