Chapter 42: Dress Fitting With The Devil
The upcoming high-society gala loomed over the end of the week like a storm, but inside the glass walls of Sterling Enterprises, the corporate battlefield was in full swing.
"You’re taking on the Q4 brand overhaul campaign, Anastasia," Clara Reed stated coldly, tossing a heavy marketing brief onto Ana’s desk. The Senior Vice President of Marketing didn’t bother hiding her disdain. "Five green-horn interns, a tight launch deadline, and zero margin for error. If the campaign flops, you answer to the board."
Ana looked up, her expression calm despite the silent venom radiating from her. Clara had made her opinion crystal clear from day one. Ana was nothing more than a business major with a glorified title, riding on Damian’s coattails.
"My team will deliver a stellar launch strategy, Ms. Reed," Ana replied evenly.
"We’ll see," Clara scoffed, leaning in slightly, her voice dropping to a low, mocking edge. "Let me see if your actual business acumen matches the special privileges your relationship grants you around here."
When Ana walked into the strategy room to meet her new team, the atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension. The five fresh graduates stood rigidly around the central glass desk.
While polite and respectful on the surface, Ana could instantly sense their hesitation... the cautious distance in their eyes, the careful, rehearsed way they spoke to her. To them, she wasn’t just a project lead; she was the CEO’s wife, a powerful figure who could end their careers with a single word.
"I know what everyone is saying," Ana said softly, breaking the awkward ice as she opened her tablet. "And I know why you’re holding back. But inside this room, I’m not a Sterling, and I’m not your boss’s wife. I’m a marketer who needs your fresh perspectives to build an unforgettable campaign. Let me hear your rawest ideas."
By afternoon, the wall of hesitation had begun to crumble. Over cold sandwiches and bottled iced tea in the busy employee canteen, Ana worked through the market segmentation and consumer trends with them, breaking down complex data metrics with genuine skill and passion.
Slowly, the interns began to see her for who she truly was... a sharp, brilliant strategist who valued their input.
Ana laughed softly at a joke Marcus, the lead intern, made about corporate ad cliches, completely unaware of the high-collared silk blouse she wore to conceal the fading violet marks around her collarbone.
From the second-floor glass walls overlooking the dining hall, Damian stood with his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets.
His dark eyes were locked squarely on the bottom table, watching the effortless, radiant smile on Ana’s face as she laughed with her team. His jaw tightened slightly. She never smiled like that around him anymore. Around him, she was guarded, quiet, or burning with a fiery, reluctant surrender.
His phone chimed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his dark gaze never leaving her form as he dialed a text.
At the lunch table, Ana’s phone buzzed. Her smile instantly faltered as she read the message on the screen.
Damian: Be at the private underground garage in ten minutes. We have somewhere to be.
A sleek black car pulled up to the rear entrance of the city’s premier haute couture boutique catering strictly to the top one percent. The boutique had been entirely cleared for them; two security guards stood outside the velvet-draped doors.
Ana stepped into the opulent salon, her heels sinking into thick cream carpets. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, and champagne sat on silver trays.
"Ah, Mr. Sterling," the head designer greeted with a deep bow. "We have selected the finest evening wear for Ms. Vance as requested."
Damian motioned with a slight flick of his wrist. "Bring them out."
For the next hour, Ana tried on several breathtaking silk gowns... emerald green, deep crimson, and classic slate black. Every time she stepped out of the velvet fitting room, Damian sat on the plush leather armchair, taking a slow sip of scotch, his sharp, eyes evaluating her with a heavy, possessive gaze.
Finally, the designer brought out a masterpiece... a floor-length dress in liquid midnight blue. It hugged her waist perfectly, with a high, regal halter neck that elegantly covered her collarbone while leaving her back entirely bare down to her lower spine.
Ana stepped into the grand fitting room, pulling the heavy velvet curtain shut. She zipped the back as far as she could, but the delicate silk clasp at the top of her neck proved stubborn.
"Need help?"
The deep baritone purred right behind her ear.
Ana gasped, spinning around, her back hitting the large gilded mirror. Damian had slipped silently inside the private fitting room, shutting the heavy oak door behind him. The space was suddenly suffocatingly small, filled entirely by his massive frame and the dark, dominating scent of his cologne.
"Damian, the designer is right outside..."
"Let them wait," he murmured smoothly, stepping into her personal space.
His large, warm hands reached around her back, his calloused fingers brushing against her bare skin. A sudden, violent shiver ran down Ana’s spine as his thumb slowly traced the exposed curve of her lower back, pulling her flush against his hard, clothed frame.
He secured the silk clasp at her neck, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid around her waist, pinning her to the mirror as he leaned down, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
"Damian, please," she whispered, her hands pressing against his broad chest, though her heart was hammering a wild, treacherous beat against her ribs. "We’re in a dressing room..."
"You smiled a lot at lunch today," Damian growled low against her skin, his lips pressing a hot, lingering kiss right over the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "You didn’t look tired at all."
"I was working..."
"I don’t like when you smile for other people, Anastasia," he interrupted darkly, his hand sliding down to grip her hip through the expensive silk, pulling her up slightly so she could feel the heavy, thrumming heat growing against his trousers.
Ana let out a soft, shuddering gasp as his fingers slipped beneath the bare back of the dress, tracing a slow, agonizing trail over her skin. The danger of getting caught combined with the memory of his absolute dominance sent a sudden, intoxicating wave of heat straight to her core.
Damian tilted her head back, capturing her lower lip between his teeth, sucking gently before claiming her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss that stole every drop of air from her lungs. She buried her hands in his dark hair, her body instinctively arching into his touch, submitting to the quiet storm he was brewing in the secluded room.
"You look breathtaking in blue," Damian rasped against her wet lips, his breath heavy, his dark eyes burning with an unholy fire as he held her pinned against his body. "Every man in that ballroom is going to look at you..."
He smoothed his hand down her waist, gripping her chin firmly between his fingers, forcing her to look at their reflection in the mirror... her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen, completely undone by his touch.
"...and every single one of them is going to know you belong entirely to me."