Chapter 215: To Ruin The Devil’s Peace

?Ana’s throat tightened, her fingernails biting into the leather of her purse. "Some things cannot be shared, Dr. Hayes."

?"Then write them down," the doctor advised, leaning forward with genuine empathy. "Keep a journal. Pour every dark corner, every secret, every piece of grief onto paper if your voice refuses to carry it. But remember this, Anastasia: burying your secrets under stone doesn’t make you strong. It only makes you vulnerable to being crushed from the inside out."

?He looked directly into her eyes, his tone firm and earnest. "Eventually, you will have to tell the person closest to you. Healing cannot happen in isolation."

?The gentle advice struck her like a chisel against glass.

?Tell the person closest to you.

?Who was that? The man holding her leash? The man whose father died alone in the dark, who thought affection was a beggar’s disease?

?When the discreet grandfather clock chimed the forty-fifth minute, Ana stood up, her knees trembling beneath her coat. She thanked the doctor in a low daze and made her way down the private staircase.

?The crisp autumn air hit her face, but it did nothing to clear the suffocating fog in her chest.

?Parked directly curbside by the iron gates, the sleek black Maybach sat idling. Henry opened the rear door the moment she approached.

?Ana climbed into the leather interior.

?Sitting in the far corner was Damian. His laptop was open on his thighs, his dark eyes scanning a set of quarterly reports, radiating his usual aura of lethal, untouched composure.

?He glanced up, about to drop a dry, cutting remark about the time.

?Then he stopped dead.

?Ana’s face was completely pale, her hazel eyes rimmed in burning red, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

?Before he could utter a single syllable, Ana broke.

?She lunged across the leather seats, throwing herself completely into his lap. Her arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders, and she buried her face into the crook of his neck, her entire frame wracked with violent, heaving sobs.

?Damian froze.

?His muscular back locked into rigid stone, his hands hovering in midair above his keyboard, genuine shock flaring across his chiseled face. The Devil of Wall Street, who could dismantle conglomerates with a single signature, sat utterly paralyzed beneath the sudden, overwhelming weight of her grief.

?Her tears soaked straight through his crisp shirt, burning against his skin. She clung to him like a woman drowning in open water, her small hands clutching at his tailored lapels as if he were the only solid thing left in the universe.

?Slowly, the icy rigidity melted from his spine.

?Damian snapped his laptop shut with one hand, shoving it onto the opposite seat without looking.

?He didn’t demand an explanation. He didn’t mock her breakdown.

?Instead, a dangerous, dark glint flickered across his obsidian eyes as his jaw clenched tight.

?"Do you want me to kill him?" Damian growled softly against her hair, the dark sarcasm barely masking the lethal edge underneath.

?Ana choked on a wet, breathless whimper, shaking her head frantically against his chest. "N-No..."

?Damian’s large, calloused hands settled over her trembling body. He wrapped his long arms firmly around her back, pulling her flush against his solid chest, tucking her head under his chin.

?He held her in the quiet sanctuary of the speeding car, letting her cry out the ghosts of their past, while the rest of the world blurred harmlessly past the tinted glass.

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

The frosted glass doors glided open, and Vivian Stark stepped into the top-floor executive penthouse of Sullivan Holdings.

?The city spread out below through floor-to-ceiling panoramic glass, drenched in the cold gray light of late afternoon. Dante Sullivan stood behind his monolithic marble desk, impeccably dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, adjusting the platinum links at his cuffs.

?He didn’t look up immediately as her heels clicked against the polished concrete.

?"You summoned me, Dante?" Vivian asked, crossing her arms, her voice laced with guarded tension.

?"Pour yourself a drink, Vivian," Dante murmured, his baritone cool and measured. He glanced up, his dark, calculating eyes locking onto her. "It’s time you step back into the spotlight. The city has gone far too long without its favorite socialite."

?Vivian scowled, a bitter, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips.

?"Are you losing your mind?" she spat, gesturing violently to the air between them. "I’m a ghost, Dante! The feds have an active warrant out for my arrest. The harbor docks, the warehouse, Clara Reed’s testimony—every single piece of evidence points straight at my neck! No high-society gala will open its doors to me. Even my own father, Harrison, publicly disowned me to protect the Stark name. I am poison out there!"

?Dante didn’t flinch. Not a single muscle in his chiseled face betrayed irritation.

?Slowly, he reached down and picked up a slim, manila dossier from his desk, sliding it across the marble toward her.

?"Do you really believe I would bring you here if I hadn’t already paved the road?" Dante asked softly, a dark, mocking edge touching his words.

?Vivian frowned, stepping forward and opening the folder. Her eyes darted across the official seals, bank transfer receipts, and a signed, notarized confession on federal legal letterhead.

?"What is this...?" she breathed, her jaw slacking.

?"A scapegoat," Dante answered smoothly, leaning forward and resting his palms against the dark stone. "An offshore operative with terminal leukemia and three children who just received twenty million dollars in a blind trust. He has officially confessed to orchestrating the harbor raid, falsifying communication under your name, and coercing Clara Reed. By tomorrow morning, the federal prosecutor will dismiss all charges against you citing fabricated evidence and corporate extortion."

?Vivian stared down at the documents, her heart hammering against her ribs. The sheer, terrifying reach of the Sullivan syndicate made a shiver trace down her spine.

?"Your father will welcome his prodigal, falsely accused daughter back with open arms to save Stark Industries from total ruin," Dante continued, his voice dropping into a chilling, silk-smooth register. "Your return to high society will be as smooth as butter, Vivian."

?Vivian slowly closed the file, looking up into his unyielding, austere eyes. A thrill of dark ambition surged back into her veins, but suspicion lingered.

?"And then what?" Vivian asked, her gaze narrowing. "What do you want me to do the second I walk back into the light?"

?A slow, lethal smile curved the corners of Dante’s lips. His eyes burned with an obsessive, dark fire that belonged only to the shadows.

?"Ruin Damian Sterling’s peace."