Chapter 47: The Devil Likes To Show Off
The next morning, Damian got dressed for the office but before that he decided to check on Anastasia.
He pushed open the tall bedroom doors to find Ana standing near the vanity, dressed in a sharp, tailored slate-grey pantsuit. Her face was still slightly pale, but her eyes held a stubborn, unyielding determination.
Damian’s jaw tightened. "What do you think you’re doing?"
"I’m going to work," Ana replied calmly, adjusting the lapels of her jacket in the mirror. "My fever broke hours ago, Damian. I feel fine, and the Q4 marketing campaign is at a critical stage. I need to be in the office."
Damian closed the distance between them with slow, dangerous steps, his broad shadow falling completely over her reflection. After her lies in the bathroom about Valerie, his trust in her words was practically nonexistent.
Every possessive instinct told him to keep her locked safely inside these walls, away from Dante, away from the gossip, and away from his family.
Yet, looking at her resolute expression, he knew that forcing her into bed right now would only ignite another bitter war... one he wasn’t inclined to fight first thing in the morning.
"You’re beyond stubborn," Damian stated, his voice a low, heavy baritone as he reached out, his long fingers cupping her chin firmly, turning her face to force her dark eyes to meet his.
Ana didn’t flinch, holding his intense, obsidian gaze.
"If your condition worsens by even a fraction, Anastasia," Damian warned, his thumb pressing with possessive emphasis against her chin, "things will not be easy for you. I will personally come and drag you back here, and you won’t step outside this penthouse for a month. Am I clear?"
"Crystal," Ana bit out softly, pulling her chin from his grasp.
An hour later, Ana stepped out of the private executive elevator onto the top floor of Vance-Sterling.
She walked into the open-plan floor with her head held high and her spine straight. Clara Reed was already waiting near the glass conference room, her sharp eyes scanning Ana with calculated curiosity.
Ana handled her with cold, effortless professionalism... answering with polite, ironclad deflection that shut down the office gossip before it could even begin.
When Ana finally stepped into the strategy room, the tense atmosphere instantly melted away. Her five interns looked up from their laptops, their faces lighting up with genuine warmth and relief.
Ana took her seat, looking at the eager, dedicated faces surrounding her. Working alongside them, breaking down market trends, and guiding their talent was the only place where she felt like herself again... not a trophy, not a prisoner, and not a pawn in a dark war between CEO’s.
"Ms. Vance! Good morning," Marcus greeted, standing up quickly to pull out her chair and handing her a fresh folder. "We’ve finalized the Q4 ad concepts like you asked. We just need your final approval."
She smiled warmly as Marcus presented a brilliant new ad concept, completely unaware of the shadow looming just beyond the glass walls.
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Inside the sunlit glass conference room, the energy was electric.
"If we run the digital launch simultaneously across European markets, the engagement rate will double in the first forty-eight hours," Marcus said enthusiastically, leaning over the tablet resting on the conference table.
Ana smiled, leaning in closer to review the data metrics on the screen. "That’s brilliant, Marcus. The timing is perfect."
Excited by her praise, Marcus leaned down slightly closer to point out a sub-metric, his hand resting casually on the back of Ana’s chair as he chuckled at a funny marketing glitch on the slide.
From the outside, it was a completely harmless, collaborative moment between a mentor and her brightest intern.
Then, the heavy glass doors of the strategy floor swung open.
A silent, suffocating chill swept through the open-plan office. Staff members immediately fell silent, backing away from the corridor as Damian Sterling strode through the floor.
Dressed in a dark charcoal suit, tall, imposing, and breathingly handsome, Damian looked every bit the ruthless titan who ruled the city. But in his left hand, contrasting sharply with his terrifying presence, he carried a high-end lunch tote.
Ana looked up as the conference room door glided open, her heart skipping a beat. "Damian? What are you doing here?"
Damian didn’t answer right away. His dark, obsidian eyes locked onto Marcus’s hand resting on the back of Ana’s chair.
His gaze slowly traveled up to Marcus’s face, narrowing with an ice-cold, lethal intensity that made the young intern’s breath hitch in his throat.
Without saying a word, Marcus instantly pulled his hand back, taking a subtle step away as sweat broke out on his neck.
Damian walked smoothly around the table, completely ignoring the stunned intern team. He set the tote down beside Ana’s tablet and unzipped it with quiet, deliberate care.
"You left the penthouse without finishing your breakfast," Damian said, his voice a low, smooth baritone that sounded almost soft... yet carried a heavy weight that commanded the room. "I had the chef prepare a warm herbal ginger tea for your throat, and a light soup so you don’t overexert yourself."
Ana stared at him, caught completely off guard. "Damian, I’m in the middle of a strategy meeting..."
"I know," Damian interrupted gently. He reached out, his large, warm palm cupping the side of her cheek.
Before Ana could pull back, Damian leaned down, pressing his lips firmly against her forehead in a slow, lingering, tender kiss. His thumb stroked her cheekbone with possessive tenderness, holding her captive right in front of her entire team.
To the five interns and the watching staff outside the glass walls, it was a breathtaking, enviable display of a powerful CEO fiercely caring for his ex-wife.
But as Damian kept his lips pressed against Ana’s skin, his dark eyes shifted sideways over her shoulder... locking onto Marcus with an explicit, silent promise of absolute destruction if he ever stepped an inch into his territory again.
Marcus swallowed hard, looking down at his shoes, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched his folder.
Damian pulled back slowly, his eyes dropping back to Ana’s stunned face, a subtle, dark smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"Drink the tea before it gets cold, Anastasia," Damian murmured, running his knuckles lightly down her neck. "I’ll be waiting at the end of the day at my office."
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Meanwhile, across town at a high-end, discreet café in the Financial District, Vivian Stark sat across from Valerie, delicately swirling her iced espresso.
Seeing Valerie sitting so quietly, staring blankly into her cup, Vivian put on a look of dramatic, sickening sympathy.
"I heard what happened at the Gala, Valerie," Vivian began, her tone dripping with fake concern as she leaned across the marble table. "It’s sickening, really. That gold-digging parasite has Damian wrapped so tightly around her finger that she actually got away with humiliating you in front of the entire board. Honestly, I don’t know how much longer we can let her spout her poison and ruin your family..."
"Stop it, Vivian," Valerie cut her off coldly.
Vivian blinked, taken aback by the sharp, deadpan tone in Valerie’s voice.
"I’ve had enough of Anastasia," Valerie said, her hands trembling slightly as she set her spoon down. "I don’t want to hear another word about her from you. Just drop it."
Vivian’s eyes narrowed into sharp, calculating slits. She quickly tried to recalibrate, leaning in closer. "Valerie, darling, what’s wrong with you? Why are you suddenly defending her? Did something happen?"
Valerie closed her eyes, a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on her chest as Damian’s thunderous words echoed in her mind.
"She lost a child," Valerie whispered, her voice breaking slightly. "She had a miscarriage four years ago... because of the debt and the stress her family put on her."
Vivian froze for a second, but a cold, malicious scoff quickly escaped her lips. She waved her hand dismissively, letting out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Oh, please! And you actually believed that little performance?" Vivian sneered softly, leaning back with a victorious smirk. "Valerie, use your brain. She’s a master manipulator. She probably made up that entire tragedy just to make Damian feel guilty and turn him against his own family. It’s a pathetic, desperate lie..."
"It is not a lie!" Valerie snapped, her eyes flashing with sudden, furious tears as she slammed her hand against the table.
Guests at nearby tables glanced over, but Valerie didn’t care. She glared at Vivian with deep, disgust-filled realization.
"A miscarriage is not something anyone lies about, Vivian!" Valerie bit out, her voice trembling with genuine pain and remorse. "A part of my brother died two years ago because of it! He lost his child, and we made his life a living hell while he suffered in silence!"
Vivian stared at Valerie, the smug, venomous smile completely freezing on her face.
For the first time in months, Vivian felt a cold prickle of genuine dread wash over her spine. Looking at the raw guilt and fiercely protective remorse burning in Valerie’s eyes, Vivian realized the devastating truth:
Valerie was slipping out of her hands. The Sterling family shield was cracking, and her control over them was officially slipping away.