Chapter 151: The Devil’s Boardroom Battle
Down the corridor, Julian scooped Clara up into his arms, carrying her light frame across the guest suite to the king-sized bed.
He laid her down gently against the plush pillows. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he carefully reached down, unbuckling the delicate straps of her high heels and sliding them off her feet. He pulled the soft knit throw over her shoulders, brushing a loose strand of dark hair away from her flushed cheek.
"Sleep, Clara," Julian murmured softly, preparing to rise and leave her to rest.
Before he could pull away, a small, trembling hand reached out from beneath the blanket, her slender fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his tailored sleeve.
Clara didn’t open her eyes, but her voice was a faint, vulnerable whisper that cut straight through his chest. "Don’t go... stay until I fall asleep. Please, Julian."
Julian froze, looking down at the fierce, untouchable woman who had spent weeks fighting him at every turn, now asking for his presence with absolute sincerity.
A gentle, devoted smile touched his lips. Julian kicked off his shoes, unbuttoned his vest, and slid onto the top of the covers beside her.
He gathered her into his side, letting her rest her head against his shoulder as his fingers gently stroked her hair, holding still until her breathing evened out into deep, peaceful sleep.
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Golden morning sunlight poured through the sheer curtains of the master suite, warming the tangled silk sheets.
Ana stirred slowly, her head resting against Damian’s broad, bare chest. The faint ache behind her temples from the previous day’s champagne was completely eclipsed by the steady, rhythmic thud of his heartbeat beneath her cheek.
Damian’s heavy arm was locked securely around her waist, his thumb lazily tracing small, absentminded circles against her bare shoulder in the quiet haze of dawn.
For the first time in months, the air felt peaceful.
That peace shattered with three sharp, urgent knocks at the double doors.
"Enter," Damian commanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that instantly shed every trace of sleep.
Walter stepped in, his expression grimmer than usual. He carried a silver tray bearing an espresso cup and a thick, red-stamped folder, accompanied by a stack of morning financial broadsheets.
"Forgive the intrusion, Master Damian, Ms. Vance," Walter said, his tone tight with measured urgency. "We have a critical development on the corporate front."
Damian sat up, pulling the duvet over Anastasia before taking the black coffee and opening the folder with a sharp flick of his wrist.
The headline of the Financial Herald glared in bold, unforgiving print.
"STERLING ENTERPRISES IN TURMOIL: CEO DAMIAN STERLING ABSENT AMID FUNDS TRANSFER SCANDAL — SHAREHOLDERS DEMAND IMMEDIATE OUSTER."
"The narrative broke forty minutes ago," Walter reported crisply. "Someone fed the press leaked fragments of the money transfer to Vance enterprises, alleging you funneled company reserves into personal interests. Three major institutional shareholders, led by Senior Director Thornton, have spread the rumors. They’ve called an emergency board summit for ten o’clock this morning to initiate a vote of no-confidence."
Ana sat up straight, the cool air hitting her shoulders as the last remnants of sleep vanished. Her hazel eyes widened as she scanned the brutal press clippings. "They’re using my family’s company’s transactional records to frame you as reckless."
Damian didn’t flinch. He set the cup down with lethal calm, his obsidian eyes turning into chips of polished black ice.
"Thornton has been looking for an excuse to sell his voting shares to foreign buyers for three years," Damian said, his voice flat, devoid of panic and dripping with pure, predatory intent. "Dante, who took over your father’s company, has simply handed him the knife."
Damian swung his legs over the side of the bed, the bandages across his ribs a stark reminder of the battles he fought in the dark, though his posture remained completely unbroken.
He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of Ana’s neck, his dark gaze locking onto hers with absolute, unshakeable certainty.
"They think hiding away at my own estate makes me weak," Damian murmured, his thumb brushing against her jawline. "They think standing by my partner is a liability."
He leaned in, pressing a firm, possessive kiss to her forehead.
"Get dressed, Ana," Damian ordered smoothly, a dangerous smirk touching his lips. "You’re coming to headquarters with me. It’s time we remind the board who owns the room."
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Pale morning light spilled over the guest suite, illuminating the quiet room.
Clara stirred, her head throbbing from the champagne, but the instant she registered the heavy, solid warmth wrapped around her, her eyes snapped wide open.
Julian was lying on top of the covers beside her, his arm draped firmly over her waist, his face relaxed in sleep just inches from hers.
Panic surged through Clara like an electric shock.
Her defenses roared back to life, and she immediately shoved against his broad chest, scrambling to pull herself away. "Julian! What... get off me!"
Julian didn’t flinch. His eyes opened slowly, clear and utterly unbothered. Instead of letting her retreat, his arm tightened effortlessly around her waist, drawing her right back against him before she could tumble off the edge of the mattress.
"Relax, sweetheart," Julian rasped, his voice thick with morning gravel. "You begged me to stay until you fell asleep, remember? I merely obliged."
"I was drunk!" Clara hissed, her cheeks flaming as she pressed her palms flat against his shoulders, desperately trying to ignore the heat radiating through his shirt. "Let go of me, Julian."
"No," Julian replied calmly, holding her in place with effortless strength. His hazel eyes locked onto hers, steady and entirely devoid of mockery. "Every time you feel something real, you run. You’re not running this morning, Clara. I kept my word, and I’m not going anywhere."
Before Clara could find the breath to fight back, three sharp raps sounded at the door, followed by Valerie’s urgent voice from the corridor. "Boardroom emergency in the library. Mother wants everyone downstairs now."
Ten minutes later, the grand library was thick with suffocating tension.
Victoria Sterling stood by the tall arched windows, holding the morning financial broadsheet, while Valerie, Julian, and Clara gathered around the long table. Walter had already placed the leaked financial records on the center console.
"A formal federal inquiry," Victoria said, her sharp gaze cutting straight toward Damian as he entered with Anastasia. "The board is calling for an emergency ouster, claiming you funneled company capital into a personal account four years ago under the guise of an offshore buyout."
Victoria stepped forward, her voice dropping into a sharp, demanding chill.
"What sort of transaction was made to Arthur Vance’s company, Damian? And why was it processed the exact week you brought Anastasia home?"
Clara’s eyes flicked to the ledger codes, her analytical mind piecing the numbers together. "It bypassed the standard acquisition board. The funds went directly into a private liquidation trust. On paper, it looks entirely fraudulent."
"Damian," Julian chimed in, his brow furrowed with genuine concern. "If this leaks to the FTC without context, it won’t just look like corporate embezzlement. It looks criminal."
Beside Damian, Anastasia’s face went completely pale.
The suffocating shame of the past rushed back into her throat. She looked down, her hands trembling violently in the folds of her dress.
The cold reality was unforgiving... four years ago, Arthur Vance hadn’t merged his firm with Sterling Enterprises. He had sold his own daughter to clear his fraudulent debts, and Damian had wired Hundred million dollars to buy her freedom.
It was an illegal, off-the-books transfer, and socially degrading to the bone. Admitting the truth would reduce Anastasia to a bought asset in front of Damian’s mother, his sister, and her best friend.
Damian felt the tremor running through Ana’s frame.
Without a flicker of hesitation, Damian stepped directly in front of her, shielding her completely from their questioning stares. His obsidian eyes turned to black ice, his posture rigid and unyielding.
"Arthur Vance uncovered a critical vulnerability in our transatlantic maritime contracts four years ago," Damian lied smoothly, his voice deep, cold, and carrying absolute authority that brooked no challenge. "The transfer was a preemptive intellectual property settlement to keep the Vance firm from selling that leverage to foreign syndicates. Anastasia was brought here as my wife, not a corporate pawn."
He locked eyes with his mother, his jaw tight.
"The transaction was necessary to protect Sterling Enterprises from total exposure," Damian finished coldly. "The methods were unconventional, but the decision was mine. Now stop dissecting four-year-old paperwork and get ready. We’re going to the boardroom to end this."
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The heavy frosted-glass doors of Sterling Enterprises’ top-floor boardroom parted, but the grand entrance Damian intended disintegrated within seconds.
Instead of a room cowering under his presence, Damian, Ana, Julian, and Clara walked into an ambush that had already been executed with planned precision.
At the head of the long mahogany conference table sat Director Thornton, flanked not by nervous board members, but by three senior regulators from the Federal Trade Commission and a team of corporate bailiffs.
"You’re late, Mr. Sterling," Thornton said, his voice flat, smug, and utterly devoid of fear.