Chapter 124: The Devil Never Begs
Ana didn’t flinch.
Forcing every ounce of terror and revelation deep beneath an icy, indifferent mask, she casually tossed the folder back into the open drawer and slid it shut with her hip, leaning against the desk as if she had merely been caught rummaging for a pen.
”I was looking for a spare tablet or a landline,” Ana said coolly, meeting Walter’s piercing gaze without a flicker of guilt. “Since your boss felt the need to confiscate my personal property, I needed a way to check on Clara. I have no interest in whatever corporate contracts Damian keeps locked up in his little box.”
Walter stepped further into the study, his stony gaze dropping to the walnut lockbox before rising back to her face. He was an intelligence veteran; he knew the latch had been lifted, and he knew the gravity of the dossier inside.
”Protocol requires that I report any unauthorized access to Mr. Sterling immediately,” Walter stated, his voice flat and uncompromising. “Regardless of your intent.”
”Go ahead and tell him, Walter,” Ana countered smoothly, crossing her arms with razor-sharp defiance. “Tell the man with torn spinal muscle and fresh stitches that his ex-wife was snooping around for a phone. Watch him tear his incisions open in a fit of arrogant rage. But if you have any loyalty to keeping your boss alive through the night, you will let me tell him myself tomorrow morning.”
Walter studied her impassive face in the moonlight, his weathered jaw tightening. He recognized the cold Vance pride in her tone, but more than that, he knew the explosive temper of the man in the master suite.
”Very well,” Walter said quietly, stepping back toward the threshold. “I will give you until morning to bring it up to him directly. But don’t make me regret this, Ms Vance.”
Before Ana could reply, a sharp, high-pitched chime sliced through the silence.
Walter’s tablet flashed with an urgent crimson alert from the telemetry monitors in the master suite. His stoic composure instantly fractured.
”His core temperature just spiked past thirty-nine,” Walter barked, pivoting on his heel. “The doctor is on his way up.”
Ana’s calculated mask vanished in a heartbeat. The quiet thrill of outsmarting Walter and holding Damian’s secret evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sickening panic.
She sprinted past Walter, her bare feet flying across the polished floorboards straight toward Damian’s bedroom.
The master suite was suffocatingly hot, bathed in the dim amber glow of the bedside lamp.
Damian was twisting violently against the soaked linen sheets, his skin flushed a dangerous crimson. His chest heaved in shallow, ragged gasps, every labored movement pulling against the heavy surgical dressings.
Trapped in a violent, post-surgical delirium, a deep, raspy groan tore from his throat as his head tossed restlessly against the pillows.
”Damian!” Ana rushed to the edge of the mattress.
She snatched a clean linen cloth, plunging it into the ice water bowl on the nightstand and pressing it firmly against his burning forehead. His skin radiated scorching heat like an open furnace.
”Damian, stop moving,” she pleaded, her voice trembling as she used her other hand to gently push his damp, dark hair away from his fevered brow. “You’re going to tear the stitches. Look at me.”
At the sound of her voice, Damian’s heavy lids fluttered open. His obsidian eyes were glassy, wild, and completely unfocused under the haze of the fever.
Suddenly, his large, calloused hand shot out from the sheets. His fingers clamped around her wrist with a desperate, crushing intensity that completely lacked his usual calculated control.
”Ana…” he rasped, his voice broken and raw in a way that shattered her heart. He pulled her down toward his burning chest, his knuckles white around her arm as if he were clinging to his last lifeline. “…Don’t let them take you. Don’t… go back to them.”
A suffocating ache tore through Ana’s chest.
Holding his burning hand between both of hers, she leaned down until her forehead gently rested against his temple, tears blurring her vision as she looked at the shattered giant before her.
”I’m here, Damian,” she whispered softly, her thumb stroking the rough skin of his knuckles. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
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The harsh morning sunlight filtered through the sheer linen curtains, casting warm, golden streaks across the massive king-sized bed.
Damian slowly blinked awake. The agonizing, fiery haze in his blood had finally broken, leaving behind a dull, manageable ache across his back and shoulder. But as he tried to shift his weight, he felt a soft, rhythmic warmth pressed against his uninjured side.
Anastasia was curled up on the mattress beside him, fast asleep. One of her delicate hands was still loosely curled around his fingers, her dark eyelashes resting softly against her pale cheeks, and her oversized sweater slipping slightly off one slender shoulder.
A rare, quiet stillness softened Damian’s sharp jaw. For a long moment, he didn’t move, merely watching her breathe under the morning light.
As if sensing his intense gaze, Ana stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open, her dark eyes blinking against the sunlight before locking directly onto his lucid, obsidian gaze.
Realizing how closely she was curled against him, she quickly pushed herself up on one elbow, clearing her throat to mask the sudden flutter in her chest.
”Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” Ana said, a teasing, haughty smirk tugging at her lips. “I see the fever has broken, though I’m surprised you survived the terrifying nightmare you had about me last night.”
Damian didn’t flinch. A faint, mocking arrogance returned to his dark eyes as he rested his head back against the pillows.
”I must have dreamt about how foolishly you let yourself get brainwashed by another enemy,” he replied smoothly, his deep baritone gravelly with sleep. “And how I had to drag myself out of hell just to save your day. Again.”
Ana frowned deeply, her eyes narrowing with playful indignation. “You’re a terrible liar, Damian. You weren’t playing the dashing hero in your sleep. You were practically begging me not to leave you.”
”You talk too much, Anastasia.”
With a sudden, effortless flick of his uninjured wrist, Damian caught her waist and tugged her sharply forward until she was hovering inches above his chest.
”Kiss me,” he demanded, his voice dropping into a low, commanding rumble.
Ana held her ground, propping her hands firmly against the mattress on either side of his shoulders, a wicked, triumphant glimmer sparking in her dark eyes.
”I’m not doing a single thing until you beg for it. Exactly like you did last night.”
Damian’s jaw set with dark amusement. “I never beg, little bird.”
”Well, you’re bedridden with stitches, and I’m the one taking care of you,” Ana countered, lifting her chin with absolute defiance. “I clearly have the upper hand here. Beg, Mr. Sterling.”
Damian stared up at her for a second, then nonchalantly closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillows. “Fine. I don’t need it anyway.”
Ana gasped softly, her pride instantly stung by his casual dismissal. “What? Damian, look at me…”
She leaned down further, desperate to catch his eye and break his infuriating composure…
In a split second, Damian’s free hand shot out from beneath the sheets, his fingers threading tightly into the dark silk of her hair at the nape of her neck. He pulled her face down ruthlessly, his dark eyes snapping open, blazing with pure, unyielding dominance.
”I don’t beg, Ana,” he growled against her lips. “I take what I want.”
Ana let out a soft pout, her breath hitching against his mouth. “Not fair… I should win sometimes too.”
”Not today,” he smirked.
Before she could form another word, Damian captured her lips with his own.
The kiss began slowly, deliberately testing her resistance, but the moment Ana let out a breathless whimper, his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her impossibly flush against his mouth. The taste of him… dark, possessive, and intoxicating… completely shattered Ana’s defenses.
Forgetting her pride, her anger, and the secrets buried in his study, Ana’s hands rose to cup his sharp, stubbled jaw, tilting her head to part her lips and deepening the kiss with a desperate, breathless hunger of her own.