–Damon–
Someone’s tailing me. I can feel their eyes like a knife at my back. Most likely trying to determine whether the heir to the Blackwell empire is behind the illegal shipments they’ve been sniffing around. Pathetic.
They’re wasting their time.
Every move they’ve predicted, my wife anticipated and dismantled days ago. While they scramble in the shadows, I’ve already shifted direction. A new plan. A cleaner one. My grin stretches, sharp and involuntary. I’m amused—and more than a little obsessed.
I can’t stop thinking about her.
Even distracted, she runs our world with surgical precision. Her brilliance is unsettling. Addictive.
"Stop at the open fast food place," I said. "Then we head home."
My driver gave a short nod. We rolled into the greasy halo of the drive-thru lights. I placed an order—things Livana wouldn’t normally touch. Greasy, strange, comfort food for mortals. I want her to taste something absurd tonight. Something unexpected.
When I returned home, the warmth of the paper bag bled through my palms. I moved quickly up the stairs, only to find our bedroom door ajar. My heartbeat spiked—tight, cold.
Someone else?
I pushed it open.
Inside, my mother was seated on the sofa, her hand gently clasped around Livana’s. They were speaking softly—comfortably.
"Damon," my mother greeted, looking up, "you’re home early."
"Plans changed," I replied flatly. My eyes flicked between them. "What’s going on? It’s late."
"We were just talking about the incident earlier," she said, rising. "It’s late. I should go. Good night."
She kissed Livana’s cheek, then stepped toward me. I lowered my head to meet her as she placed a kiss on my forehead.
"Fast food?" she sniffed disapprovingly. "Hardly a healthy midnight snack."
Then she slipped out and closed the door behind her.
I approached Livana. She wrinkled her nose.
"What is that smell?"
I set the paper bag on the coffee table, smirking.
"Something new. Thought you might want to try weird food tonight."
"I don’t eat fast food," she replied, her tone crisp. She reached for her tablet, fingers gliding across the custom buttons.
"Come on, babe. Just a taste. I got a sundae. Fries."
She hummed in her usual detached way—dismissive but not resistant. I sat beside her, watching as she tapped through the updates streaming in from her team. I pulled out my own tablet and scanned the shipment logs. Clean so far. The bait had been taken.
I reached into the bag and unwrapped the mango cheesecake sundae. I passed it to her with a tissue tucked around the cold cup.
"Try this."
She held it, inhaled cautiously, then scooped a small spoonful and tasted it. I grinned, grabbing a burger and peeling back the wrapper.
Then—three sharp knocks.
We both paused.
The door creaked open, and Laura marched in, eyes immediately locking onto the bag.
"Are you stealing food from us?" she demanded.
"That’s unfair!" Damien followed behind her, barefoot and indignant.
"How the hell did you two smell that from down the hall?" I asked.
"It’s food," Laura said with an eye roll as she dropped onto the cushions. Damien joined her, both of them diving into the fries and burgers like starved wolves.
"I like this," Livana murmured. She took another bite of the sundae. Her expression didn’t change much—but her voice softened.
I picked up a fry, held it to her lips.
"Just try one."
She took it, chewed thoughtfully, then gave a small nod.
"Does it have cheese?"
"Yup."
We sat in comfortable silence, sharing stolen bites of junk food. She slipped on her headset, listening in on her team’s live broadcast. I heard it too, faint in the background. Calm voices, coded words, precision.
My gaze flicked toward the security feed.
A car.
Parked just outside the compound gate.
Are they here for me already?
I haven’t touched the container. No contact. No trace. The one they’re tracking is a decoy I crafted and handed to them with a bow. I smirked. Let them come.
They’ll dig through that crate like rats and find nothing but air. Maybe they’re mad I married Livana and not Tyrona. Maybe they’re pawns in a vendetta I didn’t start but will certainly finish.
Or maybe... maybe Grandpa’s behind this.
He hasn’t said a word. But I know. I know what he did. And he knows I know. The silence is a confession in itself.
I haven’t confronted him yet.
I’m waiting.
"Food!" another voice called.
I sighed and turned my head.
The door was still open. David, shirtless, looking half-asleep and fully ravenous, strolled in. He dropped beside Laura and grabbed a burger like it belonged to him.
"So," he asked through a mouthful, "how’s everything?"
"Everything’s fine," I said coolly. "Don’t leave the house. Don’t get involved with the operation."
"Okay," he said with a nod, all too casual. "But what’s in the container?"
I smiled.
Sharp. Slow. Dangerous.
"Let’s find out."
–Sophia–
The container they had been tracking finally rolled into the warehouse owned by Blackwell—one of their transport subsidiaries. As soon as the trailer truck crossed the threshold, police appeared out of nowhere, weapons drawn, aiming at the driver and his helpers. The warehouse security was also put on high alert.
They wore bullet proof vests, carried M4 Carbines, and had handguns strapped to their sides.
"Open the van!" the commander barked.
I exhaled slowly, watching as the NBI forced everyone to the ground, including the warehouse’s own security, who compiled without resistance.
The van’s doors were thrown open. They rummaged through the contents, only to find raw leather products—fresh shipments from a factory in Italy. The documents were checked out. Given that the warehouse was stocked with materials used for high-end leather goods, nothing seemed out of place.
Their disappointment was palpable. The CEO of the company and the warehouse manager arrived minutes later, as if summoned by the air of suspicion. But there was nothing to be done. Their operation had failed—drastically.
Our mastermind had been several steps ahead of them.
Another container came under scrutiny, and they inspected it thoroughly, one by one. Again, nothing. I sent in my report to Livana.
Still, they didn’t leave. Not yet. They were hunting for the original container—the one they had tailed two hours earlier. Someone had tipped them off. Their tracker, no doubt with a photographic memory, must have realized the switch.
I hopped off my motorbike and slipped into the abandoned residence. In the middle of the ruined structure sat a black container van. The forklift truck stood idle beside it.
I approached as one of the men unlocked the doors.
The scent of leather wafted out—but there was something else, something I couldn’t quite place. Adjusting my gloves, I flicked on my small flashlight and stepped closer.
Gold and gemstones? Smuggled diamonds hidden under sheets of leather? But it wasn’t just that. Wooden crates wrapped in stretch film lined the interior. I poked a hole into one.
Dried hay.
"Hmm. Machine guns?" I murmured, smirking. Damn. This haul was easily worth half a billion.
But what caught my eye were the gemstones and gold, tucked carefully into leather bags. It felt intentional.
I had a hunch—it was meant for Livana.
The Demon King must be planning to forge a crown heavy enough for our White Queen.
But the real question was: what else was inside that container?
–Livana–
My breasts felt a little swollen—probably from Damon’s relentless sucking. Once the operation was a success, we’d kicked out the trio, and what followed was madness. We made love like animals, insatiable and unhinged. Maybe I’m ovulating. That would explain this unbearable heat coursing through me. This craving for him.
"Good morning, my love. Breakfast in bed."
His lips found mine, and we kissed like we were starving for each other. I pulled him in closer, pushing the duvet aside. I wanted him—desperately.
"Wait," he murmured, pulling back just slightly. "I got you something. I had it cleaned and retrieved. I’ve been searching for this for a long time. It’s customized."
He fastened something around my neck. It was heavy—luxuriously so.
"What is it?" I asked, fingers grazing the piece curiously.
"A Heritage in Bloom. Costs more than two hundred million dollars."
I gaped.
"What, did you—?"
"Don’t worry," he said smoothly. "I had it customized. They wouldn’t know."
"Did you steal it?"
He just laughed, the sound low and unapologetic.
"This has been missing for years. I didn’t steal it—I retrieved it. I’ve got legit papers. Had it altered and renamed it White Queen. Do you like it?"
"It’s... not complete," I said softly, the weight of the necklace strangely grounding—and intoxicating.
"Yes."
He reached for my hand, and with a slow, deliberate motion, slid a ring onto my finger. A butterfly-shaped design—delicate and striking.
"What in hell? Are these real?"
"Yes," he whispered, eyes gleaming as he kissed me again. "It’s all clean. Now... let’s keep making love."
I moaned as his mouth found my breasts again—greedy, relentless. This man!
"I love you," he sighed, the words escaping him like a hopeless, love-struck teenager.
He didn’t need to ask. He could feel it—how wet I already was. And without hesitation, he slid inside me.
This... this wasn’t boring at all.