Chapter 219: The Devil’s Woman Demands A Girls Night Over

The midday rush at Vance-Sterling had settled into a quiet hum.

?Ana pushed open the frosted glass door to Clara’s corner office, clutching two iced matcha lattes and her slim, leather-bound notebook.

?Clara sat behind her desk, still looking slightly frail under an oversized beige cardigan, but the bruises on her cheek had faded to pale yellow. She was typing an email, pausing only to rub her sore ribs with a wince before looking up with a bright, genuine smile.

?"Tell me those have oat milk and zero sugar," Clara said, tossing her pen aside and leaning back in her ergonomic chair. "Because after three hours of fielding Jullian Montgomery’s floral deliveries, my blood sugar is dangerously high."

?Ana laughed, setting a cup on Clara’s desk and sinking into the guest armchair. "Wait, more flowers?"

?"A literal jungle of white orchids arrived at reception this morning," Clara sighed, rolling her eyes, though a faint blush betrayed her exasperation. "The card said, ’Since you won’t let me buy you dinner, I bought you an ecosystem.’ The man is completely unhinged."

?"He’s persistent," Ana smiled, sliding her notebook across the glass table. "Speaking of people who need to be handled... I need your opinion on something."

?Clara arched an eyebrow, pulling the journal closer. She opened the cream-colored pages, her eyes scanning the neat handwriting filling the lines.

?"What’s this?"

?"My therapist, Dr. Hayes, suggested it," Ana explained, taking a slow sip of her latte. "He said part of my healing is writing down a list of personal wishes and sharing it with the person closest to me. So... I chose you."

?Clara paused, looking up from the page with warm, touched eyes. "Me?"

?"Of course you," Ana said firmly, a soft smile touching her lips. "You’re my best friend, Clara. You stood by me through everything. When Dr. Hayes told me to think of who I actually trust and feel safe with right now... it was you. There wasn’t even a second choice."

?A genuine, affectionate smile spread across Clara’s face as she looked down at the bulleted points.

~ ?Go to a late-night street food market without a private security perimeter.

~ ?Learn how to bake sourdough from scratch.

~ ?Spend a full Sunday reading in bed without any alarms or phone calls.

~ ?Take a spontaneous weekend trip where nobody is carrying a concealed weapon.

~ ?Buy an obnoxious amount of vintage records.

?"Ana, these are wonderful," Clara murmured, her brown eyes softening. "They’re so grounded. You’ve spent so long carrying the weight of the world that you forgot how to just enjoy being you."

?"I think I really did," Ana admitted softly. "So... you don’t think it’s silly?"

?"Not in the slightest," Clara said, sliding the notebook gently back across the desk. "In fact, consider me your official partner in crime. The second my ribs stop protesting every time I take a deep breath, we are hitting the vintage record stores and getting greasy street food."

?"Deal," Ana grinned, tucking the notebook safely into her leather tote.

?Clara leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a playful glint in her eyes. "Though, I have to ask... did Damian see that you picked me?"

?Ana couldn’t help the dry, amused smirk that curved her mouth.

?"He saw me writing it. When I told him the list was for you because you’re the person closest to me, his jaw practically dropped to the floor. He asked why not him, and I told him he’s an emotional desert."

?Clara burst into a fit of breathless, startled laughter, quickly holding a hand to her ribs with a soft wince.

?"You did not!" Clara gasped, shaking her head in sheer disbelief. "You told Damian Sterling he’s an emotional desert?!"

?"I did," Ana said, hazel eyes dancing with quiet triumph. "And he looked like a sulking five-year-old whose toy was taken away. He said I was being mean."

?"He’s going to hold a grudge against that journal forever," Clara chuckled, shaking her head. "His ego must be bruised black and blue between this and that gelato video."

?"Let him stew," Ana smirked, taking another sip of her matcha. "A little humility looks good on him."

***********

The clock on the wall read past eight in the evening. The floor had cleared out, the city lights outside Damian’s office glowing against the glass.

?Damian was reaching for his jacket draped over the leather chair when his phone buzzed on the mahogany desk.

?The screen flashed: Jullian Montgomery.

?Damian accepted the call, pressing the receiver to his ear with an irritated sigh. "If this is about business, send an email. If it’s about your personal life, don’t bother."

?"Are you still in the office?" Jullian’s voice came through. There was no teasing in his tone, no playful arrogance—just a strange, abrupt seriousness.

?"Yes," Damian answered, his brow knitting together. "Why?"

?"Come down to the basement. Sub-level two," Jullian said flatly.

?Damian paused, genuinely confused. He pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, checking the caller ID as if to verify it was actually Jullian, then pressed it back.

?"The basement?" Damian scoffed, thoroughly perplexed. "Why on earth would I meet you in my own parking garage? If you have something to say, take the elevator up."

?"Just get down here, Damian. Right now."

?The line went dead with a sharp click.

?Damian lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen. A meeting in the cold concrete basement at the end of the day wasn’t Jullian’s style at all. With suspicion and confusion tightening in his chest, Damian grabbed his coat and headed straight for the private executive lift.

?Ding.

?The heavy metal doors slid open into the chilly expanse of Sub-Level 2. The fluorescent tubes hummed faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the damp concrete.

?Damian stepped out, his tailored strides brisk and echoing off the pillars. Just ahead, parked under the yellow glare, was Jullian’s matte-black sports car. Jullian stood leaning against the driver’s side door, his hands shoved into the pockets of his wool coat.

"What is this, Jullian?" Damian demanded, his deep baritone cutting through the quiet garage. "Why the hell did you call me down here like we’re doing an arms deal?"

?Jullian didn’t answer with words. Instead, he simply tilted his head toward the far side of the vehicle with a faint, amused smirk.

?Damian’s gaze followed the gesture—and instantly froze.

?Standing by the trunk, shoulder to shoulder, were Clara and Anastasia.

?Clara was wrapped in a thick winter coat, holding a small leather weekend bag, while Ana stood beside her in an oversized cream knit sweater, clutching her handbag and an insulated takeout carrier.

?Damian’s dark brows pulled together in sharp bewilderment. His eyes locked onto Anastasia, the irritation in his posture multiplying by ten.

?"Anastasia?" Damian questioned, taking a step toward them, his voice dropping into a stern, disbelieving rumble. "Why are you down here? Your shift ended forty minutes ago. Why didn’t you come up to my office after work?"

?Ana turned around, meeting his towering, scowling glare without an ounce of intimidation. A bright, unapologetic smile spread across her face.

?"Because," Ana replied breezily, gesturing between herself and Clara, "I’m having a girls’ night over."