All Chapters of The Kane Contract: Vows of Venom: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

(Livia’s POV)By the next day, the boardroom is empty except for the faint scent of expensive aftershave and the lingering shadow of defeat. The long table is still scattered with signed severance agreements, coffee rings, and the overturned cup that no one bothered to right. The city sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the glass into a mirror that reflects me back at myself, huge, glowing, unbreakable in white.I stand at the head of the table, one hand resting on the back of the chair, the other cradling the underside of my belly. Sandra is restless today, kicks coming in slow, deliberate waves, like she’s pacing inside me, waiting for the final blow to land.Alexander is by the door. He’s still giving me this. All of this. The room. The moment. The man who’s about to crawl in here on his knees.The door opens quietly.Theo.He’s escorted back in by the same two security guards who dragged him out earlier. His suit is even more wrinkled now, tie loosened, top b

(Alexander’s POV)I stand in the doorway of the corner office for almost a full minute before I make a sound.The room is vast, two full walls of floor-to-ceiling glass, the late afternoon sun pouring in like liquid gold, painting everything in warm, forgiving light. The new Harper-Kane logo is etched into the glass partition behind the desk: the white rose wrapped in black thorns, subtle enough to look elegant from afar, sharp enough to remind anyone who looks closely that this empire was taken, not given. The desk itself is still bare, nothing personal yet, just the takeover documents stacked neatly, a single white rose in a slim vase that I placed there this morning while she was resting at home.Livia stands at the center window, back to me, completely still.She’s in a maternity power suit she wore this morning, jacket open, trousers tailored perfectly around the enormous curve of her belly. The bump is so low now it looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world in front of h

(Alexander’s POV)The second Livia says “my water broke,” the world narrows to a pinprick.Everything else, penthouse, rain, the city, the empire we just took back, collapses into nothing. There is only her. Standing in a puddle in the kitchen, shorts soaked, spoon frozen mid-air, laughing that soft, shocked laugh that makes my stomach drop through the floor.My heart slams against my ribs so hard I taste copper. My vision tunnels. A cold sweat breaks out across my back, under my arms, along my hairline. It feels like someone poured ice water down my spine.I’m moving before my brain catches up. Legs heavy, like they’re wading through concrete. I lift her out of the mess, gentle, urgent, terrified I’ll hurt her and set her on the dry side of the island. My hands shake so badly I almost drop her.Don’t fall apart. Not now. Not in front of her.I run.Hospital bag. Slippers. Robe. Keys. Phone. I yank drawers open, slam them shut, the noise echoing in my skull like gunshots. My pulse is

(Alexander’s POV)The moment they place her on Livia’s chest, the entire universe shrinks to the size of that tiny, furious bundle.Everything else, the beeping monitors fading into background noise, the clink of instruments being set aside, the low murmur of doctors and nurses finishing up, the harsh operating-room lights overhead, all of it dissolves into irrelevance.There is only her. Only this small, red-faced, perfect human being who just stormed into the world screaming like she already owns it.Sandra Harper-Kane.My daughter.I’m still holding Livia’s hand so tightly the nurse has to gently remind me twice to loosen my grip so the circulation monitor stops beeping. I do, barely but I don’t let go completely. I can’t.If I let go, I might float away. Or shatter into a thousand pieces. Or wake up and discover this was all a dream I don’t deserve.She’s so small.Six pounds, eight ounces. Nineteen inches. The numbers the nurse rattled off feel abstract until I see her, until I r

(Livia’s POV)The first hour in recovery stretches into the second, and I’m still floating in that soft, hazy bubble where time doesn’t quite apply. The room is a quiet sanctuary, warm lights dimmed just enough to soothe, the steady beep of monitors a gentle lullaby in the background, the faint scent of baby lotion and hospital linens wrapping around us like a promise of safety.Sandra is asleep on my chest now, tiny breaths puffing against my skin, little hand still curled around my finger like she’s afraid to let go even in her dreams. Her dark hair has dried into soft waves, and her cheeks have settled into a warm pink that makes her look like a porcelain doll come to life. Every few minutes she makes a soft snuffle, a hiccup, a dream-smile that tugs at my heartstrings so hard I feel it in my soul.I can’t stop staring at her. Can’t stop tracing the delicate lines of her face with my eyes, memorizing the way her eyelashes flutter, the way her tiny nose wrinkles when she sighs. Afte