Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 343: Slow Torture

–Livana–

I carried baby Aelia in my arms, swaying her gently, coaxing her out of her cries the way one tames a fragile storm. Deanne was in the bathroom—I had told her to take her time, to indulge in the quiet luxury of a proper bath. I could handle Aelia.

And I did.

The moment she settled against me, her cries dissolved into soft coos. Her tiny gaze lifted, meeting mine with that innocent, unguarded curiosity only infants possess.

So easy to soothe. So easy to keep.

Caine was with Damon, attending to whatever Jane had uncovered. From the last report I heard—after Lore had cracked open that phone—it was confirmed: Nurse Leanne and Raynold had been entangled in something more than mere coincidence. A romance, yes... but also a shared discovery.

They had found something.

Messages exchanged in secrecy. Plans whispered through encrypted threads. They had been preparing to bring it to Damon.

But Damon is rarely within reach. Always moving. Always vanishing between shadows.

They didn’t know how to approach him without risking exposure.

How unfortunate.

The two suspects who had returned and were cleared from suspicion were not on my list of traitors.

But they belonged to Damon.

Which makes them mine to consider.

"Beautiful sunshine, Aelia," I murmured softly, brushing my finger against her tiny hand.

"Liva, can I soak a little longer and just enjoy it here?" Deanne called from the open bathroom, her voice echoing lightly against marble and steam.

"Of course, D," I replied smoothly. "Take your time. Lia and I are getting acquainted."

A soft giggle answered me.

I smiled faintly—but my mind had already moved several steps ahead.

Because today, while my husband is away... I have plans.

An old rival to visit.

Once Deanne finished and settled onto the pristine bed—fresh sheets, as my mother-in-law insists every other day—I approached and carefully returned Aelia to her.

"Goodbye, sunshine," I whispered, pressing a kiss against her tiny fist.

She cooed, instinctively turning toward her mother’s warmth.

"Thank you, Liva."

"Of course," I replied with a composed smile before making my way downstairs.

My son was, unsurprisingly, being scolded by Zendaya again.

Apparently, he had committed yet another offense against her dollhouse. A repeated crime. A deliberate one, I suspect.

"Laura," I called, spotting her slouched comfortably on the couch, idly eating chips.

"Hmm?" she responded, barely glancing up.

"I’m going out. Sky is coming with me."

"Okay," she nodded lazily. "Zendaya needs a break from him."

A soft laugh escaped me.

"There will soon be a set of twins and a set of triplets in this house," I mused. "Don’t worry—Sky will understand Zendaya’s suffering soon enough."

That earned a fuller laugh from her, her shoulders shaking.

"Sky, come here, baby," I called.

He came immediately. Always does.

I took his hand and led him upstairs. I bathed him myself, careful and precise, dressing him in his finest clothes afterward. I brushed his hair, neat and proper, then allowed him to choose his bag.

"We’re going to see Andro," I told him. "Would you like to bring him something?"

He nodded with quiet certainty and went straight to the mini fridge, retrieving chocolates and tucking them neatly into his bag.

Efficient. Observant.

My son.

While he prepared, I turned to myself.

Disguise is an art—and I am its finest practitioner.

An evil stepmother in tailored pants.

I adjusted my black wig, ensuring every strand obeyed, then painted my lips a deeper, darker shade—something sharp enough to cut through perception.

"Tep-Mama?" Sky asked softly, tilting his head, as if confirming the role I had chosen to wear.

"Yes, baby," I answered with a small, knowing smile as I took his hand.

We descended the stairs together. Alyssa was already waiting, dressed in jeans, while Lore lingered nearby, ever watchful.

"Where are you all going?" Laura asked, a hint of concern threading through her voice now.

"I need someone to drive me," I replied simply, guiding Sky step by step down the stairs.

"Where exactly?" she pressed.

I offered her nothing but a smile—measured, deliberate.

"I have someone to visit."

Understanding flickered in the room like a quiet spark. The twins glanced up.

"I go!" Zayvier exclaimed eagerly, already moving.

Zendaya, however, remained focused, meticulously repairing her dollhouse.

I glanced at Laura.

"Baby, stay with your sister, alright?"

Zayvier’s face crumpled instantly, his protest spilling into tears.

"Zayvier!" Laura snapped, sharper this time. "Stay with Zendy, okay?"

He sniffled, wiping his tears with small, frustrated hands.

Before I could intervene, Sky stepped forward—gentle, composed—and patted him reassuringly.

A quiet gesture.

A subtle command.

Even in comfort... influence can be taught.

*****

After a few minutes of driving, we arrived at Tyrona’s villa—roughly thirty minutes, perhaps a little less. Time folds differently when one is approaching something... long overdue.

The guards let us in the moment they saw Skyler. Recognition is such a fragile security system.

I sat in the backseat with my son, composed, observant, while Alyssa drove with quiet precision. She is a good driver—controlled, steady. It amused me, briefly, remembering how Lore once assumed she couldn’t even handle a wheel. Underestimation... such a common flaw.

By the grand staircase of the main entrance—something torn straight from a fantasy, all carved stone and towering elegance—Andro stood waiting. The moment he saw us, he lit up, bouncing with unrestrained excitement.

Lore stepped out first, opening my door with practiced efficiency before circling to Alyssa’s side. I unstrapped Sky, and he immediately moved with purpose, pulling his small bag with him. I steadied him as he climbed down on his own.

The two boys collided into each other with laughter—shouting, hugging, nearly toppling over.

Children. So unguarded. So... alive.

Tyrona stood by the door, watching. Smiling.

I stepped forward casually, my pace unhurried, as the children ran ahead. My gaze swept across the villa.

Beautiful.

The chandelier dominating the foyer shimmered above us—crystal, intricate, reminiscent of something medieval yet refined with modern sharpness. Wealth, taste... and desperation hidden beneath.

Notably, there were no maids in sight.

Interesting.

"I heard you wanted to talk?" Tyrona said, her voice measured—but her eyes betrayed her. Dark circles carved beneath them, the unmistakable mark of sleepless nights and mounting problems.

"Hmm," I nodded faintly, my attention briefly drifting to Andro as he pulled Sky toward his playroom. Alyssa followed close behind.

Tyrona turned and led me toward her office.

She took her seat behind the desk, placing distance between us—a subtle attempt at control.

"So," she gestured to the chair across from her, "what is it you want to talk about?"

I sat gracefully, every movement deliberate, my posture relaxed as I tilted my head slightly.

"You know, Tyrona..."

A pause. A shift.

"I’m tired of playing."

Her eyes widened the moment my real voice surfaced—stripped of disguise, unmistakable.

Slowly, I removed my black hat. Then my sunglasses. No heavy makeup. No lenses to distort the truth.

Just me.

"L–Livana..." Her breath hitched, as if the air itself had betrayed her.

"Yes," I smirked, watching realization fracture across her face. "I’m aware they know I’m alive."

I stood, circling her slowly. A predator closing in.

Her hand moved—reaching beneath the desk.

Too predictable.

In one smooth motion, I pulled the silver pin from my bun and pressed it lightly against her neck.

"Hmm... too slow, Tyrona," I whispered against her ear.

She froze. Completely.

I could see it—the fine hairs at the nape of her neck rising, her body betraying her fear before she could mask it.

"Y–You’re fucking alive," she gritted out, her hand still hovering uselessly near the weapon she would never reach in time.

"I am," I replied softly. "I’ve always been alive."

A faint smile curved my lips.

"I know your tricks. All of them. But don’t worry... the body buried six feet beneath my mausoleum?"

A pause.

"It’s mine."

"W–what?" she hissed, disbelief cracking through her voice. "How is that even possible?"

"I make everything possible."

"Bitch."

There it was.

I pulled her swivel chair sharply, ripping the gun from her grasp with precision. Leaning against the desk, I kicked the chair back—hard—sending it crashing toward the glass behind her.

Then I aimed the gun.

Directly at her.

"You came here," she scoffed, breath uneven, "bringing your son... just to kill me?"

A laugh slipped from me—low, unhinged, something darker than elegance.

"No," I murmured. "Of course not, sweetheart."

I tilted my head, studying her like a flawed piece of art.

"I hate that you’re Andro’s mother," I added casually, almost thoughtfully. "That boy is far too sweet."

A faint shrug.

"You don’t deserve him."

My gaze sharpened.

"Now... let’s get back to business."

"You ruined my family!" she snapped. "Our name—our image!"

I raised a brow, unimpressed.

"You ruined me first," I corrected, my tone light, almost amused. "This is simply... delayed payment."

A soft chuckle followed.

"Oh, and Damon..." I continued, almost lazily. "I suppose I could’ve taken him from you back in high school. But I don’t resort to such desperate tactics."

My smile turned razor-thin.

"Even though you knew he killed your lover."

She seethed—rage, grief, humiliation—all tangled into something grotesque.

How predictable.

"Your father," I said, shifting the blade of the conversation, "is a child molester."

Silence.

Her pupils dilated.

"You know it’s true," I continued calmly. "That’s why you never leave Andro alone with him."

Her breathing faltered.

Ah. Confirmation.

He prefers boys over girls.

A flicker of something—cold satisfaction—settled within me. At the very least, he had not touched her or her sister.

"Delete it," she demanded, voice trembling despite the force behind it. "All of it."

I tilted my head, watching her crumble so... beautifully.

"And what," I asked softly, "do I get in return?"

She wiped her tears, fury and desperation warring across her face.

"You know..." I continued, casually removing the magazine from her elegant 9mm, "I could kill you right now."

I ejected the bullets one by one, placing them neatly in a line across the desk—each metallic click sharp, deliberate. Precise. Methodical. Like counting down something inevitable.

"But I won’t."

A pause lingered between us, thick as smoke.

"My son is here too." My voice lowered, quieter—colder, like steel pressed against skin. "I won’t have Andro walk in and find you dead."

I lifted my gaze to hers, smiling—though there was nothing graceful left in it. Only something cruel. Something patient.

"No..." I murmured, almost thoughtfully. "I don’t want to kill you right away."

A soft laugh slipped from my lips, chilling, unhurried—like a blade dragged slowly across glass.

"I want to take my time with you."