Chapter 39: Apologise To The Devil
"Look at her, Damian!" Valerie’s voice cracked, sharp and hysterical, echoing through the hallway. She stayed on her knees, wrapping a protective arm around Vivian, who continued to sob softly into her hands, her cheek flushed a deep, angry red. "She attacked Vivian! In Mother’s house! On the day of Dad’s memorial!"
Victoria’s face remained a rigid, uncomfortable mask, her eyes darting between the weeping guest and her silent daughter-in-law.
Ana didn’t move. Her chest heaved, her knuckles still white from the force of the strike. She didn’t offer a single word of defense, her jaw set in a hard, stubborn line as she bore the weight of Valerie’s screaming accusations.
Damian stepped forward. He didn’t look at Vivian’s pathetic display on the floor, nor did he offer his hysterical sister a gentle word.
His dark, unyielding eyes were fixed entirely on Ana.
He saw the raw, absolute rage in her frame. He knew his quiet, restrained wife didn’t snap like this over nothing. Vivian had touched a nerve... a deep, fatal one. But with executive guests in the drawing room and his mother’s estate turning into a public circus, Damian made a cold, calculated call to shut the noise down.
"Apologize, Anastasia," Damian commanded, his deep tone dropping into a low, dangerous growl that left zero room for debate.
Ana’s head snapped toward him, her breath hitching in shock. "Damian..."
"Apologize to Vivian," he repeated, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute authority. "Now. End this."
Ana felt a fresh wave of humiliation burn through her veins, but the warning in his gaze was clear. Do it now, or I will end this scene my way.
Taking a slow, bitter breath, Ana looked down at Vivian’s pathetic, tear-stained face. "I am sorry," she forced out, her voice dripping with venomous sarcasm, "for letting my hand slip."
Satisfied that the formal obligation was fulfilled, Damian reached out, grabbing Ana firmly by the elbow to pull her away from the commotion. "We’re done here."
"No, we are not done!" Valerie shrieked, scrambling to her feet and stepping directly into Damian’s path, her eyes wild with grief and anger. She threw her arm out, stopping him from leading Ana away. "You can’t just let her go so easily! She doesn’t belong here, Damian! She humiliated our family four years ago, and now she’s assaulting our guests!"
"Valerie, move," Damian warned softly, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register.
"No!" Valerie defied him, her voice trembling. "She is nothing to you! She ruined your life!"
Damian’s grip on Ana’s arm tightened, pulling her flush against his side in a swift, possessive movement that silenced the entire corridor.
"Mind your tongue, Valerie," Damian stated, his dark eyes flashing with a terrifying, unyielding threat. "You will behave with Anastasia. Like it or not, she is my wife, and she stands under my name. You will show her the respect this household demands."
Valerie gasped, taking a step back as if he had struck her himself. Tears of betrayal welled in her pale blue eyes as she stared at her brother.
"She is your ex-wife!" Valerie yelled back, her voice echoing bitterly off the high ceilings. "She abandoned you! And I will make sure she stays an ex-wife... she will never be a part of this family again!"
Damian didn’t react to Valerie’s outburst with another word. With a grip around Ana’s waist, he cut through the heavy silence of the corridor, dragging her down the secluded wing of the manor toward his private study.
He threw the heavy doors open, shoved her gently inside, and slammed them shut behind them, turning the brass lock with a sharp, decisive click.
"What did she say to you, Anastasia?" Damian demanded, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl as he unbuttoned his suit jacket, pacing toward her like a caged predator. "You don’t lash out like a feral cat in front of my mother over nothing. Speak."
Ana stood near the edge of his heavy oak desk, her breath ragged, her entire body shaking with rage, shame, and heartbreaking guilt.
She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t look into those piercing eyes and confess that she had spent four years believing a lie... that her own foolish jealousy had destroyed their marriage and cost them their unborn child.
"It doesn’t matter," Ana bit out, her voice trembling as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
"It matters when you turn my father’s memorial into a circus," Damian snapped, closing the distance between them until he towered over her, his shadow completely swallowing her frame. "Tell me what Vivian said."
Ana threw her head back, her dark eyes flashing with a sudden, venomous spite meant purely to protect the raw, bleeding wounds in her heart.
"Why? So you can call me a liar again?" she threw back at him, her voice cracking with suppressed emotion. "You wouldn’t believe a single word out of my mouth anyway, Damian! You always take Vivian’s side! You forced me to apologize to that snake in front of everyone!"
Damian’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking dangerously near his temple. "I ended a public scene, Anastasia..."
"No, you humiliated me!" Ana cut him off, stepping right into his chest, her pride breaking through her composure. "You want my honest opinion? Four years ago, you should have just married Vivian instead of me! At least that way, your mother and your sister would be at peace, and you wouldn’t be stuck holding the leash on a Vance!"
The air in the room instantly turned to liquid nitrogen.
Damian’s eyes turned pitch-black. Before she could take a breath, his heavy hand shot out, his long fingers wrapping firmly around the back of her neck. He pulled her flush against his hard, broad chest, tilting her head back until she was forced to look directly into the cold, terrifying abyss of his gaze.
"Don’t ever say that again," Damian growled, his voice sent a shiver straight down her spine. "I didn’t marry Vivian. I married you. I bound you to my name four years ago, and no matter what poison my sister spews, no matter how much you hate it, you are mine. You will always be mine."
He held her captive in his grip for a long, suffocating second, watching the defiant fire in her eyes blur into raw, exhausted grief.
Releasing her neck, Damian stepped back and pulled open the study door. "Get in the car. We’re leaving."
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The sleek black SUV left the Sterling Estate behind, heading back toward the city.
The silence inside the luxury vehicle was deafening. Damian drove himself, his large hands gripping the leather steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, his cold gaze fixed firmly on the winding road ahead.
Beside him in the passenger seat, Ana turned her face toward the rain-slicked window, staring out at the blurred trees.
She felt completely hollowed out. Every time she closed her eyes, she didn’t see Vivian’s sneering face... she saw Valerie’s tear-stained eyes from two years ago.
I destroyed everything, the silent chant echoed in her head, beating rhythmically against her temples. I lost my baby... because I was too blind to see the truth.
A single, quiet tear escaped her eyelash, tracing a slow path down her pale cheek. She quickly raised her trembling hand to wipe it away.
She thought she was hiding it. She didn’t see the way Damian’s dark eyes flicked to the side mirror.
He caught the subtle, rhythmic tremor in her shoulders. He saw the single tear glistening against her pale skin in the passing streetlights. His jaw locked in a hard, dangerous line.
He didn’t offer a soft word of comfort. He didn’t ask her why she was weeping. The heavy, suffocating air inside the car thickened with an unspoken, possessive tension... a dark promise that whatever storm was tearing her apart, she would have to face it under his roof, bound entirely to him.
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The private elevator doors slid open directly into the silent, dimly lit expanse of Damian’s penthouse suite.
Ana stepped out, her body feeling heavy, her spirit completely drained. She tried to move straight toward the guest wing, desperate to shut a door between herself and the rest of the world, but the sharp sound of Damian’s suit jacket being tossed carelessly onto the leather couch halted her in her tracks.
"Where do you think you’re going?" His deep tone cut through the quiet, cold and absolute.