Chapter 172: Everyone’s Eyes On Devil’s Woman

​Anastasia was bound to a man who didn’t know how to be gentle. Damian Sterling didn’t offer peace; he offered fire, ruthless conquest, and suffocating possession.

To him, love wasn’t a soft confession under the stars... It was a cage, an iron grip on her waist, and a war fought on linen sheets and boardroom floors.

He would tear the world apart before letting anyone else touch her, but he would never open his chest and give her his heart with unguarded grace.

​She had traded the possibility of a tender, quiet romance for a predator who loved her like a possession... a man who would burn them both to ash before he ever let her go.

Do I even want this?

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

The heavy velvet curtains of the cinema gave way to the pulsing, bass-heavy darkness of Nocturne, an exclusive subterranean club downtown. Neon crimson and violet lights fractured across the smoky room, drowning out every lingering thought of boardrooms, traitors, and contracts.

​They took over a secluded booth on the elevated VIP floor. Valerie, riding a wave of manic energy, slammed her palm against the low glass table, ordering a silver tray lined with double shots of aged tequila and smoky mezcal.

​"Rule of the night," Valerie shouted over the deafening bass, her eyes sparkling with tipsy defiance. "No names, no Sterling Global, and whoever flinches first pays the tab."

​Ana didn’t flinch. In fact, a dark, reckless fire flared behind her ribs.

​Every word, every kiss, and every bruise Damian had branded into her skin surged to the surface with suffocating heat. She thought of the cinematic lovers she had watched hours earlier... the soft tenderness she would never have... and compared it to the ruthless predator waiting back at the penthouse who treated her like an acquisition.

​She tipped her head back and downed the first shot. The liquor burned like liquid kerosene down her throat, but she barely blinked. She slammed the empty glass down and immediately reached for a second. Then a third.

​By the fifth round, the world spun in a hazy, fevered blur.

​Clara was already slumped in the corner of the plush leather booth, her heels kicked off, her eyes half-closed as she mumbled something unintelligible to her empty glass, completely out for the count. Valerie was swaying on her feet, giggling as she leaned heavily against the table, her lipstick slightly smudged.

​Ana stood up, unsteadily smoothing down the ivory knit dress that clung to her curves, her hazel eyes glazed and burning with raw, unfiltered fury.

​"I need to dance," Ana announced, her voice slightly slurred, swaying toward the edge of the mezzanine railing where the bass shook the floorboards.

​Valerie blinked through the alcoholic haze, reaching out a clumsy hand to catch Ana’s wrist. "Whoa... hey, easy, Vance. Don’t go wandering off into the wolves. Let’s... let’s not forget you’re engaged to my brother. Damian will literally skin someone alive if you cause a riot."

​The name hit Ana like a splash of ice water, turning her drunken rage into bitter venom. She yanked her arm back, letting out a sharp, fractured laugh that was half a sob.

​"Engaged?" Ana spat, the room tilting dangerously as she leaned toward Valerie. "You think that’s what this is, Valerie? He doesn’t care about me! He never did! Not two years ago, and not now!"

​Valerie’s brow furrowed, her intoxicated mind struggling to process the sheer agony bleeding through Ana’s words. "Ana... wait, what are you..."

​"He’s a devil!" Ana blurted out, tears of frustrated fury stinging behind her eyes before she aggressively wiped them away with the back of her hand. "He doesn’t want a wife. He has me like a predator holding down its prey! He just wants to own me, break me, and lock me in his cage until there’s nothing left of me to fight back!"

​Before Valerie could find the words through her tequila-soaked fog, Ana spun around, walking recklessly straight toward the pulsating crowd below.

​Down on the floor, the rhythm swallowed her whole. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, her hips moving with a wild, desperate abandon that drew every eye in the room. Within seconds, a tall, arrogant heir from an offshore shipping syndicate noticed the gorgeous, flushed woman dancing alone.

​He stepped directly into her space, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. Without asking, his hands reached out, sliding firmly onto Ana’s waist to pull her back against his chest.

​Up on the second floor, Valerie froze, her drunken stupor instantly shattering into pure panic.

​Because standing by the heavy steel VIP entrance at the top of the stairs, flanked by Julian Montgomery and four armed security operatives, stood Damian Sterling.

​He hadn’t bothered with a coat. His linen shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, his face carved out of pure granite. His obsidian eyes sliced through the flashing strobe lights, locking instantly onto the stranger’s hands wrapped around his wife’s waist.

​The temperature in the entire club plunged to absolute zero. The predator hadn’t just arrived... he was about to burn the room to the ground.

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

Tucked away in the darkest alcove of the mezzanine, shielded by smoked glass and the shadow of the service stairs, sat Vivian Stark.

​A silk headscarf and dark oversized sunglasses disguised her features, but the feverish hatred burning in her eyes was unmistakable. An untasted glass of vintage champagne sat on the black lacquer table before her, condensation dripping down the crystal like cold sweat.

​Vivian watched every second of the spectacle below.

​She saw Anastasia downing shot after shot, looking completely undone, her pristine boardroom veneer melting into reckless abandon. A vile, triumphant sneer pulled at Vivian’s crimson lips.

She had spent years whispering poison into Ana’s ear, sending those photographs, engineering the vicious split that drove Anastasia out of Damian’s life the first time. Seeing Ana spiraling into a drunken, fractured mess proved every seed of doubt Vivian had ever planted was still bearing fruit.

​She really thinks he’ll ever love her, Vivian thought, her manicured fingers tightening around her clutch until the knuckles turned stark white. Stupid, pathetic little girl.

​Vivian’s plan was already in motion. Her hired extraction van was idling in the subterranean loading dock three floors below, waiting for the signal to intercept Ana the second she stumbled out the club’s back doors.

​Then, the ambient light shifted.

​Vivian’s smug grin vanished, replaced by a sudden, suffocating jolt of terror.

​At the top of the VIP stairs, the heavy steel doors had slammed open. Damian Sterling stepped into the crimson haze, flanked by Julian Thorne and a wall of tactical muscle. Even from across the crowded club, the lethal, unhinged aura radiating off Damian made Vivian shrink involuntarily deeper into the velvet booth.

​Vivian watched Damian’s obsidian eyes track the dance floor, cutting through the strobe lights until they locked onto the stranger whose hands had just dared to settle on Anastasia’s waist.

​A chilling shudder raced down Vivian’s spine. The trap was set, but the devil had arrived first... and he looked ready to slaughter anyone breathing the same air as the woman he possessed.

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

The bass vibrated violently through the floor, buzzing beneath the soles of Ana’s heels. The stranger’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer into the suffocating, neon-lit press of the crowd.

​He looked down at her flushed, tear-stained face, a smooth, practiced smirk curving his lips. Leaning down until his mouth hovered beside her ear, his hot breath washed over her neck.

​"You are breathtaking, sweetheart," he murmured over the music, his fingers digging into the soft knit of her dress. "Can I kiss you?"

​The question sliced straight through the alcoholic fog clouding Ana’s mind.

​Can I kiss you?

​A fractured echo from the vintage theater screen surged to the surface. She remembered the gentle lead actor, standing in the quiet rain, whispering that exact same question with reverence, patience, and trembling devotion before claiming the woman’s mouth as if she were the only sacred thing in the world.

​Ana’s hazel eyes lifted to the stranger, unfocused, glassy, and pooling with raw, agonizing grief. Her voice cracked, barely louder than a breath, slipping past her bruised, parted lips.

​"Will you kiss me... like you love me?" She asked, the heartbreaking plea stripped of all pride, completely laid bare. "Will you kiss me tenderly?"

​The man blinked, momentary confusion flashing across his features at the strange, heavy question. But looking at the exquisite, intoxicating woman swaying defenseless in his grip, any hesitation burned away into cheap, opportunistic lust. He offered her a sweet, calculated smile and nodded.

​"Anything you want, angel."

​He cupped the side of her face and began to lean down.

​Ana’s lashes fluttered shut. Her chest rose, waiting for the soft, quiet warmth she had spent years starving for... a tender sanctuary from the fire that had consumed her entire life.

​The ghost of his lips barely grazed hers.

​Before the contact could even register, a sudden, violent force tore her backward with brutal momentum.