Chapter 163: The Devil’s Sly Slave

Damian set his coffee cup down, the fine porcelain striking the saucer with a sharp, decisive ring. The lingering steam curled between them as his obsidian gaze settled firmly on Anastasia, cold and unyielding.

​"Before we purge the traitors on Monday, we hunt for new capital," Damian said, his voice cutting through the quiet dining room. "I need three primary private equity whales to absorb the liquidated shares; the second those cowards are stripped of their voting rights. And I intend to secure all three tonight."

​Valerie scoffed, leaning against the marble island with her arms crossed. "Tonight? It’s Saturday, Damian. The city’s major capital players aren’t sitting in boardrooms waiting for your call."

​"They don’t have to be," Damian replied smoothly. "They’ll be at the Van Der Bilt Foundation Gala at the Grand Plaza. Along with half the press corps, every legacy family in the state, and the very board members attempting to orchestrate my ruin."

​Ana’s hazel eyes narrowed with sharp suspicion. "You want to pitch multi billion dollar equity acquisitions at a black-tie charity event? In front of the entire city?"

​"I am not just pitching acquisitions, Anastasia. I am crushing the narrative before the markets open," Damian stated, leaning forward, his large hands resting flat against the table.

"The rumors of my physical condition are the only leverage those board members have. If the press scents blood, the stock bleeds further. But if I walk into that ballroom looking untouchable, the panic reverses before Monday’s opening bell."

​His dark gaze locked onto Ana with an intensity that brooked no debate.

​"And I will not be walking in alone," Damian continued, his gravelly rasp dropping into that deep, possessive register. "You will be on my arm. Wearing the Sterling emeralds, with that ring firmly on your finger."

​Valerie’s face instantly lit up, her earlier annoyance vanishing behind a wide, romantic beam.

"Oh, that is brilliant! The press has been hounding the family ever since you announced the re-engagement. If you two step out together tonight after that bitter divorce, looking utterly devoted and inseparable, it will completely dominate the headlines! Nobody will even be talking about the stock dip."

​She turned to Ana, grinning warmly. "A gorgeous power couple making their grand post-divorce appearance. It’s absolute poetry, Ana. You two are going to make those miserable board members choke on their champagne."

​Ana’s fingers tightened against her glass, a cold, bitter knot twisting in her stomach.

​Valerie saw a storybook romance... a passionate, reformed monster who had fought through a divorce and realized he couldn’t live without his wife, showering her with jewels and begging for her hand again.

Valerie had no idea that the ring on Ana’s finger wasn’t a promise of devotion, but the visible shackle of a brutal, legally binding slave contract she had been forced into signing.

​Ana forced her chin up, masking the turmoil behind a cool, polished smile. "A high society spectacle, then. What a wonderful display."

​She looked directly into Damian’s dark, unblinking eyes, her voice dripping with subtle, sharp irony that only he would understand. "Are you sure you’re up for dancing, Damian? A man claiming to be so desperately head over heels might be expected to hold his bride close... Close to your stitches and all."

​A slow, dangerous shadow of an amusement touched Damian’s lips. He didn’t blink. He held her defiant stare with absolute, lethal composure.

​"I will hold you as close as necessary, Anastasia," Damian rasped, his voice smooth as silk yet laced with an unmistakable iron grip.

"The entire room will know exactly whose hands are on you. Valerie, call the styling teams. Anastasia, coordinate with Clara in marketing to ensure the press receives our official arrival statement by five. Tonight, we give this city a masterclass in power."

The private study was converted into a war room by early afternoon. On the primary wall display, Clara appeared via an encrypted split screen from the house of Julian. He had somehow convinced her to stay with him because of the chaos.

​"The official press statement is locked," Clara reported, her fingers flying over her keyboard. "We’ve framed your joint appearance tonight as the public prelude to the corporate expansion campaign. Any publication running rumors about executive instability is going to look completely unhinged once the wires pick up the arrival photos."

​In the background of Clara’s screen, the door swung open, and Julian walked into her frame carrying a stack of embossed dossiers. He looked sleek, composed, but his eyes instantly flicked to Clara with a quiet, careful warmth that made her posture stiffen slightly.

​"I pulled the gala’s private seating chart through my family’s old social register," Julian said, setting the papers beside Clara’s laptop and pointing at three specific entries.

"The three equity whales Damian wants are all clustered near the east terrace. Freddy Gilbert of Gilbert Holdings, Lady Genevieve Cross, and Mike Delgado. They’ve kept their distance from the board’s recent maneuvering, waiting to see who emerges alive. If Damian corners them before dessert, they have the liquid capital to absorb every single dumped share before Asian markets open tomorrow night."

​Julian’s gaze dropped to Clara’s face, his voice softening in a way that had nothing to do with high finance. "Clara and I cross referenced their public foundations. They respond to long term stability and legacy. If you give them an unshakeable front tonight, they won’t even hesitate."

​"Understood," Ana said, noting the subtle tension vibrating through the feed. "Keep the media distribution embargoed until exactly 8:15 PM, Clara. Right when the motorcade pulls onto the carpet."

​"Will do," Clara replied, shutting the file and deliberately avoiding Julian’s lingering stare as the call severed.

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

​By seven, the master bedroom was silent, emptied of the stylists and dressers Damian had dismissed with a flick of his hand.

​Anastasia stood before the full-length gilded mirror in a backless, floor length gown of heavy midnight silk that clung to every curve of her body like water. Her dark hair was pinned into an intricate updo, leaving the pale expanse of her neck and shoulders completely bare.

​The soft click of polished dress shoes signaled Damian stepping out from the adjoining dressing suite. He looked lethal in a custom tailored Tom Ford tuxedo, the stark white shirt and black satin lapels masking any hint of the tight bandages binding his ribs beneath.

In his large hand, he carried a velvet-lined jewelry case.

​Damian stopped directly behind her. His obsidian eyes caught her reflection in the glass, darkening instantly as his gaze raked down her bare spine, taking in the cut of the fabric and the exposed slope of her neck.

​He opened the case to reveal the Sterling heirloom choker... interlocking bands of white diamonds framing three raw, peerless Colombian emeralds.

​Lifting the heavy piece, Damian stepped closer until the wool of his jacket brushed against her bare back, radiating a heavy, commanding heat. He draped the cold platinum around her throat.

​His fingertips were rough and deliberate against her skin as he fastened the intricate clasp at the nape of her neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his hands slid slowly over her bare shoulders, his thumbs smoothing across her collarbones, anchoring her against his chest.

​In the mirror, his dark gaze locked onto hers.

​"Breathtaking," Damian rasped, his gravelly voice dropping so low it seemed to hum against her skin, thick with a raw, predatory hunger that made her pulse jump beneath his fingers. "You look so utterly stunning, Anastasia, that the thought of having to stand beside you in a crowded room without tearing this dress off your body is going to be my greatest test of restraint."

​Ana’s lips parted, a sharp shiver racing down her spine. "Damian..."

​He leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive hollow right beneath her ear, his breath searing against her skin.

​"Tonight, we give them the show they’re begging for," he murmured, his hands sliding down her arms to cup her waist, pulling her hips flush against his thighs until she felt the unyielding power of his frame.

"We will show every vulture in that ballroom how devoted we are to each other. How utterly consumed I am by you. And when this farce is over and the doors to this penthouse lock behind us..."

​His grip tightened, his teeth grazing the slope of her throat just above the diamonds.

​"I am going to take you raw and hard all night, Anastasia. Until there isn’t a single doubt left in your mind about who you belong to."

Ana’s breath caught, her hand flying to the cold weight of emeralds at her throat.

​She forced her gaze up in the mirror, refusing to shatter beneath his suffocating heat. A wicked, sharp smirk curved her red lips, defiance gleaming in her hazel eyes.

​"A masterclass in devotion, Damian?" She whispered, turning in his iron grip until her hands rested flat against his wounded chest, her fingers curling just above his bandages. "Then pray your stitches survive the night. Because if you want to claim me like that... you’ll have to earn every single inch."