Chapter 214: The Devil’s Woman’s Therapy Session

Ana froze in the doorway of the dining hall, Valerie leaning loosely against her side.

?The words struck her like physical blows through the quiet room.

?The boy who needed saving died the day my father chose a bullet over trusting me... Stop trying to fix me and my relationship with Anastasia, Mother. It’s far too late.

?Ana’s chest tightened, a sharp, suffocating ache tearing through her. She stared at Damian’s broad, unyielding silhouette carved against the candlelight.

?Damian sensed her instantly.

?He didn’t turn around slowly. He rose to his full, towering height, buttoning his tailored suit jacket with a single, sharp motion. The mask of the ruthless titan was locked completely back in place.

?"Get your coat, Anastasia," Damian commanded, his gravelly voice slicing through the heavy air without a trace of hesitation. "We’re leaving."

?Victoria stood up, her eyes wide with shock. "Damian, it’s pouring out... stay the night."

?"No," Damian answered flatly, rounding the table. He didn’t look at his mother, nor did he acknowledge Valerie’s dazed blink. His long fingers clamped around Ana’s wrist, pulling her gently but firmly to his side. "The car is idling. Goodnight, Mother."

?Before anyone could say another word, he swept Ana out into the rain-slick night.

?The ride back to Manhattan was pure, suffocating quiet. Damian stared out the tinted glass of the Maybach, his jaw locked, refusing to utter a single word about the ghosts he had dragged into the open. Ana watched his cold profile, her heart heavy with secrets, realizing just how deep the Devil had buried himself in his own grave.

?Thursday morning arrived far too quickly.

?The sleek black town car pulled up in front of a private, elite medical practice tucked away in the quiet, wooded hills of Westchester. The discreet sign near the iron gates read. Hayes Psychiatric & Wellness Institute. It was an independent, high-end private clinic... far away from Sterling properties, boardrooms, and family estates.

?Henry stepped out and opened the door for her with a respectful nod. "Dr. Hayes is expecting you in his second-floor office, Ms. Vance."

?Ana took a deep breath, smoothing down her cream trench coat, and stepped inside.

?The clinic was designed for discretion and absolute comfort... plush carpeting, muted earth tones, and the faint, calming scent of white tea. Ana was escorted up to a private consultation room with expansive windows overlooking the autumn trees. She took a seat on the soft velvet sofa, clutching her handbag in her lap.

?Across from her sat two empty armchairs.

?A hollow pang hit her chest. He really won’t coming.

?Suddenly, the heavy double doors burst open.

?A blast of cold, commanding authority swept into the serene room, completely shattering the quiet.

?Damian Sterling strode inside.

?He looked lethal in a tailored, jet-black three-piece suit, his long wool coat unbuttoned. Walking half a step behind him was an older, distinguished man with silver-rimmed spectacles, clutching a leather-bound file and looking like he had just been cornered by a predator in his own hallway.

?Dr. Hayes.

?Ana gasped, sitting bolt upright. "Damian?!"

?Damian didn’t even glance at her. He marched directly to the center of the office, looming over the therapist with an aura that practically sucked all the oxygen out of the space.

?"Let’s establish the ground rules, Hayes," Damian said, his voice dropping into a low, lethal register that made the temperature drop ten degrees. "You are here to treat her grief and stabilize her mental l health. That is your sole mandate."

?Dr. Hayes swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing frantically. "O-Of course, Mr. Sterling..."

?"If I find out you are filling her head with romantic nonsense about running away, or giving her foolish ideas about independence," Damian growled, taking a slow step forward, his obsidian eyes burning with terrifying menace, "your medical license will be the least of your concerns. I will dismantle this clinic brick by brick by noon."

?"I... I assure you, my professional ethics..."

?"I don’t give a damn about your ethics," Damian cut him off coldly. "I want measurable results within four weeks. She eats, she sleeps, and she stops breaking down under stress. If she isn’t recovering within a month, I cut your funding, I pull every client referral from my network, and your practice is finished. Am I clear?"

?"C-Crystal clear, sir," Dr. Hayes squeaked out, quickly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and frantically wiping the cold sweat drenching his forehead.

?Ana’s hazel eyes burned with pure, hot fury. She shot up from the sofa, glaring at Damian with enough venom to scorch the floorboards.

?"Are you completely out of your mind?!" Ana snapped, her chest heaving. "You refused to come, and now you storm into this clinic threatening my doctor like a common mobster?!"

?Damian finally turned his head.

?His dark, hooded gaze locked onto her fiery glare. For a fleeting second, a faint, dark smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, thoroughly amused by the spitfire defiance in her eyes.

?"I’m keeping everything honest, doll," Damian murmured smoothly, adjusting his platinum cufflinks without a shred of shame.

?He cast one last sideways glance at the trembling, sweat-wiping doctor, then met Ana’s murderous glare one last time.

?"You have forty-five minutes, Anastasia. Me and Henry are waiting downstairs. Don’t be late."

?With that, the Devil spun on his heel and strode out, the heavy doors clicking shut behind him, leaving a terrified therapist wiping his brow and an infuriated ex-wife standing in the middle of the room.

The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut, leaving behind a ringing silence.

?Dr. Hayes let out a long, ragged exhale, collapsing back against his leather armchair. His silver-rimmed spectacles were slightly askew, his handkerchief clutched tightly in his trembling hand as he reached for a glass of water on the side table.

?Ana stayed standing in the center of the Persian rug, her chest still heaving, her knuckles white where she gripped her handbag. "I am so sorry, Dr. Hayes. He had no right to..."

?"Take a seat, Ms. Vance," Dr. Hayes said quietly, his voice surprisingly calm despite the sheen of sweat drying on his forehead. He adjusted his glasses with steadying fingers and offered her a faint, knowing smile. "In thirty years of practicing psychotherapy among Manhattan’s elite, I have seen every breed of titan. But I have rarely seen a man so utterly, desperately terrified of losing his ex-wife."

?Ana froze, the apology dying in her throat. She slowly sat back down on the velvet sofa, looking at the therapist with guarded hazel eyes. "He isn’t terrified. He’s a tyrant who likes to control everything."

?"A tyrant who drives forty miles at dawn just to personally verify you are safe in this chair?" Hayes challenged gently, clicking his pen open. "Control is born from terror, Anastasia. But we aren’t here to diagnose your ex-husband today. We are here for you."

?For the next thirty minutes, Dr. Hayes navigated the conversation with clinical precision. Yet every time the questions circled near the core... the phantom pregnancy, the crushing weight of the secret of a hundred-million-dollar debt, or the suffocating guilt that kept her tethered to Damian... Ana pulled back. Her answers became short, clipped, and guarded.

?Hayes stopped writing. He set his pen down on the yellow legal pad, studying her closed-off expression.

?"You are carrying something heavy, aren’t you?" Hayes observed softly. "A truth you feel you cannot speak aloud."