Chapter 161: Devil’s Ex-wife’s Oscar Worthy Betrayal

​"Oh, Valerie, you have no idea," Ana whimpered, her voice trembling with tragic, wounded sorrow. "Earlier at the restaurant... he whispered in my ear that the second his stitches heal, he’s going to torment me. And that’s not all... he said he’s planning to kick you out onto the street the moment he doesn’t need your help anymore!"

​Valerie gasped so loudly she almost dropped the salt shaker. Her head whipped toward her brother, her eyes narrowing into burning slits of pure, protective fury. "You did what?!"

​Damian stood entirely paralyzed, staring at Anastasia in profound, utter disbelief. The sheer audacity of the performance knocked the wind right out of him.

He had stared down armed assassins, hostile board takeovers, and international cartels without flinching, but he had never anticipated his ex-wife pulling off an Oscar-worthy betrayal in the middle of a French fry... fry-up.

​"Anastasia, stop lying," Damian warned, his voice dangerously low, his jaw ticking in frustration. "You know damn well that’s not what I said..."

​"Save it, monster!"

Valerie snapped, throwing an arm protectively around Ana and stroking her hair like a distraught mother.

"I knew you were ungrateful, but threatening your wife and abandon your own flesh and blood? That settles it."

Valerie planted her hands firmly on her hips, delivering her verdict with stone-cold finality.

"Anastasia is sleeping in the guest suite with me for the rest of the week until your stitches are completely healed. You can sleep alone with your miserable attitude."

​"Like hell she is," Damian growled instantly, all restraint evaporating into raw, territorial fury as he stepped directly into the kitchen, his dark eyes locking onto Ana with possessiveness.

"She sleeps in my bed. Every single night. Don’t test me on this, Valerie."

Valerie didn’t waste another second debating him. With righteous indignation burning in her eyes, she grabbed the massive ceramic bowl of steaming fries with one hand, hooked Ana’s arm with the other, and scooped two cold bottles of cream soda under her elbow.

​"Come on, Ana," Valerie declared, glaring daggers at her brother. "We are leaving the tyrant to rot in his cold kingdom."

​Ana threw Damian one last, dazzling smirk over her shoulder as Valerie hauled her down the private wing.

A second later, the heavy solid-oak door of the guest suite slammed shut with a reverberating thud, followed by the sharp, definitive click of the deadbolt sliding into place.

​Damian stood alone in the center of the quiet, messy kitchen.

​He didn’t yell. He didn’t pound on the door. He simply dragged a slow, weary hand down his face, letting out a long, gravelly sigh that betrayed the thrumming ache in his stitched flank.

​Leaving the French fries and the dramatic rebellion behind him, Damian turned on his heel and walked straight into his corner study, shutting the soundproof double doors behind him.

​The room was vast, bathed in the cold ambient glow of city lights through a glass window. Damian walked past the desk lamp, loosened his silk tie with one sharp tug, and tapped the edge of the glass terminal on his desk to wake the monitors.

​Three widescreen displays flared to life, illuminating his sharp jaw in cool, fluorescent blue.

​He brought up the global trading desk and Sterling Corp’s real-time equity dashboard. The second the numbers refreshed, Damian’s obsidian eyes narrowed to razor slits.

​A sharp, jagged streak of red cut across the primary index.

​Sterling Corporation’s Class-A shares had tumbled nearly seven percent in after-hours trading... a sudden, calculated sell-off orchestrated right around the European market close.

​Damian’s jaw ticked as he pulled up the trading volume and origin tags. It wasn’t an organic panic sell or market volatility.

The bulk transactions were originating from offshore shell accounts tied directly to two of his primary institutional board members... the very men who had smiled in his face yesterday while whispering about his medical absence.

​They were intentionally depressing the share price to force a vote of confidence, hoping to dilute his voting majority before his recovery was complete.

​Damian leaned back into his heavy leather chair, his fingers drumming a slow, menacing cadence against the mahogany desk. Scheming cowards.

​He didn’t need to soothe the current board. He needed to cut their throats financially.

​Reaching for his private secure line, Damian began pulling up the files on several sovereign wealth funds and independent venture titans.

He needed new, loyal shareholders brought onto the cap table before Monday’s opening bell... investors who answered exclusively to him, ready to absorb the dumped stock, squeeze the traitors out of their seats, and consolidate his absolute control over Sterling Tower once and for all.

***********************************

The glow of the television flickered across the guest suite, casting soft blue and amber light over the ruffled duvet. An absurd romantic comedy played on the screen, and Valerie’s loud, contagious laughter bounced off the walls, competing with the steady crunch of leftover curly fries.

​Ana laughed along, leaning back against the plush pillows, a half-empty soda bottle resting between her hands. But as the movie slipped into a commercial break, the easy mirth faded into a quieter, softer warmth.

​She turned her head on the pillow, looking at Valerie with an affectionate, slightly guilty smile.

​"You do realize I was completely faking it out there in the kitchen, right?" Ana murmured, bumping Valerie’s shoulder lightly. "Damian never said anything about kicking you out. Not a single word."

​Valerie didn’t even look startled. She popped a cold waffle fry into her mouth, tossing her hair over her shoulder with an unrepentant, knowing grin.

​"Of course I knew you were faking it," Valerie scoffed gently, turning to look at her. "I’ve known my brother for twenty-six years, Ana. I know when he’s being a cold, calculating bastard, and I know when someone is running circles around him."

​She let out a delighted little chuckle, hugging her knees to her chest.

"I just played along. Do you have any idea how rare it is to see Damian Sterling completely blindsided? Men with private armies tremble when he enters a boardroom, but you had him standing in his own kitchen looking like a short-circuited robot. I wasn’t about to waste an opportunity to pull his leg."

​Valerie’s expression softened, the playful teasing melting into genuine, grounded affection.

​"Besides," Valerie added quietly, "I know how Damian is underneath all that granite. He’d tear this city in half before he let anything touch me or our mother. And you... you’re right there with us, Ana. He treasures you just as much. It’s written all over him, even if he acts like a caveman about it."

​The smile slipped from Anastasia’s face.

​She looked down at her lap, her fingers idly tracing the cold glass of the soda bottle. The words settled heavy and hollow in her chest.

​She wanted to believe it. God, she wanted so badly to believe that beneath the dark, suffocating boundaries, the territorial claims, and the iron grip on her wrist, there was a man who actually treasured her heart.

But she had been the collateral in this marriage from the very start. She knew the cold reality of why she was here... a chess piece locked in a golden cage, an obsession born of possession and control, not love.

​Damian might bleed to keep his territory intact, but feeling genuine, tender love for her?

​Ana swallowed down the bitter lump in her throat, keeping her eyes firmly averted so Valerie wouldn’t see the quiet ache cracking through her carefully built armor.

***********************************

Morning arrived in pale, muted shades of slate gray.

​Ana had barely slept.

Valerie’s careless words from the night before... he treasures you just as much... had felt like a physical weight pressing on her chest, mocking the brutal, explicit boundaries Damian had drawn between them from day one.

He had made it clear enough... She had his ring, his name, and his ruthless protection, but affection was the one currency he refused to spend.

​When she stepped into the hallway, Valerie cornered her, thrusting a roll of surgical tape, sterile gauze, and an antiseptic bottle into Ana’s chest.

​"He didn’t sleep," Valerie hissed, pale with exhaustion and fury. "Worked through the entire night over the equity drop, ripped off his dressing because it was tight, and nearly bit a nurse’s head off. He won’t let me touch it. Go fix him before the fool ruins himself."

​Before Ana could refuse, Valerie pushed her inside the master suite and pulled the heavy doors shut.

​The bedroom was shadowed, smelling faintly of cold rain, coffee, and copper. Damian stood by the glass overlooking the skyline. His charcoal dress shirt hung open, exposing the broad expanse of his torso and the angry red pulling at the black surgical sutures along his lower flank.

​Hearing her footsteps, he didn’t turn. "I told Valerie to leave the supplies on the console."

​"It’s me," Ana said, keeping her voice carefully flat.

​Damian’s jaw tightened. He turned around, his obsidian eyes dark, shadowed with fatigue, but sharp as flint the moment they locked onto her.

He looked at the medical kit in her hands, then dragged a hand over the stubble along his jaw with a low, gravelly sigh.

"Oh, so now you came back to get tormented by me again?"

​"Sit down," Ana said, walking over to the leather bench at the foot of the bed. "Before you tear your stitches again with your arrogance."