Chapter 46: The Devil Paid The Price
The ride back to the penthouse was wrapped in a suffocating, heavy silence. Damian hadn’t released his grip on her once, keeping her wrapped tightly in his warm, dry suit jacket until they crossed the threshold of their master suite.
Steam billowed from the master bathroom as Damian filled the deep marble tub with hot water. Without saying a word, he gently stripped her of the ruined, freezing midnight-blue gown, lifting her bare, shivering body into the soothing heat.
Ana leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, her skin tingling as the warmth slowly seeped back into her numb limbs. Damian knelt on the marble floor beside her, his dark hair falling over his forehead, his suit sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he picked up a soft sponge.
He began washing the cold scent of the pond off her skin with a quiet, careful tenderness that almost hurt.
Ana looked down at his big, calloused hands gently smoothing lather over her shoulders. Her throat felt tight, raw from the cold water and choked with unresolved emotions.
"Why are you doing this?" Ana whispered softly, her voice raspy.
Damian’s hand paused over her collarbone, his obsidian eyes rising to meet hers. "Doing what?"
"Taking care of me like this," she said, pulling her shoulders back slightly as her eyes searched his unreadable face. "Isn’t that too much effort? After all... am I not just your slave?"
The air in the bathroom went completely still. A dark, dangerous glint flickered in Damian’s eyes, but his expression remained carved from stoic marble.
"A master should take good care of his slave, Anastasia," Damian answered smoothly, his deep baritone dropping into a low, quiet purr as he resumed washing her arm. "Even though that slave takes her master’s kindness entirely for granted."
Ana grumbled under her breath, turning her head away to glare at the tiled wall. She hated how easily he turned her words back on her, how his dark authority could make her feel so completely undone.
Damian set the sponge down, resting his broad palms on the edge of the tub, leaning in until his face was just inches from hers. The quiet tenderness vanished, replaced by an intense, probing interrogation.
"Now answer me," Damian commanded softly, his dark gaze locking onto her face like a hawk. "Why did you lie about slipping into the pond?"
Ana’s heart skipped a treacherous beat, but she forced her expression to remain neutral. "I told you, I lost my footing..."
"Don’t play games with me, Anastasia," Damian interrupted darkly, his hand reaching out to gently cup her chin, forcing her to look straight into his eyes. "Did Valerie push you? Did she tell you to lie for her?"
Ana swallowed hard, remembering the terror in Valerie’s eyes and the delicate peace within the Sterling family. If she told Damian the truth, it would ignite an absolute war between him and his sister... a scandal that would tear Sterling Enterprises apart and plunge everyone into chaos.
"She didn’t push me, Damian," Ana lied smoothly, keeping her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands beneath the water. "Valerie was just talking to me. Nothing else. I genuinely stepped too close to the edge and slipped."
Damian stared down at her for a long, agonizing moment. His dark eyes narrowed, searching every line of her face for a single crack in her story. The tension between them was so thick it was almost unbearable.
Slowly, Damian’s fingers slid up her jaw line, his thumb brushing over her lower lip with a slow, possessive pressure.
"If I find out you’re lying to me, Anastasia..." Damian warned low, his voice dropping into a dark, promises-filled growl against her lips, "...there will be consequences. Very severe ones."
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The hot bath eased the initial chill from her bones, but by midnight, the freezing water claimed its toll.
Ana lay twisted in the silk sheets of their master bed, her skin burning with a sudden, vicious fever. She tossed restlessly, her pale cheeks flushed crimson as dark, fragmented dreams plagued her mind.
Damian sat on the edge of the bed, a dark figure bathed in the dim ambient light. His tie was undone, his sleeves rolled up as he repeatedly soaked a small towel in ice water, gently pressing it against her heated forehead and exposed neck.
He didn’t sleep for a single second. Driven by the lingering, agonizing image of her in Dante’s arms, his dark eyes remained pinned on her flushed face.
"Damian..." Ana murmured in her feverish haze, her voice small, raspy, and broken. Her hand reached out blindly, her fingers clutching weakly at his wrist. "Did you... did you marry me just for revenge? Am I really... just your prisoner?"
Damian’s hand froze over her forehead. His eyes narrowed, a heavy, suffocating stillness settling over the room.
He didn’t answer her, but his large hand turned, his long fingers lacing tightly through hers, holding her anchored to him until dawn broke over the city skyline.
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By nine the next morning, Damian walked through the grand double doors of the Sterling family estate.
Victoria sat in the formal tea room, sipping from a porcelain cup, while Valerie stood near the fireplace, looking anxious and pale. Both women looked up in surprise as Damian stepped into the room, followed closely by his head of security, who carried a sleek black tablet.
"Damian," Victoria greeted calmly, setting her cup down. "How is Anastasia?"
Damian didn’t bother with pleasantries. He gestured silently to his security chief, who set the tablet down on the marble tea table and pressed play.
High-definition, private garden CCTV footage began to play. The screen clearly captured Valerie lunging forward, her hands slamming into Ana’s shoulders, and pushing her backward into the deep stone lily pond.
Valerie’s breath hitched in her throat. Her face drained of all color, but her shock quickly twisted into defensive, venomous rage.
"You went through security footage for that bitch?!" Valerie shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at the screen.
Damian’s dark aura went ice-cold. He stood tall, imposing, and carved from dark marble, looking down at his sister with absolute contempt.
"This is the exact reason why I kept Anastasia away from all of you," Damian said, his deep tone dropping into a deadly, quiet register that echoed off the high ceilings. "Because I knew my own family would bully and destroy my wife."
"She deserves it!" Valerie yelled back, her eyes burning with tears of bitter frustration. "Her father destroyed our father! Her family ruined our lives!"
"She has already paid her price!" Damian roared, his voice cutting through the room like thunder, slamming his palm onto the marble table so hard the porcelain rattled.
The room fell into a horrifying, suffocating silence.
Damian’s chest heaved, his dark eyes glinting with a raw, agonizing fury that his family had never seen before.
"She lost our baby," Damian revealed coldly, every word dropping like lead onto his mother and sister’s shoulders. "She suffered a miscarriage because of the stress and debt her family put on her. She was trying to pay every single debt with her own body and blood."
Victoria gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The porcelain tea cup slipped from her fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. Tears instantly welled in the matriarch’s eyes as she sank back into her armchair, completely broken.
"Oh, God..." Victoria sobbed softly, shaking her head in genuine, suffocating remorse. "It’s all my fault... If only I had accepted her... if only I had welcomed her..."
Valerie stood frozen, her jaw slack, her eyes wide with horror as the truth crushed her. She looked at her brother, her voice trembling. "Why... Why didn’t you tell us before? Why did you keep yourself so distant from your own family for four years?"
Damian looked down at his mother and sister, his face hardening back into an unyielding, dark shadow.
"Because I have committed unspeakable sins to keep her," Damian answered smoothly, his voice devoid of all warmth. "And I refuse to let my family be a part of it."
Without another word, Damian turned on his heel and strode out of the estate, leaving the two women drowned in silence and regret.