Chapter 60: The Devil Touched A Sore Nerve
"Clara!"
Ana’s scream echoed frantically across the quiet street as she burst out of the convenience store, dropping the bottle of water onto the pavement.
Without thinking twice about her own safety, she sprinted straight across the road and lunged into the pitch-black alleyway. "Let her go! Put her down!"
The heavily built man paused, his grip still locked around Clara’s waist. He turned his head, his dark eyes flashing with irritation as he sneered down at Ana.
Ana didn’t have a weapon, nor did she know how to fight. In her pure, desperate panic, she threw her entire body weight forward, flailing her hands and slamming her fists against his broad back as hard as her small frame would allow.
"Get off... your filthy hands... off her!" Clara slurred, attempting to help in her completely intoxicated state. Clara’s arm swung wildly in the air, her handbag slapping uselessly against the man’s shoulder while her legs wobbled beneath her.
"Out of my way, little bitch," the man growled.
He swung his elbow around, catching Ana squarely across the collarbone. The force of the blow sent Ana crashing hard onto the filthy, damp asphalt of the alley floor.
Pain flared through her body, and her head bounced against the brick wall.
"Ana..." Clara whimpered, her slurred voice filled with terror as the man began dragging her deeper into the shadows.
"No!" Ana gasped, her vision swimming slightly.
Refusing to stop, Ana scrambled forward on her hands and knees. Reaching out, she grabbed the leg of his heavy jeans and kicked up with her heels, trying to trip him in her clumsy, desperate way.
But her strength was nowhere near enough for a man twice her size.
The man turned around, his face twisting into a malicious sneer as he raised his heavy boot, intending to stomp down on her wounded hand...
CRACK.
A sickening thud rang out through the narrow alleyway.
The attacker’s violent smirk froze instantly. A guttural screech tore from his throat as his eyes rolled into the back of his head.
Before he could even register what hit him, his massive body collapsed sideways like a sack of bricks, hitting the concrete completely unconscious.
Standing right behind where the attacker had been was a tall, sharp figure bathed in the dim shadows of the alley.
He was dressed in an impeccably tailored, dark charcoal suit, his broad shoulders squared and his expression completely unreadable.
He casually adjusted his cuffs, his hand lowering from the brutal, single blow he had just delivered to the assailant’s neck.
Ana scrambled back against the brick wall, her chest heaving, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she stared at the stranger in complete shock.
The man in the suit stepped over the unconscious attacker, stopping right in front of her. He extended a broad, gloved hand toward her, his voice low, firm, and entirely respectful.
"Miss Vance... are you okay?"
Anastasia blinked in total surprise, her dark eyes wide.
She had never seen this man in her life... yet he knew her name, he wore the distinct shadow of elite authority, and he had just stepped out of the darkness at the exact moment she needed help.
"I’m here on Mr Sterling’s orders, Ms Vance, let me help you both."
Damian’s invisible protection had been watching her the entire time.
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In an opulent private dining suite on the top floor of the Manhattan Grand, the air was thick with the rich scent of aged scotch and expensive cigars.
Around the table sat Damian Sterling, Julian, and Julian’s father... Dean... a formidable, gray-haired tycoon who held a massive block of shares in Sterling Global.
"Harrison Stark has been a staple on the board for over a decade, Damian," Dean spoke, his deep voice carrying a cold, calculated weight as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "You want us to mobilize the remaining shareholders to oust him completely? Unless you give me a bulletproof, indisputable reason, I am not risking my equity on a personal vendetta."
Julian sat beside his father, looking visibly conflicted.
Vivian was his friend, and while he knew Harrison Stark was dirty, watching two corporate giants go to war was exhausting. "Dad’s right, Damian. Vivian’s father still has considerable backing. Moving against him without absolute justification will spark a total civil war among the investors."
Before Damian could reply, his chief of security stepped quietly into the private room. Bending down, the man whispered a quick, urgent report directly into Damian’s ear.
"Sir... the operative dispatched to watch Miss Vance just intercepted an assault. A man tried to take Miss Vance and her department head down an alley near the restaurant. The situation was secured, but Miss Vance was struck and shoved to the ground."
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room plummeted into zero temperatures.
Damian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched violently under his skin. His eyes narrowed into a dark, lethal slit, his broad chest rising and falling with a slow, dangerous breath.
Julian, sitting across from him, caught the sudden shift immediately. "Damian? What happened?"
Without a word, Damian stood up, buttoning his tailored suit jacket with sharp, deliberate motions.
"I need to leave," Damian said, his baritone voice dripping with barely suppressed fury. "My wife needs me."
Dean let out a soft, mocking hum, leaning back in his leather armchair. "It seems your ex-wife’s return has severely affected your work and your judgment, Damian. It is a fine thing to love your partner... but is a fragile woman really worth going against the most powerful holders in this industry?"
"Dad," Julian warned quickly, calling out his father’s insensitivity.
Damian stopped at the edge of the table. He turned his head slightly, looking down at Dean with a face as cold and unreadable as stone.
"You would have known the worth of having a partner in your life," Damian said calmly, his voice slicing through the room like a blade, "if you had ever managed to keep one."
Julian winced, taking a slow sip of his drink. Oof. Touched a sore nerve there.
Dean stiffened, his face darkening, but he waved a dismissive hand. "Go to your ex-wife, then. We will continue this conversation later."
Damian didn’t wait around. He turned on his heel and strode out of the suite. Julian immediately pushed back his chair, leaving his father sitting alone at the table, and hurried out into the hallway to catch up with Damian’s long strides.
"Wait, I’m coming with you," Julian called out as they reached the private elevator. "What actually happened to Anastasia?"
"She’s fine," Damian snapped, his tone leaving zero room for debate as the elevator doors slid open. "You don’t need to come with me."
Julian smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Come on, don’t be jealous of me. You know I don’t go after my friends’ ex-wives."
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Meanwhile, inside the quiet security vehicle parked half a block away from the alleyway, Ana finished carefully applying a cool ointment over the dark red bruises on Clara’s wrists before wrapping them neatly in white gauze. Clara was sitting in the backseat, fast asleep and thoroughly out of harm’s way.
Ana stepped out of the back door, adjusting her jacket. A few feet away, the tall man in the dark suit... Damian’s operative... stood under a streetlight, speaking in a hushed, rigid tone into his phone.
Ana walked over to him slowly. "Excuse me..."
The guard immediately ended the call, snapping his phone shut and bowing his head respectfully. "Miss Vance."
"Please..." Ana bit her lower lip, looking at him with earnest, pleading eyes. "Do not tell Damian anything about tonight. I am fine, Clara is safe, and I don’t want to cause any unnecessary trouble tonight."
The guard’s expression shifted, a sudden look of utter guilt flashing across his eyes as his gaze drifted straight past her shoulder toward the mouth of the alley.
Ana’s heart skipped a beat.
"To not tell me what exactly?"
A deep, stern voice cut through the cold night air from right behind her.
Ana froze. Slowly turning around, she bit her lip nervously as Damian approached, his broad frame towering over her, his eyes burning with a dark, terrifying intensity.