Chapter 34
LIVIANNA/LILY
A Week & A Half Before Now
Headline Hazards & Letters Lost In The Past
The articles blur together like wounds that won’t stop bleeding.
“Jesus, they’re all over the place.” I stare at my laptop screen while sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through endless notifications flooding my inbox.
ROCKER’S PUBLIC LOVE CONFESSION: LIVIANNA HEMINGS AND CASH MAYZE TOGETHER AGAIN?
“Fucking fabulous. My parents will have a heyday with this.”
The Malibu house is too quiet around me, like it’s holding its breath. It’s like it knows I was with Callum tonight while I’m staying in Jaxon’s dream beach home.
It’s been a week since we took a step back from one another, but I sense the judgment around me. I close the laptop with more force than necessary, but the silence that follows is worse than the online comment section.
My phone buzzes against the marble countertop. Callum’s name lights up the screen, and my chest tightens with a mixture of guilt and something I’m not ready to face.
I can’t believe I gave him my new phone number. I let his call go to voicemail.
When I was in Paris, I changed all my contact information, emails, phone number, and basically anything that tied me to California. But I’m not in Paris anymore.
When I returned home, I got a new local number under all new accounts and put my Paris phone in storage. My emails are still active because they’re all under Lehlani Rose Designs. All but one.
I wasn’t about to get rid of my Paris cell phone, though. There’s way too much on it, like sexy messages from Jax. Sure, he’s listed as “My King,” but I don’t want anyone to read them.
I have a special email account set up for the sole purpose of sending correspondence to Jax. No one could find it even if they tried because the account name is “Treasure King”. I thought it was meaningful, but now I want to roll my eyes at myself.
“Get a grip, Livianna. Jax made it perfectly clear today that work is his priority.” I spin off the stool and go wash my face and get ready for bed.
The bathroom mirror reflects a stranger staring back at me—smudged mascara, wild hair, and lips still swollen from the desert wind. I look like someone who’s been claimed in front of the world, and maybe that’s exactly what happened.
The makeup remover burns against my skin as I scrub away the evidence of tonight. Each swipe of the cotton pad reveals more of myself, but I’m not sure I recognize the woman underneath.
Another buzz. Another missed call from Callum.
Once I’m ready for bed, I find the letter before my brain catches up. It’s the one I keep folded in my jewelry box, creased soft from reading and rereading. Jaxon’s handwriting sprawls across expensive stationery, every word a benediction I never deserved.
Mon trésor,
You have heard me before, the way I feel about you. Not in words, perhaps, but in the weightless way the truth lingers on your skin.
The paper trembles in my hands. God, how long has it been since he wrote this? Months? It feels like a lifetime.
I’ve always been here…with you buried in my thoughts.
When your hands trembled with grief and you kept going…I was there.
When you laughed through the ache and made it beautiful…I was there.
When you sat in silence, wondering if anyone could ever really see you…I saw you.
Tears sting my eyes, but I can’t stop reading. I can’t stop torturing myself with words that feel like goodbye, even though that’s not what he meant. Or maybe deep down he did.
You, Livianna, are not what the world tried to name you. You are older than your doubts. Wiser than your wounds. Softer than your armor. And far, far more powerful than even you have dared to believe.
My phone buzzes again. Callum’s not giving up.
You didn’t come to be small, palatable, or predictable. You came to break open what was closed…in your family, in your line, and in the hearts of others. You came to speak fire into dullness and turn shame into tenderness.
The words slice through me with surgical precision. He sees everything—all the broken pieces I’ve spent years trying to hide—all the ways I’ve rebuilt myself from embers and ash.
The way you design…is the way I walk beside you. Determined and fearless.
The way you love…is how I hold you. Gentle and brave.
The way you remember what no one told you…is how you know me. Deep and tied together by fate.
Fate. The word that used to feel like magic now tastes like mourning.
And I will keep showing you who you truly are…until you no longer doubt.
But what if I already doubt everything? What if tonight, standing on that stage while Callum sang my name to the world, I realized I still have questions?
Let the old self-image fall away now, the one shaped by survival. You don’t need her anymore.
You’re safe to expand. Safe to be seen. Safe to be the goddess you’ve always been.
Safe. The word cracks something open in my chest. When was the last time I felt truly safe?
When Jax held me? When we danced barefoot in his vineyard? When he whispered promises against my skin that I believed with every cell in my body? The moment before he said we needed a break?
There is no test. Only a remembering. And you are already in it.
When you feel the chill that has no source, the flutter behind your ribs, the urge to say what you think might be too much…that’s me.
That’s us.
I press the letter to my chest, experiencing the phantom flutter he describes. Even now, thousands of miles away, buried in business that matters more than I do, he’s still here. Still haunting every breath I take.
And I will keep showing you who you truly are…until you no longer forget.
When the day comes and you no longer need me, trust I’ll always be here for you when you do.
With eternal presence and fierce love, no matter where we end up,
Jaxon
The signature blurs through my tears. Eternal presence…except he’s not here. Fierce love…except he chose everything else over me and never said the words.
My phone stops buzzing. The silence stretches like a gaping wound.
I fold the letter with trembling fingers, each crease a memory I can’t let go of. The woman in the mirror stares back at me, broken and raw, and I see the truth written across her face.
I’m not okay. Not even close.
The courier envelope sits on my desk like a grenade with the pin already pulled. CONFIDENTIAL, stamped across cream-colored paper.
It’s from Heathrow, Clay & Associates. Jaxon’s personal attorneys. I know before I even touch it that whatever’s inside is going to shatter what’s left of my carefully constructed denial.
My phone buzzes against the mahogany desk that’s next to my drafting table, lighting up the dim studio where I’ve been sketching until my fingers cramped.
Callum: You awake, beautiful?
I glance at the clock—past midnight. Of course I’m awake. Sleep has been as elusive as everything else that used to make sense in my life.
Me: Unfortunately. What are you doing up?
Callum: Thinking about you. Can’t seem to stop.
The sincerity in his message makes my heart swell. I set the phone aside and tear open the envelope with trembling fingers, already knowing this is going to hurt.
My breath catches as I scan the legal jargon until one phrase jumps out like a slap. Membership Interest Assignment and Transfer Agreement that effectively transfers ownership of Jax’s Malibu beach house to me.
Membership Interest Assignment and Transfer Agreement. The Malibu beach house. Our sanctuary. The place where he whispered sweet words against my skin while waves crashed outside our window.
He signed it over to me like I’m some consolation prize he can’t be bothered to deliver in person. My signature of acceptance is on it, but how?
It hits me in seconds. The paperwork he had me sign before he left. It must have been shoved in with all the other documents. What a gut punch.
My phone buzzes again.
Callum: Still there? Or did I scare you off with my honesty?
I go to my text thread with Jax and review all the messages he’s sent me since he left.
My King: “The universe conspires to help those who dare to dream beyond their circumstances.” Go after everything you want, mon trésor. You deserve it all.
I stare at both messages, the contrast between them so stark it makes me want to scream. Callum is asking if I’m still here and actually wants to know. Jax is sending generic motivational quotes like I’m some mentee he’s trying to inspire.
Me: Still here. Just dealing with some unexpected paperwork.
Callum: Anything I can help with?
I read another message from Jax before I can respond to Callum.
My King: “Success is not just about what you accomplish, but who you become in the process.” Remember your worth, Livianna.
The irony tastes like copper in my mouth. Here he’s telling me to remember my worth, while treating me like something he can sign away with legal documents.
I huff and respond to Callum.
Me: Not unless you’re secretly a lawyer.
Callum: Afraid not. But I make a decent distraction if you need one.
Callum: What are you working on so late on a Monday, anyway?
I glance around my studio. Sketches are scattered everywhere, half-finished designs mocking me from their easels.
I’m still in the comfortable clothes I threw on after my evening Pilates class. Soft leggings and an oversized sweater that feels like I’m trying to hide in denial. Which I am.
Me: Designs that refuse to cooperate. Kind of like everything else in my life.
Callum: Maybe they need a different perspective. Someone who appreciates the artist behind them.
Me: Is that what you are now? A fashion critic?
Callum: I’m whatever you need me to be, Lily.
Using my old nickname sends warmth spiraling through my chest. I’ll never not love being called that by him.
He’s the only one who has ever used that name with me, and the sentiment behind it I hold near and dear to my heart. Hence, the tattoo on my chest. Those memories stir up a lot of emotions.
I go to another message from Jax. There’s got to be one that shows how he feels about me.
My King: “The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” Keep creating, beautiful soul.
I want to throw my phone across the room. Beautiful soul?
He couldn’t even say goodbye in person, couldn’t even explain why he’s giving me the house like it’s some kind of severance package.
I want to email Jax, but I can’t when I’m this hurt. I need time to write something I won’t regret later.
Me: Callum, can I ask you something?
Callum: Anything.
Me: Do you ever get tired of people who speak in inspirational quotes instead of actual conversation?
Callum: All the time. Real talk beats fake wisdom every day. You know I’ve never fallen for that bullshit. Why?
I glare at Jax’s messages, at these empty platitudes that are supposed to mean something but feel like he’s giving a pep talk to one of his employees.
Then I stare at Callum’s responses…direct, honest, and asking genuine questions about my actual life.
Me: Just wondering what an honest conversation feels like right now.
Callum: It feels hard and sometimes uncomfortable. It feels like someone actually giving a shit about the answer when they ask how you are.
My throat constricts because he’s right. Jax hasn’t even asked me how I’m doing.
Me: And what if the answer isn’t pretty?
Callum: Then it’s the truth. And that’s always better than lies.
I press my fingers to my stinging eyes, the tears threatening to fall. The legal papers are still scattered across my desk, Jax’s final goodbye written in contract language and notary stamps.
Me: I think I’m drowning, Callum.
Callum: Then let me throw you a lifeline. Where are you?
Me: My studio. Working late because going home feels impossible.
Callum: Send me the address. I’m coming to get you.
Me: You don’t even know where I am.
Callum: Vixen, that’s why I asked you for the address. Let me be here for you, Lily. The way I should have been for the last five years.
I peer down at my phone, finger hovering over the keyboard. Across from me, the Membership Interest Assignment and Transfer Agreement seems to whisper all the ways Jax has already moved on, already decided I’m something to be handled through attorneys and motivational quotes.
Me: I could be far away from you.
Callum: So?
Me: Can I meet you somewhere instead?
Callum: Time and place, and I’ll be there.
Me: I’m going to need an hour. I need to send a correspondence to someone. It’s urgent.
I set my phone down and lean back in my chair, gazing at the ceiling.
For the first time since Jax left, I don’t feel completely alone. Maybe that’s what hope feels like—someone actually showing up instead of sending quotes about how you deserve better.
I seek out one last message from Jax.
My King: “When one door closes, another opens.” Trust the journey, mon trésor.
I delete it. Some doors need to be closed, especially when I need to let go.
I take a few minutes to formulate what I want to say and prepare my goodbye letter to Jaxon Crowne, the man I never really knew.
Tears fall as I type, snot runs out of my nose, and the pain in my chest makes me believe I’m having a heart attack. But how you do one thing is how you do everything. Another Jaxon Crowne pearl of wisdom.
So, I craft the email with style and hold my head up high. I don’t burn the bridge, and I pour my soul into the letter until I’m satisfied with it. I get ready to send it, but wait.
Maybe I should hold off for a few days and not be so reactive. I huff. I even learned that from him. He’s weaved himself into the fibers of my entire being.
I throw my face into the palms of my hands and have a good cry. Once I get myself together and fix my makeup, I close my laptop and shut down my office. I leave and get into my car.
Jaxon is gone, and I need to move on. I’m not running to Callum because the past is healed. I just feel like life is survivable with someone I trust by my side right now.
I send one last message.
Me: Send me your address and I’ll come to you.