Chapter 220: The Devil’s Woman Wants What She Wants

Damian stood anchored to the concrete floor, his obsidian eyes darting from Anastasia’s radiant grin to Clara’s cautious posture, and finally to Jullian’s smug face.

?"A girls’ night," Damian repeated, his baritone so dangerously quiet it sounded like steel grating on stone. "In the middle of an active threat advisory. Without clearing it with Henry or my security team."

?"I don’t need to clear my social calendar with your security team, Damian," Ana retorted, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder with airy nonchalance. "Clara and I made plans. End of story."

?"The story ends when I say it ends," Damian snapped, closing the distance between them with slow, predatory steps. He loomed over her, his broad shoulders blocking out the yellow fluorescent light. "You’re coming home. If you want Clara over, fine. Bring her to my penthouse where my men control every entrance, exit, and ventilation duct. I am not letting you out of my sight while Vivian is unaccounted for."

?Before Ana could fire back, Jullian casually leaned in, resting his forearms against the open car door.

?"Hate to burst your territorial bubble, Sterling," Jullian drawled with a lazy grin, "but Clara isn’t stepping foot in your fortress. After Vivian used her as bait, her apartment had unlisted vans circling the perimeter this afternoon. She’s staying at my place under my private biometric detail."

?Damian’s jaw hardened, his sharp gaze cutting to Jullian. "Then leave Clara at your place and let Anastasia come home."

?"No," Ana intervened firmly, stepping right between the two towering men. Her hazel eyes locked onto Damian’s, flashing with stubborn defiance. "Clara needs company, and so do I. We are having our girls’ night at Jullian’s penthouse. And furthermore..." She shot a pointed look at Jullian. "...he isn’t allowed to be there either. It’s a girls’ night. Men are banned."

?The garage went utterly still.

?Damian blinked, momentarily stunned into silence by her sheer audacity.

?Beside them, Jullian let out an explosive bark of laughter, running a hand through his styled hair as he looked at Damian with wicked amusement.

?"Did you hear that, Sterling?" Jullian crowed, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. "Not only is she walking right out of your perimeter to sleep at my place, but she’s kicking me out of my own damn house too! I’m getting evicted from my own penthouse so your woman can eat takeout on my Italian leather!"

?"Shut up, Montgomery," Damian growled, a vein visibly pulsing in his temple.

?He turned his full, suffocating focus back onto Ana. "You are not going to another man’s property without me, Anastasia. Absolutely not."

?"It’s not about ’another man,’ Damian, it’s about Clara," Ana said, tilting her chin up. Her lips curved into that sweet, devastating smirk that always spelled disaster for his temper. "Besides, I already told you... I need emotionally rich environments to heal. Clara provides that. You provide armed guards and scowls. So... Jullian is going to go stay at a hotel or a club, Clara and I are going to have wine and face masks in peace, and you are going to go back to your empty fortress."

?Jullian was practically doubled over against the hood of the car, wheezing with laughter. "An emotional desert, Damian! She’s exiling both of us! God, I love this woman."

?"Jullian, open the passenger door," Ana commanded smoothly.

?"Right away, boss," Jullian mocked, cheerfully opening the door for Clara before rounding the hood.

?Damian didn’t move, but the air around him grew so cold it felt like ice water. His fingers twitched at his sides, every protective, possessive instinct screaming at him to haul her over his shoulder and throw her into his Maybach.

?Yet, looking into the fiery, unbroken light dancing in her hazel eyes... the very spark that had vanished during the darkest days of her grief... he found himself paralyzed by his own restraint.

?Ana paused with her hand on the car door handle, looking back over her shoulder at his rigid, brooding silhouette.

?"Don’t wait up, Mr. Sterling," Ana whispered with a teasing wink. "Try not to get too lonely."

?The car doors slammed shut.

?The engine roared to life, tires screeching against the damp concrete as Jullian’s sleek machine sped up the ramp and vanished into the night... leaving the deadliest billionaire in Manhattan standing alone in the shadows of his own garage, fuming in stunned silence.

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

The private dining room at Le Cirque was draped in heavy velvet and lit by antique crystal chandeliers, the muted clink of fine bone china blending with low, polite laughter.

?Victoria Sterling sat at the head of the long table. ?Across the table sat Lady Eleanor Vance... a distant cousin to the ruined branch... alongside Helen Belmont and Catherine Dupont, two of Manhattan’s sharpest-tongued socialite matriarchs.

?"I must say, Victoria, the autumn portfolio for Sterling Global looks astonishing," Helen mused, delicately slicing through a poached pear. "Though... Wall Street isn’t the only place your son has been dominating the conversation today."

?Victoria raised a thin, manicured brow over the rim of her vintage champagne glass. "Damian tends to occupy public attention, Helen. It is the cost of running an empire."

?"Oh, this wasn’t about oil tankers or corporate buyouts, darling," Catherine chimed in, a mischievous glint in her diamond-encrusted gaze.

?With a theatrical flick of her wrist, Catherine turned her rose-gold smartphone across the pristine linen tablecloth, sliding it directly toward Victoria.

?On the screen, the viral clip was playing on a continuous, frantic loop.

?Damian’s dazzling, playful smile... followed immediately by Anastasia forcefully jamming a heaped spoon of dark chocolate gelato directly into his mouth, smearing dairy and syrup straight across his sharp jawline.

?Helen hid a delighted smirk behind her linen napkin. "Over sixty million views across the international feeds by dinner, Victoria. The ruthless Devil of Wall Street, thoroughly chastised by a dessert spoon."

?Victoria didn’t flinch. Her aristocratic features remained smooth as porcelain, but her pale blue eyes tracked every frame of the recording.

?"He looks positively bewildered," Eleanor remarked softly, leaning in. "We haven’t seen Damian look that charming since before the wedding disaster."

?"Which brings us to the question everyone in the Hamptons and Manhattan is whispering tonight," Catherine said, resting her elbows lightly on the table, leaning forward with unapologetic curiosity. "When is Damian going to stop playing this ridiculous game of corporate debtor and tie the knot again with Anastasia?"

?Helen chuckled in agreement, tapping the stem of her crystal flute. "Look at them, Victoria. He took two rifle rounds to the spine for her at the harbor, she’s smearing ice cream across his face in broad daylight, and Sterling Global’s retail stock went up four percent because the public thinks they are the greatest modern romance since the Kennedys. If he doesn’t put a ring back on her finger, someone else will."

?Victoria took a slow, measured sip of her champagne, letting the silence stretch until the three matriarchs leaned in closer, desperate for any crumb of family gossip.

?"Damian does not act on impulses, Catherine," Victoria replied smoothly, her voice cool, aristocratic, and impossible to read. "And Anastasia is not a woman who can be forced into a mold twice."

?"So you approve?" Eleanor asked, eyes widening slightly.

?Victoria set her crystal flute down on the linen with a soft, deliberate clink. A faint, enigmatic smile touched the corners of her lips, her eyes gleaming with sharp, motherly cunning.

?"My son spent his entire life building walls no one could climb," Victoria said softly, her aristocratic tone laced with quiet amusement. "If Anastasia Vance has found a way to tear them down with a dessert spoon... who am I to stand in her way?"