CHAPTER 93: A FAMILY TITLE

–Livana–

I answered Pablo Madrigal’s call.

A husky voice met me on the other line.

"Good day, this is Federico, Don Pablo Madrigal’s assistant. I would like to speak with Señorita Livana Braxton."

"Hello, Rico," I said sweetly, a subtle smile touching my lips. My voice was clear, deliberate, cheerful but calculated. "This is Livana speaking. To whom do I owe this call?"

"Señorita Livana, thank you for your response. I will now connect you to Don Pablo’s line."

The line shifted. A static breath. And then—

"Hola, Miss Livana?" A gravel-deep voice spoke with a rich, slow Mexican accent. "This is Don Pablo Madrigal. I know... it is our first time speaking, sí?"

"It is," I replied. "And rather unexpected."

"I understand," he said, the heaviness of age layered over his voice. "But primero, I want to offer mi sinceras disculpas—for my grandson’s actions. Alejandro... he is heir, yes, and he manages the family business well. But he has made poor choices. He brings a woman into our bloodline and now he wants to marry her. I heard... what she did to you."

"You mean Tyrona Dela Vega?"

"Sí. That one."

"Hmm." I crossed my arms slowly, resting back against the velvet chair. My temple pulsed, not with emotion—but anticipation.

"You can kill him," he said, his voice suddenly void of hesitation. "You can kill her."

There was silence. Intentional.

I let it hang in the air.

"Pardon?" I asked finally, though I heard him clearly.

"My grandson has become... rebellious. Dangerous."

"Don Pablo, are you sure of what you’re asking?" I said, carefully neutral.

"Sí, señorita," he answered without pause.

"Then why not do it yourself?"

"It is against la regla de la familia. Our code. We do not kill our own, even when they betray us," he said firmly.

I scoffed and shook my head in disbelief. "Oh, please."

"Let’s meet, Señorita Livana," he said, the authority in his voice rising ever so slightly. "We will sign a formal agreement. A contract that will protect you. My family will not hold you responsible."

"Don Pablo," I replied, "with all due respect, I don’t intend to be caught in the crossfire of your internal family drama."

"I know you want him dead," he said, his tone soft but assured. "And your husband... he wants him dead too."

"Yes," I murmured, my lips curling slowly into a smile. "Badly."

"Dígame dónde quiere reunirnos. Tell me where you want to meet," he continued. "I am here already—in the Philippines."

"Hmm..."

"Señorita Livana," he added with purpose, "I am doing this as a favor to you. After this... you may ask anything. Whatever you desire."

I could hear the confidence in his voice.

The way he rolled each vowel in "desire" as if he could grant the world if he willed it.

I grinned—slow, measured, cunning.

"Really?"

"Sí. Really," he confirmed.

"Hmm... Let’s say... nothing is final yet," I said coolly. "You’re asking something rather unorthodox. And dangerous."

"Envíame los detalles del encuentro... y estaré ahí," he replied.

Send me the rendezvous details, and I’ll be there.

His accent was rich, grounded—each syllable drawn out with the weight of legacy and power.

His assurance? Convincing. Almost too convincing.

"Very well," I said. "You’ll have it within the hour."

"Gracias, señorita. I look forward to meeting you. Adiós."

"Adiós, Don Pablo."

I ended the call, lowering the phone slowly. Deanne was watching me from across the room, curiosity written across her face.

"Hmm," I exhaled through my nose. "I think we should prepare something for Don Pablo. He wants his grandson’s head. I wonder why."

"Interesting," Deanne said with a grin. I shrugged with nonchalance.

Ten hours later, I arrived in Batanes. I had instructed Don Pablo to meet me in Lower Cagayan—somewhere discreet. I had the helicopter ready but I wasn’t on the said rendezvous but my men. He was allowed to bring only four men. I ensured none of them carried trackers. But in case they did, I had my Pawns and five Bishops on standby.

I waited patiently. Since property purchases here were restricted due to strict local laws, I rented an entire villa—for three days. Deanne had asked for a bit of relaxation, and I agreed.

My husband? He was probably losing his mind. I had deliberately withheld my location.

But for him to focus on managing the family business, I needed to get away from him.

I couldn’t process a single piece of paperwork with him hovering over me.

I still used braille when working, checking translations carefully.

I typed on my laptop and reviewed the latest tabloid reports and other miscellaneous items. Eventually, I browsed through Tyrona’s recent social media activity. Laura had sent me screenshots since most of the posts had already been deleted—flooded with negative comments after our public appearances.

I wasn’t famous, not at first. But fame came swiftly, mostly due to my unique features.

My husband? He was undeniably famous—despite not having any social media presence.

I searched his name. He was on Google.

Damn it. He shouldn’t be on Google.

I sighed and shook my head.

Who the fuck made his biography?

"What are you frowning at?" Deanne asked.

"Someone just made my husband’s biography."

"What do you want to do?"

"Contact Caine. Tell him to take it down."

I typed my own name—and saw my face appear as well.

I groaned. "Mine, too. Take it down."

"Okay." Deanne grabbed her phone and started tapping. A few seconds later, she greeted someone in her usual nonchalant tone.

"Hello, Caine. It’s Deanne. I have a favor to ask."

I heard the helicopter above. One of my men signaled me—it was time.

"Livana made me search her name and Damon’s on Google. They shouldn’t be appearing." Deanne put the call on speaker.

"Oh, right. We haven’t checked on that," Caine replied.

"Take it down now."

"But wait, aren’t you supposed to—?"

"Your boss is not my job," she said coldly, and I chuckled.

"Fine, whatever."

Deanne ended the call.

I stood and gathered the documents, placing them neatly into a folder. I closed my laptop. Deanne arranged another table with snacks and other refreshments. I waited.

A few minutes later, the old Don Pablo entered in a pristine white suit.

I kept my sunglasses on as he approached. Deanne whispered to me as I rose.

"Miss Livana, congratulations on your wedding."

"Thank you."

"It’s so nice to finally meet you."

I smiled and extended my hand. He shook it, gently squeezing.

"You have your madre’s features," he said, his voice deep and rich with age and accent. The way he rolled "madre" made it sound like a sacred title.

"You knew my mother?"

"Pero claro que sí. Of course," he nodded solemnly.

"Hmm." I nodded back. "Have a seat. Deanne, my secretary, prepared snacks and coffee. I heard you have a specific preference for a certain brew, but I’m also offering you native Filipino coffee."

"Ahh, that’s very thoughtful, señorita. Muy amable."

We sat down. I casually sipped my tea while he took two sips of the coffee.

"Es fuerte," he muttered approvingly. "I like it. Reminds me of the mornings in Monterrey."

I smiled softly. "I know you’re a busy man. Let’s proceed to the matter at hand."

Don Pablo smiled tightly. He didn’t know I could see—everyone believed I was blind.

"Miss Livana," he began, voice measured, "Alejandro... he is not of my blood. No es mi sangre. Yes, we have our family rules, but... me duele, it pains me."

He looked down for a brief moment before continuing, "Mi hijo... he left me two years ago. I still mourn him. Todavía. But recently, I found his original will. Alejandro... ese muchacho... he is not his son. My daughter-in-law? She fooled us. Nos jugó a todos."

"So you want him dead?"

"Y también a su madre," he added quietly. "She lied, destroyed my son’s name, and twisted our legacy."

"Hmm." I sighed and leaned back into my seat.

This was an unexpected family drama. But since my mother knew them, I should get to know Don Pablo better—to determine if he’s family to my mother.

–Laura–

Morning sickness? Endless cravings?

Darn, I’m getting fat.

But what annoyed me more?

My stepmother—or let’s just say... my aunt. She’s been driving me crazy lately. She found out I’m pregnant. Well, it’s not even a secret in the family.

Now she’s offering to help out at the company.

But I refused.

The CEO already prepared the BCP for my maternity leave. Plus, with the wedding coming up, we’re sticking to the cut-out brochures I made with Mom and Livana.

It’s my dream wedding. Mom’s gown? Already designed and in the album. I don’t want just anyone to wear it. Only the one who feels like another me—my best friend. My sister.

I want her to wear it.

I can’t stress out. Not now.

"Put more Biscoff sauce in it," I told him while we were lining up for Spanish yogurt at Ilao-Ilao.

"How many scoops exactly?" he asked.

"Three."

He nodded and gave the order to the cashier.

After buying that apple container with toppings and sauce—and a cup—we headed to the car, and that’s when I started venting.

"She’s getting on my nerves," I sighed as he gently patted my back. "Am I ugly now?" I asked, my tone dipping a little.

"No. Don’t say such nonsense," he said firmly. "You can’t be ugly."

He opened the car door while I glanced at our bodyguards who were watching us closely, as usual.

Once we got home, my fiancé didn’t stop pampering me.

I put on something comfortable after showering, and he started lathering me in beauty oils—even down there.

Damn, this man is seriously tempting me.

He was hard—but still chose not to make love to me.

Selfless.

That just made him even sexier.

He brushed my hair and kissed my forehead.

"Stop frowning." He grumbled.

"Will you be able to handle it?"

"What?"

"The company. For me?"

He laughed and placed his hand on top of my head.

"Baby... I thought you were talking about my aroused junior."

I giggled.

"Of course I can handle that," he smirked. "But what I can’t handle... is the hard man down there."

"Then let’s comfort him," I grinned, reaching for his face.