Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 238: Mistresses and Games

–Livana–

My husband and I were tangled in that quiet, breathless space where time thins—making love, talking in half-whispers, existing only as us—when my tablet vibrated against the sheets. The glow of the screen cut through the dimness, sharp and unwelcome. Tyrona. Her name alone carried the weight of a storm. She was trying to force her men onto our floor.

I exhaled slowly, already calculating outcomes.

"This is stressful," I murmured, my voice steady despite the tension curling beneath my skin. I tilted the tablet toward Damon. On the screen, Sky was curled against Jane on the sofa, his small body fitting into her like instinct. His cheek was pressed to her shoulder, his fingers knotted in her sleeve, utterly safe. "But look," I added, softer now. "It’s adorable that Sky loves to snuggle with Jane."

Damon glanced at the screen, nodded once, and calmly reached for a bowl of strawberries, nibbling one as if armed men weren’t testing our perimeter.

"Should I just kill Tyrona?" he asked casually, already reaching for his phone. "I’m one phone call away."

I sighed, sliding closer to him and resting my cheek against his chest. My hand drifted over his stomach—flat now, softer than before. His eight-pack was gone, replaced by something more human, more real.

"Nah," I said quietly. "Not yet."

He kissed my wrist, his mouth warm and deliberate. "I’ll start working out by next week. Dr. Reyes advised it."

"That’s nice," I replied, brushing the thought away as I set the tablet aside. Sky was safe. That was all that mattered. I rose from the bed and tapped Damon’s shoulder, my mind already several steps ahead. "Alright. Here’s the plan."

I spoke calmly, methodically. There were agents—women trained to walk like me, speak like me, move like me. They would leave with my bodyguards, wearing my silhouette, my mannerisms, my shadow. They would become your distractions. Your mistresses.

He hummed, unconcerned. "I don’t like the word mistress."

"Then girlfriend," I giggled. The sound surprised even me. "You’re right. I’m supposed to be dead."

The doorbell rang.

I rolled my eyes. There was a tag outside—Do Not Disturb. I grabbed the tablet and retreated into the bathroom as Damon answered the door. His voice was low. Sharp. Final. The door slammed hard enough to rattle the frame.

Dangerous, indeed.

"We don’t need to go out," Damon called after me. "They already took enough photos of me covered in hickeys."

I finished brushing my teeth, fixed my black hair, and returned to bed. He double-locked the door before pulling me against him, his mouth trailing over my shoulders with familiar ownership.

I checked the tablet again. Tyrona was in the parking lot. One of the women who looked like me—surrounded by guards—slipped into a car. Tyrona’s people followed it. But Tyrona herself stayed behind. Her car remained parked across from Damon’s sports car, waiting.

"She wants to make sure you leave," I murmured.

"We can get another girlfriend," Damon said lazily, his fingers combing through my hair. "How about brown hair?"

I laughed. "Good thing I have a lot of hair dye."

"You don’t need dye," he said. "I ordered real hair wigs. Sophia will deliver them tomorrow."

His kisses became promises, and I knew exactly how the night would end.

—

By morning, the floor was locked down. Security everywhere. My team worked quietly, efficiently. When they fitted the wig onto my head, I paused.

Long brown hair. Heavy. Luxurious. Real.

Perfect.

I slipped into a mini dress with black mesh sleeves, black stockings hugging my legs like shadows. My makeup was darker, sharper. Big sunglasses hid my eyes. I didn’t look like Livana.

I looked disposable.

"I want to take you home," Damon said after my team left, his voice thick.

"Not yet," I replied gently. "Mom is preparing something big." I twirled once. "How do I look?"

"Like another girlfriend," he said. "Definitely not my wife."

Good.

In the elevator, cameras flashed. Men shouted. Damon grabbed my hand, pulling me close. His bodyguards blocked the view as we moved. In the parking lot, I caught Tyrona’s car in my peripheral vision.

Damon’s hand slid over my ass—something he never did in public. Not with me. Not ever.

It was deliberate.

He opened the passenger door instead of walking me around. No courtesy. No tenderness. He revved the engine as if I were nothing more than a thrill. The car was bugged—we both knew better than to speak.

He dropped me off at a condo. Escorted me inside. Then, instead of going up, we cut back through the parking lot. I slipped into my van unseen. Damon drove off alone.

Tyrona arrived late.

From the shadows, I watched her step out of her car, barking orders, eyes burning.

Obsessed.

With him.

With me.

Or maybe with the idea that she could own what was never hers.

I smiled faintly.

Let her chase ghosts.

–Tyrona–

I will never let Damon have his happy ending. Not in love, not in peace, not even during sex—no matter how many whores he dates. This time, I’ll get that new bitch. I just need to know who she is.

And yet... something about her feels familiar.

The first one had the same curves as Livana. But that’s impossible. It’s been a year. She’s dead. We confirmed it. We even took DNA from the body.

Still, the anxiety gnaws at me. I wanted Damon to suffer—and he did. He suffered beautifully. I saw it myself at the funeral. He had lost weight. His eyes were hollow. He looked like he didn’t care if the world burned.

So why is he going out now?

Why is he in the same club, sleeping with different women?

All of them came with escorts, and yet he treated each one differently. Carefully. Possessively.

Is that club some kind of whorehouse?

"Hm."

"We need to go," Carrie suddenly said. "Your son is waiting for you. And we haven’t slept." She rubbed her temples.

"Let’s go home," I told the driver, even as that familiar knot tightened in my stomach. I’d felt the same thing back when Livana lingered around Damon—when he became obsessed with her. "She can’t be alive... right?"

"She’s not alive," Carrie sighed. "But it’s Livana. Maybe she planned something ahead. Still, there was a corpse. We saw it in the morgue."

"Yes," I nodded. I have to believe that Livana is dead.

When we arrived home, her limp mother was still in the wheelchair, accompanied by a nurse. I’m still funding them. They have money—but not enough for luxury. She hasn’t fully recovered, though she’s undergoing therapy. The chances of her walking again are slim.

Stupid woman. Crashing the first birthday of the heirs of the Blackwell, Carrington, and Braxton families—what did she expect?

I headed to my son’s playroom. He was playing alone. But he’s my heir. My only heir. I squatted down in front of him.

"Hello, darling."

"Mommy!" He squealed, squirming with excitement. I hugged him and kissed his forehead.

"My little Alejandro," I murmured. "I’ll just bathe, my little one. I’ll be right back with you." I stood and glanced at the nanny tidying the room. "Did you feed him?"

"Yes, ma’am. He had two bowls of tomato egg soup this morning."

"Hm." I nodded and headed to my room.

I prepared my bath and sank into the tub, surrounded by luxurious bubbles, my tablet resting nearby. Photos filled the screen—women in sunglasses, their faces deliberately obscured. The hair color was different, but she resembled Livana.

Even the first woman—the one with black hair—she resembled Livana.

The body. It must be the body shape.

Hm. Maybe I can hire someone with the same body as Livana. That would definitely catch Damon’s attention.

I smirked as I swiped through the photos. They failed to capture her face clearly. But of course—Damon’s men always find a way to protect every woman he sleeps with.

–Damon–

I arrived back home and let the valet park my car. Somehow, this felt... fun. Sneaking out to meet a mistress who turned out to be my wife. We should play this game more often—though I still preferred her here, in our home. I knew she would prefer it too. Where she could live freely. Where she could play with our son—and with our niece and nephew—without fear.

"Dada!"

Sky squirmed excitedly as he drove his little toy car across the floor, a nanny trailing closely behind him. He stopped abruptly, climbed off, and ran straight toward me. I scooped him up and kissed his cheeks, breathing him in.

"Dada, foodie. Tata..." he babbled, pointing animatedly, probably talking about food—and his aunt. That aunt was most likely Deanne.

"Oh, hey, Damon." Deanne grinned. "Now, you told me about that venue, right?"

"Y-yeah..." I nodded.

"So where is it?"

I sighed, already knowing where this was going, and nodded again.

"Oh. Take a bath first," she chuckled. "I don’t know who you slept with, but you need to take a bath."

I nodded obediently and carried my son upstairs.

"Wanna take a bath with me?" I asked him.

"Duckies!" he exclaimed happily.

I called my wife as I set up the tablet and prepared the bath. Sky pointed excitedly at the bubble bath Jane usually used for him. I figured—I’d bathe with that too.

I turned on the jacuzzi, set the temperature, and tossed in all the rubber duckies. Soon, I was soaking in the tub with him while he splashed and played.

"Wow, bubu!" he exclaimed, pointing at the bubbles.

"He’s so adorable," Livana giggled from the screen. "By the way, look at this—strawberry blonde."

She held up another wig—the one I had bought for her.

"Wow," I grinned. "You look sexy in that color."

I placed Sky on his floaters while he remained busy with the duckies and bubbles. My attention drifted back to my wife as she showed me another wig.

"You know," Livana giggled, "I like this game. It made Tyrona crazy."

I laughed softly.

"But they took photos of your face," she added.

"Don’t worry about it." I smirked. "I have my ways. I’ll only give her hints. Besides, I’m having fun. Let’s meet again next week—"

She tilted her head playfully.

"—as your mistress."

I laughed and nodded in agreement. Then I pulled Sky closer and angled the tablet toward him.

"Look," I told him. "It’s Mommy."

"Mama!" Sky squealed, squirming excitedly as he held up his rubber duckies—each one a different design.

"You look so dashing, my little Sky," Livana cooed. "Are you enjoying your bath?"

"Bubu!" he shouted, grabbing a handful of bubbles and laughing.

"Damon!"

I froze.

Laura stood at the door, staring at me.

"I just heard my sister’s voice."

I glanced at the tablet as Livana hurriedly ended the call.

"I was watching Livana’s videos," I said calmly.

"That didn’t sound like a recorded video."

Damn it. Did I forget to close the door?

"It’s Livana’s recorded videos," I repeated.

She crossed her arms, studying me, then shrugged.

"Yeah, maybe. I heard it because you left the door open. I was just checking on Sky."

"Sky’s fine," I said, lifting him slightly to show her—completely naked, bubbles clinging to his skin.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Please close the door."

"Yeah."

She closed the bathroom door, and I heard the bedroom door shut shortly after. I called my wife again, laughing quietly—though she looked guilty.

So did I.

But I didn’t regret it.

Not even for a second.