Chapter 52: The Devil’s Wounded Slave
"Where did you get these forged documents, Valerie?" Damian demanded, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that echoed off the mahogany walls of his study.
Valerie swallowed hard, her throat tight as her eyes darted away from his suffocating gaze. She gripped her hands together, biting her lower lip. "I... I can’t say."
Damian took a slow step toward her. Despite his cold, intimidating exterior, he knew his sister better than anyone. Valerie was impulsive, sharp-tongued, and easily swayed, but she wasn’t inherently cruel.
She wouldn’t go to these extreme, dirty lengths on her own to defame Anastasia... someone else had fueled her fire, handing her the weapon and pointing her in the right direction.
"Don’t protect them, Valerie," Damian said smoothly, his dark eyes narrowing as he pinned her in place. "Because the person you are shielding right now might very well be the one responsible for breaking our family apart. And they are a direct threat to us."
Valerie’s breath hitched. Panic flickered in her tear-filled eyes, and the defensive wall she was desperately trying to hold up instantly crumbled.
"Vivian wouldn’t do something like..." Valerie choked out, freezing the second the name left her lips.
Her eyes widened in horror. She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing too late that her tongue had slipped.
Damian didn’t even blink. He had already suspected Vivian was pulling the strings behind the scenes, but hearing his sister confirm it concreted the ruthless verdict in his mind. The dark aura surrounding him grew impossibly colder.
"Until I find out exactly what Vivian’s game is," Damian commanded softly, his tone leaving zero room for argument, "you will cut all contact with her. You will not answer her calls, you will not meet her, and you will stay away. Do you understand me?"
Valerie could only nod mutely, trembling under the terrifying weight of his authority.
Without another word, Damian turned on his heel and walked out of the study, striding down the grand hallway toward the master suite.
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When he pushed open the heavy double doors of the bedroom, he was met with absolute destruction.
The room looked as if a hurricane had ripped through it. The pristine silk bedsheets had been ripped off the mattress and tossed across the room.
The crystal vase that usually sat by the window lay shattered into a hundred jagged pieces on the hardwood floor, water pooling across the wood.
His expensive suits and crisp silk dress shirts were dragged out from the walk-in closet... some drenched in water, others violently slashed and shredded by a pair of heavy scissors resting nearby.
Yet, Damian didn’t glance twice at his destroyed clothes or the mess.
His obsidian eyes locked instantly onto the center of the room.
Ana sat on the cold floor, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, her face buried completely against them as soft, agonizing sobs racked her slender frame.
Scarlet blood trickled down her pale palm, dripping onto the pristine rug beneath her... a sharp cut from the shattered glass of the vase she had smashed in her blind, desperate rage.
The sight of her blood didn’t evoke pity in Damian; it ignited a deep, dark, possessive fury.
Walking calmly across the room, ignoring the crunch of shattered glass under his shoes, Damian crouched down right in front of her.
"Look up at me, Anastasia," Damian commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register that cut straight through the heavy silence of the destroyed bedroom. "And give me a reason for this."
Ana lifted her head slowly, looking at him in absolute disbelief. Her face was flushed, her eyes red and swimming with raw, furious tears.
"A reason?!" She screamed, her voice cracking as she gestured wildly around the room with her bleeding hand. "You made my failed pregnancy a fucking joke in front of your family! My trauma, my personal life, is being thrown around like cheap gossip, and I’m painted as the lying gold-digger every single time!"
Damian’s dark eyes didn’t even flicker. "I told my family because they deserved to know the truth about what happened."
"Then why don’t you tell them the whole truth?!" Ana yelled, her chest heaving as she glared at him with pure hatred. "Why don’t you tell them how you paid one hundred million dollars to buy me like cattle?! Tell them how you’re forcing me to be your slave, using my body whenever you want for your own pleasure!"
Damian stared back at her, his expression unreadable, terrifyingly calm in the face of her storm. "You think I’m scared to own the truth?" He asked softly, every word heavy with ruthless authority.
"Everyone in our circle knows your father was practically about to auction you off to corporate tycoons... old, nasty criminals. People know I fucking saved you."
"I would rather die than be saved by you!" Ana spat back, tears spilling over her lashes.
A dark, hollow chuckle left Damian’s lips. "Well, that certainly wasn’t the case two years ago, was it?" He leaned in closer, his obsidian gaze pinning her in place. "You were always begging me to even look at you, Anastasia. And when I finally did... you couldn’t handle it."
"You didn’t care about me then! And you don’t care about me now!" Ana broke, sobbing as the weight of four years of suffocating pain crushed her chest. "All you care about is the money you spent on me! I can’t stand this humiliation anymore, Damian... I hate you so much! I hate you!"
Without a word, Damian reached out, his broad hand clamping around her arm and pulling her violently off the cold floor. He yanked her flush against his chest, forcing her tear-stained face up to meet his dark, terrifying gaze.
"You can hate me all you want," Damian growled, his voice a low, lethal purr against her lips, "but I own everything about you. Your mind, your soul, your body, and your breath... Your whole fucking existence is mine."
"Let me go!" Ana struggled wildly against his iron grip, but he didn’t budge an inch, his fingers digging possessively into her skin.
"You wanna leave? You can leave after our contract expires," Damian growled into her ear, his breath burning hot against her cheek. "Until then, you’re not even allowed to think about dying. You’re mine to keep, and mine to have."
Before she could process his words, Damian scooped her up into his arms, ignoring her weak shoves against his broad chest. He turned on his heel and carried her out of the ruined room, his long, heavy strides echoing down the grand marble staircase.
Reaching the bottom floor, he summoned one of the head housekeepers, his voice dripping with dark authority. "Get the medical kit and treat her hand."
He set Ana down on the velvet sofa, leaning over her so close that his shadow completely swallowed her. His fingers gently traced the sharp line of her jawline, his thumb brushing away a stray tear with a lingering, possessive touch that sent an involuntary shiver racing down her spine.
"Rest up, Anastasia," Damian whispered, his lips practically brushing hers, his dark eyes burning into hers with a suffocating intensity. "This Devil takes no pleasure in a wounded slave."