Chapter 132: The Devil’s Nemesis Strikes Again
The soft scrape of silver against porcelain echoed in the quiet kitchen as Ana fed him the last spoonful of broth. Her cheeks still burned with a faint, stubborn flush, her body hyper-aware of the unyielding strength of Damian’s right arm anchored firmly around her waist.
Before she could set the bowl aside and demand to be let go, the sound of hurried footsteps and bright chatter echoed down the hallway.
”I told you, Valerie, he was burning up with a fever last night… we need to check on his dressing before Walter lets him look at those dreadful screens…”
Victoria’s voice cut off the second she stepped through the arched kitchen doorway.
Valerie, walking right behind their mother with a fresh stack of morning mail, stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth dropping open.
The two women froze, taking in the full, unvarnished scene… the fearsome, ruthless head of the Sterling empire, entirely bare-chest with stark white bandages, comfortably seated on a barstool with Anastasia pulled intimately between his parted thighs, feeding him breakfast like an attentive wife.
Ana’s instincts screamed at her to bolt. She stiffened, attempting to pull back and slip out of his hold, but Damian’s grip around her waist didn’t budge an inch.
In fact, his fingers tightened casually, deliberately keeping her anchored against his lap as he turned an unbothered, lazy gaze toward his mother and sister.
”Mother. Valerie,” Damian drawled, his gravelly voice smooth and entirely devoid of shame. “You’re up early.”
A slow, triumphant grin spread across Valerie’s face. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms with pure, unadulterated glee. “Well, well. Look at our dying patient. A miraculous, overnight recovery, wouldn’t you say, Mother?”
Victoria recovered from her initial shock, a knowing, elegant smirk tugging at her lips as she walked toward the counter. She deliberately looked at Damian’s bare, uninjured arm wrapped possessively around Ana’s waist.
”Indeed,” Victoria remarked smoothly, picking up a teapot with mock seriousness. “It appears Anastasia’s bedside manner is far more potent than any doctor I could have hired. Though I do recall you complaining yesterday that you couldn’t move without agonizing pain, Damian.”
”A temporary setback,” Damian replied without missing a beat, a faint, wolfish glint in his dark eyes as he rested his chin lightly against Ana’s shoulder, utterly unrepentant. “My nurse has strict methods.”
”I am trying to clear the counter, Mrs. Sterling,” Ana said between clenched teeth, shooting Damian a murderous glare that only seemed to amuse him more. “Your son refuses to let go.”
”Oh, don’t mind us, Ana dear,” Valerie teased, stepping forward with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “We can leave you two to your rehabilitation. Though if you’re taking orders from him, you might want to start charging by the hour.”
Before Damian could deliver a sharp comeback, the heavy front doors of the estate echoed with a sharp double-buzz, and Walter stepped into the kitchen corridor, holding a thick, wax-sealed manila envelope.
”Pardon the interruption, ma’am, Boss,” Walter said, his eyes carefully avoiding the intimate tableau at the breakfast island. “A courier just dropped this at the outer gatehouse under standard diplomatic transit. It’s addressed directly to Anastasia.”
The playful warmth in the room vanished in a fraction of a second.
Damian’s lazy smirk hardened into cold steel. His arm finally released Ana’s waist, not to let her retreat, but as he reached out his hand, his obsidian eyes locking onto the dark red wax crest stamped on the seal.
The Sullivan syndicate crest.
The kitchen remained cloaked in a chilling, breathless silence as Walter handed the envelope over.
Damian didn’t offer it to Anastasia. Using his uninjured hand, he slid a thumb beneath the crimson wax seal, ripping the thick paper open with cold, mechanical precision.
He pulled out the contents… a crisp, notarized legal agreement bearing the dark seal of the Sullivan syndicate, paired with the unmistakable, ornate signatures of the Vance family patriarchs at the bottom.
Damian’s obsidian eyes scanned the dense legal text.
As he read, the atmosphere around him plummeted to coldness. The playful warmth from moments earlier vanished entirely, replaced by a suffocating, lethal darkness.
The document was an outright trade of Anastasia’s life.
In exchange for Dante Sullivan halting his hostile takeover and erasing the Vance family’s mountain of corporate debt, her father and uncles had signed off on a binding succession accord… offering Anastasia’s hand in marriage, her lineage, and her grandfather’s bloodline trust rights directly to the Sullivan empire.
Victoria stepped forward, her refined brow furrowing in deep confusion as she caught sight of the dark syndicate crest. “Damian, what on earth is that? Why is Dante Sullivan sending legal couriers addressed to Anastasia?”
Valerie leaned in, her eyes wide with bewilderment. “Since when does a syndicate like Sullivan have anything to do with Ana? What kind of contract is that?”
Neither Victoria nor Valerie knew the ugly, buried truth. To them, Damian and Anastasia’s marriage four years ago had simply been a high-society arrangement between two legacy families.
They had no idea that Damian had quietly bought Anastasia from her own father with a hundred-million-dollar buyout to settle a blood feud, turning her into his collateral under a locked contract.
To Victoria and Valerie, the Vance name still held the curse of their lives.
But to Damian and Anastasia, the sickening reality was painfully, brutally clear…
Her father had done it again.
Four years ago, he had sold her to Damian Sterling to save his skin. Now, facing ruin at the hands of Dante Sullivan, he had shamelessly sold his daughter a second time… trading her to another devil without a second thought.
Anastasia’s chest tightened, the air turning thin and frigid in her lungs. A sharp spike of panic clawed violently at her throat as she stared at her father’s sweeping signature on the paper.
Does this mean he’s letting me go?
The terrifying thought raced through her mind. If Dante held an official succession claim signed by her own family, and Damian’s original debt contract had already extracted its revenge, what reason did Damian have to keep her?
Was he going to cut his losses, hand her over to avoid a full-scale legal war, and cast her out of his life forever?
”Damian…” Ana whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she took a half-step toward him, her dark eyes searching his unreadable, stone-carved face. “What does it say?”
Damian didn’t look at her. He didn’t answer his mother, his sister, or her.
He folded the document in half, his knuckles turning stark white against the paper, and slid it firmly back into the manila sleeve.
”Walter,” Damian rasped, his deep baritone dripping with absolute ice. “My study. We need to go over the registry filings and trust jurisdictions right now.”
”Right away, Boss,” Walter answered in a low, measured voice.
Without a second glance at his mother, his sister, or Anastasia, Damian turned on his heel. His towering, heavily bandaged frame strode out of the kitchen, his steady footsteps echoing down the long, empty corridor alongside Walter’s, leaving the heavy wooden doors swinging shut in their wake.
Anastasia stood frozen beside the marble counter, her breath trapped in her chest, completely stranded in the chilling silence he left behind.