Chapter 196: The Devil’s Love Is Hollow
Damian didn’t answer with a cold lecture.
Instead, he guided the heavy vehicle to a smooth halt at a red light along Park Avenue and shifted the car into park.
Before Ana could pull her hand away, his long arm reached across the leather console, his fingers curling firmly around the back of her neck. With effortless strength, he drew her across the divide until her face was mere inches from his own, trapping her within the quiet heat of his space.
Ana’s breath hitched, her body going completely rigid.
His touch was not violent, but it carried an unyielding, territorial weight that made the air vanish from her lungs. Damian raised his free hand, his rough, calloused knuckles tracing slowly along the curve of her jawline, brushing over her pale cheek and coming to rest near the trembling corner of her lips.
His dark, obsidian eyes bore directly into hers, stripping away every defense, every ounce of resistance she had left.
"Do not fight me now, Anastasia," Damian commanded, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated straight through her chest. "This is not the time to run. This is the time we stick together... and you accept whatever I give to you."
The raw authority in his tone hung between them, heavy and suffocating.
He wasn’t merely talking about shelter, medical care, or protection from his family’s prying eyes. The shadow of the contract’s merciless clause bled through every single word—the binding vow, the renewed marriage, the lifelong surrender of her freedom.
Ana could only stare at him, her hazel eyes wide with a quiet, devastating horror as the light shifted to green, leaving her utterly trapped in his unrelenting grip.
******************
The private elevator opened directly into the quiet foyer of Damian’s penthouse.
Anastasia barely stepped onto the marble before a figure emerged from the drawing room.
Victoria Sterling was waiting, dressed in sharp ivory silk, her posture immaculate. The second she saw Ana, a gentle smile touched her lips. Stepping straight past her son as if he weren’t even in the room, Victoria pulled Anastasia into a tight, warm hug.
"My dear," Victoria murmured against her ear.
Over Ana’s stiff shoulder, Victoria’s eyes flicked up to Damian. The gentle look vanished in a fraction of a second, replaced by a cold, completely indifferent stare. There was no remorse, no hesitation—just an icy defiance for hiding the tracker alert from him.
Damian’s jaw hardened, his hands clenching at his sides as pure fury radiated off him.
"Mrs. Sterling. Sir."
Henry stepped quickly out from the hallway, holding a secure tablet to his chest, his face tense.
Victoria let go of Ana, resting a light, possessive hand on Ana’s arm while completely ignoring Damian.
Damian didn’t look at his mother. His focus locked straight onto Henry. "Is Dr. Albright on his way up with the blood kit?"
Henry swallowed, bracing himself. "That’s the issue, sir. Dr. Albright is overseas in Zurich. His earliest flight back isn’t until the end of the week."
"Then find someone else," Damian said, his tone razor-sharp. "Bring in another trusted doctor. Get them up here in thirty minutes."
"Absolutely not," Victoria cut in smoothly. She turned her icy focus back to Damian. "Bringing an outside doctor into this building is reckless. You know how many reporters are already watching our family after Garry’s little leak. One untrusted nurse, one sold medical file, and this turns into a total disaster. We cannot bring anyone from the outside."
Damian didn’t break. He took a heavy step toward Henry, his voice a low, lethal rasp.
"Is there any other option, Henry?"
Henry kept his eyes on his screen, answering carefully.
"Dr. Albright’s senior partner, Dr. Vance, is the only other physician cleared under the family’s non-disclosure agreement. He’s finishing a critical procedure up at the private estate in Westchester. The soonest we can clear his schedule and bring him here quietly... is two days."
Two days.
The words hung heavy in the air.
"Two days," Victoria repeated, turning smoothly to Anastasia. "You need bed rest immediately, Anastasia. I will stay here and ensure the kitchen prepares appropriate meals for—"
"No," Damian cut in, his voice low and uncompromising. He looked directly at his mother, his tone firm yet controlled. "You are leaving, Mother. Henry will escort you out."
Victoria’s chin lifted, displeasure flickering across her polished face, but Damian didn’t waver. He loved his family, but under this roof, the line was drawn.
Before Victoria could protest, Ana swayed on her feet.
A sudden wave of cold sweat broke across Ana’s forehead. The adrenaline that had carried her through the office standoff vanished in a split second, leaving behind the crushing fatigue and dizzying chemical aftertaste of the heavy antihistamines and steroids still lingering in her bloodstream. Her knees buckled.
"Ana!" Victoria gasped, taking a sharp step forward.
Damian moved faster. In one fluid, seamless stride, he caught Ana before she touched the floor, his arms sweeping beneath her back and knees as he lifted her effortlessly against his chest.
"Damian—" Ana mumbled faintly, her vision swimming as she feebly pushed at his chest.
"Quiet," he commanded gently, turning away. Over his shoulder, he spoke to Henry with curt, crisp authority. "Escort my mother out, Henry. Lock the private lift codes for forty-eight hours. No visitors, no calls patched through."
Victoria opened her mouth, saw the sheer pale exhaustion on Anastasia’s face, and held her tongue, stepping back into the waiting elevator with Henry.
The doors slid shut, sealing the penthouse from the world outside.
Damian carried Ana through the cavernous foyer, ignoring the corridor leading to the guest wing entirely. He kicked open the double doors of the master bedroom, crossed the sprawling room, and laid her down on the expansive bed.
Ana tried to scramble upright, her hands clutching the duvet as panic flared anew. "I’m not staying in your room—"
"Lie down," Damian ordered, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His large hand pressed firmly against her shoulder, keeping her pinned against the pillows without hurting her.
He reached out, his thumb brushing away the damp tendrils of hair sticking to her clammy forehead, his dark eyes intense and unblinking.
"You’re exhausted, your body is still clearing poison, and you’re not leaving my sight for the next two days," he said, every word sealing the cage around her. "Rest, Anastasia."
Ana didn’t rest.
The moment his hand lifted from her shoulder, she pushed herself up against the headboard, breathing through the dull ache behind her temples. Her thoughts were spinning, desperate to find an exit—any loophole or alternative—before this trap swallowed her whole.
"What if I don’t want this, Damian?" she asked, her voice trembling but sharp with defiance. "What if I refuse to go through with it? What if I choose not to carry a child?"
Damian didn’t flinch. His expression remained an impenetrable mask.
"You already know what I want, Anastasia," he answered, his voice low and unyielding.
She did know. The memory carved itself into her chest—the night he had coldly confessed his desire to be a father, laying out the brutal reality of their agreement. Under the terms of the contract, if she became pregnant while bound to him, she was not allowed to walk away. She was obligated to stay.
"Once the term of our contract expires, you are under no obligation to remain by my side," Damian continued, his tone clinical, stripping every shred of emotion from the room. "But if you are carrying my heir, you will not leave until you bring that child into this world."
A bitter, humorless scoff tore past Ana’s lips. She looked at him with sheer disdain.
"An heir," she spat out, shaking her head. "What is the point of becoming a father when you don’t even know how to love someone? What kind of life are you offering a child when you have nothing warm inside you?"
A muscle ticked in Damian’s jaw. He let out a long, heavy sigh of frustration, the sheer strain of the day hardening the lines around his eyes.
"I am not doing this with you right now," he said curtly, turning his back on her to head for the door. "I’m not going to fight."
He took a step away, but before he could cross the floor, Ana lunged forward across the mattress.
Her fingers shot out, wrapping tightly around his wrist, her grip fierce and unyielding. With all the desperate strength she had left, she pulled him back toward her.
Damian spun around, catching himself against the edge of the bed, his dark eyes flaring as he looked down at her.
Ana didn’t let go. She pulled him closer still, forcing him into her space, her hazel eyes burning through him with raw, agonizing intensity.
"Look at me and tell me what you’re thinking," she demanded, her voice cracking under the weight of years of silent misery. "Are you even capable of loving a child, Damian? Or is it that you’re only incapable of loving me? Tell me! Is it because in your twisted mind, I’ll never be anything more than the daughter of your enemy?"