Chapter 164: Devil’s Likes To Claim Infront Of Everyone

The black expensive car glided to a halt before the Grand Plaza, cutting through a blinding sea of strobing camera flashes.

​The chauffeur opened the door. Damian stepped out first, an imposing, unyielding silhouette in bespoke black satin and wool.

Shrugging off the violent throb in his stitched flank as if it were nothing, he extended a hand. Anastasia placed her manicured fingers in his large palm, emerging into the crisp night air in her backless midnight-silk gown.

The Sterling emeralds caught the relentless paparazzi flashes, glittering like cold fire at her throat.

​A collective roar rose from the press barricades. Shuttered lenses rattled in machine-gun bursts. Damian didn’t rush. He pulled Ana firmly against his side, his heavy arm wrapping possessively around her bare waist, his thumb resting deliberately against the small of her back.

She leaned into him, offering the flashing cameras a radiant, untouchable smile that masked the wire tension between them.

​Ascending the grand marble staircase, they were intercepted right at the towering entrance.

​Robert Xander and Gregory Hall... the two treacherous senior board members of Sterling Global, behind the offshore stock dump... stood flanked by crystal flutes, their smug smiles faltering the moment Damian stepped into the light.

​"Damian," Xander began smoothly, though his eyes darted nervously to Damian’s impeccable posture. "We had heard rumors of your... fragile health. It’s a pleasant surprise to see you on your feet."

​"And with your lovely ex-wife, no less," Hall added with a thin, poisonous grin, his gaze lingering insolently over Ana’s exposed collarbones. "A rather desperate public relations drama, wouldn’t you say?"

​Before Damian could snap the man’s neck, Ana stepped forward half an inch, her fingers lightly caressing the lapel of Damian’s tuxedo in a show of effortless intimacy.

​"Not ex-wife, Mr. Hall. Fiancée," Ana murmured, her voice dripping with lethal, high-society charm that carried easily to the lingering journalists behind them.

"I suppose when one spends their entire weekend developing frantic, unauthorized margin sell-offs through Luxembourg shell accounts, they lose track of real-world elegance. Do enjoy the champagne, gentlemen. I hear the vintage pairs delightfully with impending regulatory collapse."

​Hall’s face was drained of color. Xander choked on his drink, glancing frantically around as Damian leaned in, towering over both men with dead, predatory stillness.

​"Enjoy your evening," Damian rasped, his gravelly voice low enough that only the traitors could hear. "Because when the market opens on Monday, neither of you will have a seat left to sit in."

​Leaving the two conspirators paralyzed on the threshold, Damian guided Ana through the grand archway and into the glittering, three-story gilded ballroom.

​Beneath the colossal crystal chandeliers, three figures stood clustered near the arched French doors of the east terrace, observing the grand entrance with keen, calculating eyes... Freddy Gilbert of Gilbert Holdings, Lady Genevieve Cross, and the sharp eyed tech titan Mike Delgado.

​"Right on time," Damian murmured against Ana’s ear, his hand tightening at her waist, pulling her hips flush against his thigh as he set his sights on their targets. "Smile, doll. It’s time to take their billions."

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

Damian didn’t take a single step toward the east terrace.

​Instead of cornering the three billionaires, he steered Anastasia in the exact opposite direction... toward the velvet-curtained VIP rotunda beneath the grand chandelier.

​"Damian," Ana murmured, keeping her smile flawlessly affixed for the circling photographers while her voice dropped to a razor whisper. "Freddy Gilbert and Lady Genevieve are by the terrace doors. You’re walking away from them."

​"Desperate men corner investors, doll," Damian rasped, his gravelly voice brushing the shell of her ear. "Titans make them wait. The second I chase them, I look like a man bleeding out. If I ignore them to drown in us, they will wonder what kind of limitless power I’m sitting on."

​He guided her onto a deep crimson velvet settee nestled within a private marble alcove, shielded just enough from the flashing cameras to suggest illicit seclusion, yet perfectly positioned for the entire room to watch.

​Damian took a crystal flute of vintage champagne from a passing silver tray, but he didn’t drink. He turned fully toward Anastasia, leaning close, his imposing broad shoulders blocking out the ballroom.

He lifted the glass to her lips, his dark, obsidian eyes drinking in the sight of her with an unvarnished, suffocating focus that made the surrounding gala vanish into thin air.

​"Drink," he commanded softly, the rough timber of his voice laced with pure velvet.

​Ana’s gaze flicked over his shoulder. Across the marble floor, Freddy Gilbert had stopped mid-sentence with Mike Delgado, their eyes darting toward the rotunda, visibly unsettled by Damian’s utter indifference to their presence.

​A slow, intoxicating realization bloomed in Ana’s chest.

​He was using devotion as his battlefield weapon. He was pretending to be hopelessly, passionately consumed by her to project unbreakable strength.

​Fine, Ana thought, a dangerous spark igniting behind her hazel eyes. If he wants to play the devoted lover, I will milk every drop of it.

​Instead of merely sipping, she leaned into his space, her lips brushing the rim of the crystal while her eyes locked shamelessly onto his. She swallowed, letting a stray drop of champagne glisten on her lower lip.

​Then, she turned the tables.

​"If we’re giving them a performance, Damian," she purred, her voice dripping with sweet, wicked venom, "you’re being far too stiff."

​Ana shifted, closing the distance between them. She slid one bare, graceful arm over his broad shoulder, her fingers tangling lightly in the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

Her other hand drifted to the front of his tuxedo jacket, sliding deliberately beneath the satin lapel, her manicured fingertips skimming the stark white dress shirt right over the thick bandages guarding his ribs.

​She felt the immediate, violent jolt of his pulse through the fabric.

​"Careful, Anastasia Vance," Damian rasped, his jaw ticking hard as her fingernails lightly scratched against his chest, testing the exact boundary of his pain and restraint. "You’re playing with fire in a crowded room."

​"I thought you wanted devotion, darling," Ana whispered, leaning up until her lips grazed the harsh, stubbled line of his jaw. Her breath was warm, sweet with champagne, searing against his skin.

She pressed her torso flush against his side, letting the silk of her gown mold to the hard planes of his body. "Look at them watching us. Lady Genevieve hasn’t looked away once. Don’t you want to show her how completely I have you wrapped around my finger?"

​A low, guttural growl vibrated deep in Damian’s chest. The calculated facade of the corporate titan shattered, replaced in a split second by the raw, dangerous predator underneath.

​Beneath the shadow of the small cocktail table, hidden by the sweeping drape of her midnight-silk skirt, Damian moved.

​His large, calloused hand passed the hem of her gown, sliding bold and searing up the high slit of her dress. His palm found the bare, burning skin of her thigh, his long fingers gripping the soft flesh with an iron possessiveness that knocked the breath clean out of her lungs.

​Ana gasped softly, her fingers gripping his tuxedo lapel as a jolt of liquid heat shot straight up her spine.

​"You think you’re clever, Anastasia?" Damian murmured, his lips pressing brazenly against the delicate curve beneath her ear, his teeth catching the tender flesh in a sharp, possessive nip that left a burning mark beside the heirloom emeralds.

​Under the table, his hand slid higher, squeezing with brutal, intoxicating intent against the sensitive curve of her inner thigh.

​"You want to test how far I’ll let you push me?"

His voice was pure gravel, dark and thick with a scorching hunger that made her thighs tremble against his palm.

"Keep rubbing your hands over my chest, Doll. Keep pressing your mouth to my neck. See if I don’t drag you into the private gallery behind that curtain and tear this silk right off your hips in front of every camera in this building."

​Ana shuddered, trapped entirely between the electric shock of his hand on her bare skin and the raw heat radiating from his frame. Her lips parted, her cheeks flushing with genuine, unfeigned fever as her hazel eyes collided with the dark void of his.

​Across the room, Freddy Gilbert set his glass down on a waiter’s tray, exchanging a sharp, bewildered look with Lady Genevieve before the two of them began walking across the floor, completely helpless against the sheer gravity of the spectacle Damian and Ana had created.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ana saw Freddy Gilbert and Lady Genevieve navigating the sea of black-tie guests, marching directly toward their alcove, lured in like moths to a flame.

​Ana drew a trembling, fractured breath, trying to steady the frantic beat of her pulse. Even with the billionaires only paces away, Damian didn’t pull his hand back from beneath the silk of her gown.

His fingers remained firmly locked around the burning curve of her inner thigh, an arrogant, sovereign claim that anchored her completely to his side.

​"They’re coming, Damian," Ana breathed, her voice tight, half-pleading, half-defiant as she looked up into the dark void of his eyes. "Behave."

​A slow, lethal smirk touched Damian’s lips. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a razor’s edge from hers, so close his ragged, whiskey-and-smoke breath washed over her fevered skin.

​"Let them come," Damian rasped, his gravelly voice dripping with ruthless amusement as his fingers gave one last, bruising squeeze under the table.

​"They’re walking over to buy a kingdom doll. But they’re about to learn that tonight... you’re the only prize I intend to conquer. Let’s show them why I’m ready to rage war on corporate street."