Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 202: Library of Secrets

–Livana–

Once Damon leaves, I do what I must. I make sure the fridge is filled with milk for my little Sky, every bottle neatly labeled and stocked. Then I dress well—gracefully, deliberately. It’s only been a few weeks since I gave birth, and yet, my body heals as though even pain has learned to obey me.

I slip into the maid’s car—the one they use for errands, groceries, and whatever else keeps appearances tidy. My baby is safe, with Laura and my mother-in-law. I tell myself it’s only work. But every move, every breath, must remain calculated.

Spies still linger around the mansion. I know they study patterns, routines. So, we follow the same rhythm—drive to the grocery, circle the aisles, fill a cart. I disguise myself as one of the maids, blending into the ordinary. Then, quietly, I return to the parking lot, where another car awaits.

The moment I step in, I wrap my arms around my mother. She kisses my forehead, her touch tender but fleeting, like a ghost returning to warmth.

"Wow, you look gorgeous with black hair," she says, her voice fond yet wistful.

"Thank you," I answered softly, studying her. There are faint wrinkles now, but her beauty refuses to fade. Her elegance has aged like a fine vintage—stronger, sharper, more dangerous. She caresses my wig, her fingers grazing my chin.

"How’s Laura?" she asks, her eyes—blue as cold skies—searching mine.

"She misses you," I say.

"I can’t show up to her yet." She sighs, anxious. I understand. It’s a risk every time she visits us in hiding.

"Hmm." I hum thoughtfully, glancing at Commander White in the front seat. He gives a single nod, and we begin our drive.

Hours later, we arrive at an isolated villa cloaked in silence.

"This place was once owned by a retired Pawn," my mother says. "I’ve been occupying it for years now. You can bring Laura and the children here when needed."

The car rolls into the garage. Only when the doors seal behind us do we step out.

She gives me a tour. The villa is deceptively plain outside—weathered walls, vines creeping along the edges—but inside, it’s immaculate, every detail restored and gleaming. Perfect. I take mental notes. The isolation, the geography—ideal for disappearance. Even the intelligence networks watching me would struggle to find this place. It’s a ghost’s refuge.

"I only have a few hours, Mom," I remind her. "I don’t want my husband finding out I sneaked out while still healing."

She laughs, her hand still wrapped around mine.

"Typical Damon," she says. "Did you know he sometimes shows up at the company with flowers? Just to tell me about his day?"

"What?" I frown.

She chuckles again, amused by my disbelief.

"He’s madly in love with you, Livana. I’ll show you the footage. He’s ridiculous, truly."

"Oh, please. I’m here to work," I protest.

"Hey," she nudges me, smirking. "You married that crazy bastard. Now, watch this."

We move to her office. She rummages through shelves of neatly labeled CDs—dates and months meticulously written. She picks three and slides one into the player.

The screen flickers. My mother’s old office appears. The door opens, and a teenage Damon steps in with flowers in hand.

"Hi, Mom!" he greets, kissing her cheek.

"Sit," she gestures, amused.

He flops down, sighs, and suddenly blurts, "Why does she look like a goddess? Mom, do you know that black pearls suit her hair?"

My mother laughs.

"Black pearls?" I mutter under my breath, trying to recall.

Onscreen, Damon continues, "I should buy more. But you have to give them to her. I already ordered Tahitian pearls—to be made into hairbands and clips."

"Why not give them to her yourself?" my mother teases.

"She’ll throw them away," he says earnestly. "I just... want to see her wear them."

And then I remember. The hairpins. The bands. My mother had gifted me those Tahitian pearls. I’d always thought they came from her—an affectionate gesture, a mother’s whim. But no. They were his. Damon’s. Every glint of those black pearls was a secret whisper of his obsession, wrapped in my mother’s deception. And to keep me from suspecting anything, she would hand something else to Laura—a mirrored gift, a perfect distraction.

I stare at the screen, betrayed by my own memories.

"So you were siding with Damon all along?"

"He’s the only boy who asked permission to woo you," she laughs. "I adored that kid."

"Whatever, Mother." I roll my eyes. "Let’s go to the server room."

But the video continues playing—Damon’s voice softening.

"You told me there’d be people after Livana if something ever happened to you?"

"Yes," my mother’s voice replies in the recording. "If I die, will you still protect her? Even if it means your Empire burns?"

"Of course," he answers without hesitation.

Damon straightens, determined. I’ll protect her until my last breath."

I freeze the video. My chest tightens.

"So you—" I begin.

"Let’s just say," she interrupts, crossing her arms with that familiar cunning smile, "after my burial, I sent Damon a little gift and a letter. I knew you’d grow to love him. He’s the only one who’d burn the world for you. That’s the man you deserve. Not your father." She smirks. "I used your father as a sperm donor."

She laughs, light but sharp. "And you did the same with Damon. That poor man."

I hold her gaze, long and heavy. I see it now—how she manipulated, maneuvered, and orchestrated our fates like a grandmaster moving pawns across an endless board. But I cannot hate her. She did it all to protect us. Her loneliness must have been unbearable, hidden behind the armor of strategy and secrecy.

Now that I know what she built—the device, the network—it’s time I use it to protect my husband too. Damon’s assets have been burned, his empire scarred because of me. I must end this war before it consumes him.

"At least I care for him," I murmur.

She smiles, reaching for my hand. "Then I’ll show you something."

She leads me into an underground tunnel. It opens into a vast chamber—acres of humming servers, blinking lights, and three people working behind screens. I freeze.

Louie’s parents—and their younger son.

"Hi, Liva!" Yolanda greets with a grin, under a different name now.

"Hi," I returned her smile.

"So, you know Yolanda," my mother says, "and this is Jorge—the developer—and their son, Lore."

"Pleased to meet you." I shake their hands. Lore’s gaze lingers on me, curious.

"Are those real?" he asks, stepping closer.

"Don’t be rude," his mother scolds.

"It’s fine," I say, smiling faintly. "Everyone is fascinated by my eyes."

"They’re mesmerizing," Lore admits, then gestures proudly at the room. "We run the entire system from here. I rarely go outside—perhaps you could introduce me to your sister instead?"

"She’s married," I reply flatly.

He gasps dramatically. "Tragic."

We move on. Lore sits before the massive screens, his fingers dancing over the keyboard. One by one, live feeds appear—my mansion, the neighborhood, the spies. He zooms in on a nearby house where one of them resides. Then the shopping center where my double mimics my routine perfectly. They don’t notice her. Good.

"And here’s your husband," Lore says proudly, switching the feed. Damon steps out of a well-known luxury pastry café with Damien, boxes in hand, their laughter vivid even without sound—warm, unguarded, the kind of laughter that disarms empires.

I cross my arms. "Since you can monitor my husband, tell me—has he ever slept with anyone else?"

Lore pauses. "Uhhh... I didn’t really track that, but I don’t think he’s touched anyone since you married him."

I exhale quietly, relief blooming where suspicion used to linger. I already have my own men watching for infidelity, but it’s good to hear it confirmed. Damon’s obsession is exhausting, but at least it’s loyal.

Then, a new feed catches my eye—a car tailing my husband’s car.

"That one." I point.

Lore types swiftly, tracing the plates. "Rented car. Russian Federal Security Service agent."

He brings up the data, and I smirk.

"Pull every dirty deed tied to those men and the people behind them," I command.

Lore blinks, unsettled. "You’re terrifying."

"Hmm." I tilt my head, smiling. "I want them to destroy each other—if something ever happens to me."

Because power, like love, is a weapon. And in my hands, both are sharpened to perfection.

"Oh, Damon is calling home," my mother said, pointing to the screen on the left.

I snapped my gaze toward her. I hadn’t brought my phone—too risky, too traceable. Damn it.

"Yes, you need to go home. He’ll be there in two hours," she reminded me, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

I rolled my eyes. "Damn it. I thought they’d be late. I’ll come back as soon as I can," I told the Lancasters, who only smiled and waved, ever amused by my predicament.

A sudden ache bloomed in my chest. My breasts throbbed faintly—an unspoken signal, a mother’s instinct. My baby must be hungry. Even apart, I could feel him... as though a thread, invisible and sacred, connected his tiny heartbeat to mine.