Chapter 61: The Devil’s Personal Snitch
"Who touched you?"
Damian’s baritone was lethal, dropping the temperature around them to zero. His dark eyes flicked over her scraped collarbone and the faint red marks rising on her skin. He wasn’t just angry; he was beyond furious.
"Damian, I’m fine..."
"Are you out of your mind?!" Damian snapped, his scold cutting through her words like a blade. "Acting brave instead of using your brain! You threw yourself at a man twice your size without a single thought!"
He grabbed her wrist to drag her toward the Maybach, but the second his fingers tightened, Ana winced in sharp pain.
Damian stopped instantly. He turned back, his dark brows pulling into a deep line as he shoved her full sleeve up her forearm... revealing raw, jagged scrapes and deep purplish bruises on her skin.
A dark, terrifying vein pulsed on Damian’s temple. The sheer fury radiating off him made the surrounding security guards step back in silence.
Just then, Julian approached, having just parked down the block. Seeing the explosive tension, he quickly hurried over and caught Damian’s shoulder, keeping his voice down in a low whisper.
"Calm down, Damian," Julian advised firmly. "Don’t be harsh on her when she was just trying to help her boss. If you treat her like this right now, you’re only going to push her further away."
Damian’s jaw clenched tightly, but he didn’t pull her so harshly this time.
Ana swallowed hard, backing up half a step. "I... I am not going anywhere until Clara is safely taken home."
Both Damian and Julian turned their heads to look inside the backseat of the security car. Clara was fast asleep, her face flushed red as she mumbled incoherently into the leather headrest.
"Stay single..." Clara slurred in her sleep, frowning deeply. "Don’t marry... Men are worthless... Cheap fuckers... Cheaters..."
Julian blinked, a low, amused chuckle escaping his lips as he looked at Clara’s fiery, messy state. "Well, well. Looks like we’ve got a little feminist here."
Ana quickly stepped in front of Clara’s view. "She’s way too drunk! She doesn’t know what she’s saying!"
Damian turned to his chief of security, his voice cold and clipped. "Take her address from her phone and drop her off safely at her apartment."
"Wait," Julian interrupted, raising a hand with a sly, intrigued grin. "I’ll take her. I’ll make sure Miss Reed gets back to her home safely."
Damian didn’t care who took the department head, his dark obsidian eyes locking straight back onto Ana’s pale, stubborn face. "Get in the car, Anastasia. You have a lot of explaining to do."
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Back at the penthouse, the private family doctor had already arrived by the time the Maybach pulled into the VIP estate.
After a thorough examination, the doctor cleaned the cuts on her forearms, wrapped her sprained wrists in crisp white bandages, and applied a soothing cold pack to her collarbone.
"Nothing is fractured, Mr. Sterling," the doctor reported quietly, packing his medical bag. "Just minor sprains and surface abrasions. Keep her rested for a few days."
Once the doctor left, Damian stepped into the living room. Without a word, he scooped Ana up into his arms, carrying her down the quiet hallway toward the master bedroom.
"I’m mad at you," Ana muttered quietly into his chest, her heart still hammering under his heavy aura. "You kept someone watching my every move today..."
Damian didn’t even flinch. He carried her through the doors and laid her gently on the king-sized bed, his broad frame immediately hovering over her, trapping her between his arms against the mattress.
"Because I did that," Damian said, his voice terrifyingly calm and razor-sharp, "you are still breathing right now."
Ana’s mouth snapped shut.
The words died in her throat. He was right, and she knew it. If his operative hadn’t stepped out of the shadows, both she and Clara would have been dragged into that alleyway. Clara was home safe right now purely because of him.
Damian leaned down, his dark eyes burning into hers with a cold, unyielding intensity as his broad hands pinned the sheets on either side of her head.
"Now," Damian purred low, a dangerous edge lining every word. "Tell me... what did Marcus do to you tonight?"
Damian hovered over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the ambient light of the master bedroom. His dark, obsidian eyes remained fixed on Ana’s face, waiting with terrifying patience.
Ana swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably against the mattress under his suffocating weight.
"Marcus got drunk," she finally confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "He... he tried to force a kiss on me outside the washroom. He held my waist and wouldn’t listen when I told him to stop. But it’s fine, I took care of it."
A dangerous, suffocating silence settled over the room. Damian didn’t yell, but the sheer, lethal drop in the room’s atmosphere was far scarier. A muscle in his jaw twitched violently.
Ana frowned slightly, looking up at him. "Did your security operative actually report that to you? Is he hired for my security, or is he just your personal snitch?"
"What he reported sounds like a security threat to me," Damian replied, his baritone dangerously low and absolute. "Another man touching your body is strictly forbidden, Anastasia. I will never allow it."
"It’s like I can’t even breathe without your permission," Ana muttered, her voice laced with quiet frustration.
"Exactly," Damian purred, leaning down until his lips hovered a breath away from hers. "That is precisely what you signed up for."
Before she could argue, Damian brought his mouth down on hers... not with the harsh brutality, but in a slow, possessively soft kiss that stole the lingering tension right out of her chest.
He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes softening just a fraction as he tucked the duvet around her shoulders, pulling her exhausted, bandaged frame flush against his chest for the night.
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Meanwhile, across town, Julian was having the most chaotic night of his life.
He maneuvered his sports car through the quiet city streets, glancing in the rearview mirror every few seconds at Clara, who was slumped in the passenger seat, blabbering completely unfiltered thoughts into the quiet air.
"Work stress... constant deadlines..." Clara muttered, her hand waving wildly in the air as Julian pulled into her apartment building’s private driveway. "And my bitch boss... don’t get me started on the upper management. All men are cheap, cheating fuckers..."
Julian let out a low chuckle, stepping out to open her door. "Alright, fierce lady, let me get you upstairs before you start a full corporate union strike in the parking lot."
He hoisted her arm over his shoulder, bearing her weight as they navigated the elevator up to her floor. Clara fumbled helplessly with her keys, so Julian gently took them from her trembling hand and unlocked the apartment door.
He carried her inside, carefully setting her down on the plush living room couch.
As Clara slumped back, her messy hair falling across her face, Julian paused. In the soft light of her apartment lamp, he took a moment to actually look at her.
Clara Reed was breathtakingly beautiful. Her sharp features, fierce independence, and absolute refusal to bow to corporate politics ignited something entirely unexpected deep within his chest.
Julian pulled a warm throw blanket from the armchair and draped it gently over her shoulders. Clara hummed, instantly curling into the fabric and falling fast asleep.
He pulled out his phone, snapped a quick, silent photo of her sleeping peacefully on the couch to tease her with later, and pulled her apartment door shut behind him with a small, intrigued smile playing on his lips.