Chapter 128: The Devil’s Vulgar Hands
“My apologies, Mr. Sterling,” Walter replied smoothly, not a single trace of humor in his deep baritone. “However, the situation requires your immediate attention. Our liaisons just reached out. The feds have officially launched an inquiry into the recent supply chain incident. We need your authorization on the legal response before the warrants are processed.”
Damian’s expression hardened instantly into carved granite, all traces of lingering pleasure evaporating beneath razor-sharp corporate calculation. Keeping the sensitive details of the investigation buried, he gave a crisp nod.
“Bring the secure line to my study in twenty minutes. We handle the filings immediately.”
”Understood, Boss,” Walter answered.
As Damian shifted to sit up straighter, Walter’s vigilant gaze slid sideways, locking directly onto Anastasia.
The security chief didn’t say a word, but his eyes held hers for a long, pointed beat… a quiet, unmistakable reminder of their midnight deal and the secret dossier sitting locked away upstairs.
Anastasia gulped, a cold, suffocating knot tightening in the pit of her stomach.
The warmth of Damian’s touch still lingered on her skin, but the harsh reality of their world had come crashing back in an instant.
She had let the entire day slip away in a haze of fever checks, family albums, and dangerous, addictive intimacy… and she still hadn’t found the courage to tell Damian that she had broken into his private study, opened his lockbox, and discovered the truth about her grandfather’s fortune and the hidden war he was fighting to protect her.
As Walter bowed his head and stepped back into the hallway to prep the secure lines, Anastasia moved quickly to Damian’s side, the lingering flush on her skin overtaken by sharp, genuine concern.
”Damian, wait,” Ana pleaded, placing a gentle, restraining hand on his uninjured forearm before he could signal to move. “You barely survived a thirty-nine-degree fever this morning. Your back has fresh surgical sutures and torn muscles. The feds and corporate filings can wait forty-eight hours… you need to take it easy for a few days until your body actually heals.”
Damian didn’t look at her with the warm, dangerous hunger from minutes ago. His features instantly hardened, his obsidian eyes turning frigid and unyielding as he pulled his arm back from her touch.
”Take it easy?” Damian’s voice dropped into a low, cutting baritone, dripping with harsh, calculated venom. “Do you think we have the luxury of time, Anastasia? If you hadn’t been such a complete, naive fool… wandering straight into an obvious trap and letting yourself get dragged into an ambush… I wouldn’t be sitting in this chair with holes in my back in the first place.”
Ana blinked, recoiling as if he had physically struck her.
”Things would have been infinitely simpler if you had used your head instead of your bleeding heart,” he continued coldly, his sharp jaw tight with ruthless arrogance. “Now my hand is forced, the feds are circling, and I don’t have the luxury to lie in bed playing house with you. I cannot delay taking action because of your carelessness.”
A wave of hurt and bitter confusion washed over Ana. Her chest tightened painfully. She was merely trying to keep him from bleeding out, yet here he was, twisting his own terrifying sacrifices into weapons to tear down her dignity.
Her dark eyes narrowed, a sharp, indignant frown hardening her expression as she took two deliberate steps back.
”Fine,” Ana said, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed anger. “Don’t listen to me. Kill yourself over your precious filings for all I care. I’m just a nobody in your life anyway.”
Ana spun around on her heel, her dark hair lashing through the air as she stormed out of the drawing room, the heavy double doors swinging shut with a sharp, echoing thud.
Damian sat in the suffocating silence, leaning back against the cushions. He didn’t feel a shred of guilt for keeping her in check, nor did he regret the cold reality of the situation.
What truly grated on his raw nerves was her infuriatingly calm, easygoing demeanor all afternoon… acting like a soft, devoted little nurse, wrapping him in blankets and smiling over childhood photo albums as if their entire world wasn’t resting on a razor’s edge.
She had no idea how close the wolves were to tearing down the gates. Her gentleness was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
Yet, as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare flicker of self-directed irritation tightened his jaw.
A fool.
He shouldn’t have called her that again. It was a sloppy, reflexive insult… the very word that had driven a wedge between them during their marriage.
Right now, with Dante Sullivan actively circling the Vance bloodline, the last thing Damian needed was for her stubborn pride to flare up and make her pull away. He needed her to be compliant, cautious, and bound securely under his absolute control.
The heavy doors clicked open again, and Walter stepped into the drawing room, holding the encrypted satellite phone.
”The secure line is live, Boss,” Walter reported, stepping behind the wheelchair.
Damian’s eyes snapped open, all traces of fatigue instantly swallowed by cold, razor-sharp authority.
”Double the perimeter around the east wing,” Damian commanded in a low, gravelly baritone as Walter began rolling him toward the study. “Anastasia is not to step foot outside the estate’s inner courtyard without a full tactical detail. I don’t care if she throws a fit. Keep her locked down.”
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The grand mahogany dining table was laid out with Victoria’s lavish spread, the rich aromas of roasted meats and wine sauce filling the warm room.
Damian sat at the head of the table, his injured arm resting in its black sling, a simple bowl of clear broth and steamed vegetables placed in front of him.
He leaned back, his obsidian gaze deliberately tracking Anastasia as she took her seat across from him. After hours locked away handling federal filings, his body was stiff, aching, and demanding her quiet compliance.
He subtly nodded toward the porcelain spoon beside his bowl, expecting her to step up, take her place beside him, and feed him as she had tended to him all morning.
Anastasia didn’t budge.
She gracefully unfolded her linen napkin, casually passing a platter of roasted lamb to Valerie and chatting softly with Victoria, treating Damian as if he were entirely invisible.
Damian’s jaw tightened, the silence stretching taut as a bowstring between them. “Anastasia,” he commanded, his deep baritone cutting through the clatter of silverware with quiet authority. “The doctor said I shouldn’t strain the torn muscle in my left shoulder.”
Ana paused. Slowly, she lifted her dark eyes, meeting his heavy, demanding stare with absolute, icy composure.
A faint, provocative tilt curved the corner of her lips.
”Your right hand seemed more than capable of doing far more… vulgar things this afternoon, Mr. Sterling,” she murmured in a low, smooth voice meant only for him, her dark eyes flashing with sharp defiance. “Holding a spoon by yourself should be child’s play.”
Victoria blinked in polite confusion, Valerie coughed into her water glass, and Damian froze.
A dark, dangerous flare of heat ignited in Damian’s eyes, his knuckles whitening against the armrest as he stared at his defiant, untouchable little doll… hungry, thoroughly checked, and completely outplayed.