– Damon –
Her scent was maddening.
Even now, after all these years, Livana still doesn't know how long I've loved her. I don't even think she believes me when I say it—when I whisper it into the night like a prayer, or a curse. Since high school, I've followed her like a shadow no one invited. I told her, again and again, but she never reacted. Not really. Livana was always still, always silent—always distant, as if the world bored her and I was just another noise in the background.
Except when she was angry. That's when she lit up.
Her fury was beautiful.
She never cried in front of me—but she hit me. God, she hit me. Her fists were small, delicate things, but when they landed, they shook me more than any blade ever could. I let her do it. I wanted her to. Her touch—even in violence—was everything I craved.
Back then, I skipped class just to chase her. On the days she didn't come to school, the world felt... grey. Silent. Lifeless. So I dug into the silence. I followed the whispers. That's how I found out about the Knoxes. About the arranged engagement, the cold-blooded deal struck between two powerful families. Her mother had just died, and in the same breath, they sold her off to that bastard.
I wanted to burn everything.
So when her sister offered me a deal—to help me get what I wanted, in exchange for bags and designer bullshit—I said yes. I would've paid a million times over if it meant Livana looked at me the way I looked at her.
Hell, I already started designing the ring. A ring only she would wear. A cursed, perfect thing, for the cursed, perfect girl.
I moved to sit beside her. Her body was still, like a painting too exquisite to touch. Her skin was pale as moonlight, framed by that waterfall of silver hair. An albino. A celestial thing, misplaced in this filthy world. Her eyes—those eerie, violet eyes—stared blankly ahead, but I knew she was listening. Seeing with her soul.
She didn't move when I reached for her hand. Long fingers. Unpainted nails. She used to decorate them with careful detail, each design like a story—but now they were bare, stripped of color. My poor Livana... they'd stolen her light.
"You're being weird again, Damon," she said, her voice a soft blade. "We're not even close."
I chuckled. Her words stung like ice against bare skin.
"Shut up," She murmured. But I continue to laugh.
She turned toward the sound of the race announcer echoing in the distance. Her movements were slow, but never clumsy. Livana didn't stumble the way others thought blind people did. No—she moved like she was dancing with ghosts. Her fingers traced the air like she was reading something I couldn't see. She always moved like she knew the world would adjust to her, not the other way around.
"Why are you even here?" she asked.
"Someone said you'd be here."
I stood up and waved off everyone else. The suite cleared out quickly—no one challenged me when I gave an order.
Then I knelt before her.
Her presence, her scent, the feel of her skin—it grounded me and unmade me all at once. I rested my head in her lap and gently guided her hand to my face. I could've stayed like that forever.
She didn't flinch. Didn't speak. Her fingers rested against my cheek like snow.
"You're insane," she whispered finally.
I didn't deny it.
"You're mine," I murmured. I looked up as I boosted myself up to her face.
I kissed her cheek, slow and reverent. She didn't move.
"How about we make love?" I whispered, tracing the edge of her jaw. "You do know your cousin and your fiancé are fucking, right? Behind your back."
She didn't flinch. But her lips curled.
"I'm surprised you even know the phrase 'make love,'" she said coldly. "That's not your style."
I took her hand and placed it over my heart.
"You've never understood me," I said. "What do you want, Livana? Say it. I'll tear the world apart to give it to you."
"And what do you want in return?" she asked, lifting a delicate brow.
"You," I said simply.
I leaned in—close enough to taste her breath—but she stopped me with a hand to my chest.
The door swung open before I could push further.
"Oh?" Laura's voice was falsely sweet. Damien was with her, smirking like the bastard he was.
"What's going on here, Damon?"
I didn't move. I placed an arm around Livana's shoulders. She didn't resist, but I felt her muscles tense beneath my fingers.
"I don't think it's wise for us to stay here, Livana," Laura said and looked at me. "You beat Richard up pretty badly. I'm surprised he hasn't pressed charges."
"They ruined my mood," I muttered, brushing Livana's hair back. "Right, baby?"
Still, she didn't speak. Just pushed me away, slowly, and stood.
"Laura, let's go."
"But the party just started—"
"My eyes are dry," Livana said.
A nurse rushed in with eyedrops as Laura sulked.
"What do you want to eat?" I asked Livana gently. "The chef's already prepared your favorites—sea urchin and smoked salmon."
She said nothing. Her silence was familiar, but it still gnawed at me.
So I left her alone. Just for a moment.
When I came back, Richard and his brothers were waiting for me outside the door.
I didn't even pause.
"You're really going to fight me? Here?" I spread my arms. "Go ahead."
My men rose, weapons hidden but ready. I turned to Carrie, Livana's stepsister, with venom in my voice.
"You've been babysitting her fiancé, haven't you?" I asked.
"You wouldn't—"
"Oh, I would." I grinned. "You've slept with every man your step sisters had. Even Laura's ex. Colton, right?"
I reached for her cheek, and she flinched.
"You're just like your mother."
She slapped me.
I smiled.
"Hit harder next time."
I clapped my hands.
"Back to the party! Just a little drama—don't mind us!"
They continued partying behind me as I slipped away, heading straight to the main kitchen.
The scent of charred rosemary and rich, buttery truffle oil clung to the air like smoke. I moved past the guards with a nod—they didn't stop me. They knew better. Inside, the chefs and cooks were already in a frenzy, their movements sharp and clean, like a perfectly synchronized machine.
I watched them closely.
"Make sure there are no bones," I said, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the noise. "No sharp edges, nothing that can hurt her."
"Yes, sir!" they chorused, almost mechanically. Fear was good. Fear kept them focused.
"And test everything," I added. "Every tray. I want no poison near her. Not a trace. Understood?"
They nodded again.
I stood back and watched as the kitchen guards began the inspection—every cut of fish, every dab of sauce, every drizzle of oil. No one was allowed to breathe wrong in that kitchen if it meant risking her safety. My Livana. She had to be protected—even from invisible enemies.
Soon, the trays were ready—each one topped with a polished stainless dome that caught the ceiling lights like a mirror. Perfect. I led the line of servers toward my VIP suite. My men pushed open the double doors, and the sudden wave of cheers and music spilled out like thunder.
Laura's shrill laugh rang out. Damien's low drawl followed it. Loud. Drunk. Laughing at nothing. They belonged together—two greedy mouths devouring whatever they could take.
The staff rushed in and set the table with expert speed. Laura's eyes widened as she watched them work—like a commoner glimpsing a world too expensive for her hands to touch. Good.
I didn't spare her another glance.
I walked straight to Livana.
She sat with her legs curled beneath her, a soft blanket over her lap, head slightly tilted as if she were listening to something none of us could hear.
I knelt before her, my hands gentle as I brushed the blanket aside.
"You must be hungry, Livana," I murmured, eyes on her face.
She didn't respond.
I reached for her chin, tilting her face toward mine. Slowly, reverently, my fingers traced the curve of her bottom lip. Soft. Always so soft.
She smacked my hand away.
I smirked, not surprised. Not hurt.
"You know," I said smoothly, "your fiancé is still downstairs. With your cousin. Again."
She didn't react, but I could feel it—a faint shift in the air around her, like something had cracked just beneath the surface.
"Shall I send the footage to your grandparents?" I offered, voice velvet and knives. "Might be fun."
"There's no need." Her voice was calm. Dead calm. The kind of calm that always came before a storm.
She stood. I offered my arm, and after a moment, she let me guide her.
She didn't stumble—never did. Livana moved like a phantom, her body responding to sound and instinct with the precision of someone who had long since made peace with the dark. Her steps were fluid, almost feline, her chin high even though her eyes saw nothing.
As we approached the table, the servers backed away. She took her seat without hesitation, her fingers brushing lightly over the edge of her plate like she was mapping out the world through touch alone.
I sat beside her, eyes never leaving her face.
"You'll enjoy this," I said softly. "No bones. No threats. Just us."
For now.
When she found the utensils, she wrapped her hands around them with such delicate grace it made my chest ache.
She sliced through the salmon with almost artistic precision. But then—she stopped.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She pulled something from the fish—a tiny bone.
I snatched it from her hand.
"Sir—please," the chef stammered.
I stood.
"Hold him."
"Damon," Livana said quietly. "It's just a small mistake."
"No," I said, trembling with rage. "They could've hurt you."
"I want him to make me another," she said, softly, almost like a lullaby. "I love it."
I froze.
Then I turned, my rage folding back into itself like smoke. I knelt beside her again.
"Of course," I said, voice low. "Anything you want, Livana."
And I kissed her hand like it was sacred.
Because to me—it was.