Chapter 223: The Devil’s Villainess Is Back

It was past two in the morning.

?The living room of Jullian’s penthouse was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the city through the sheer curtains. Clara was curled at one end of the massive sectional in oversized flannel, halfway to sleep, while Ana was resting her head against a mountain of throw pillows, staring absently at the ceiling as the wine buzzed pleasantly behind her temples.

?Ding.

?The sharp chime of the private elevator echoed through the quiet space.

?Clara instantly bolted upright, wincing as her sore ribs protested, her eyes wide with sudden panic. "Wait... did Jullian sneak back in?"

?Ana sat up, frowning as she grabbed an empty wine bottle by the neck, stepping off the couch. "He wouldn’t dare."

?The polished stainless steel doors parted with a soft hiss.

?Standing in the foyer was Valerie Sterling.

?She looked like a high-fashion hurricane. Draped in a plush cashmere trench over lavender silk pajamas, she was balancing a giant pink designer tote on one shoulder, an umbrella dripping onto Jullian’s pristine hardwood floor, and a massive brown paper grocery bag clutched in both arms.

?The three women froze, staring at each other.

?Ana slowly lowered the wine bottle, arching an eyebrow in utter disbelief. "Valerie?"

?"Don’t swing! It’s just me!" Valerie gasped, kicking off her damp designer mules with an exhausted sigh. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get an elevator code out of Jullian Montgomery’s building concierge at two in the morning? I practically had to threaten to unfollow him on Instagram."

?Clara rubbed her eyes, leaning against the armrest with a skeptical squint. "Why are you here? It’s past two."

?"I... well, Damian mentioned in passing that you two were having a girls’ night," Valerie said quickly, offering a dazzling, practiced socialite smile that was entirely too polished for the dead of night. She smoothed down her silk lapel, casually sweeping past them into the living room. "And honestly, I just couldn’t resist! Why should you two get to have all the fun while I’m stuck at the estate reading European trend forecasts? I decided to grace you with my presence."

?Ana crossed her arms over her chest, not buying a single syllable. A dry smirk curved her lips as she blocked Valerie’s path to the couch.

?"Nice try," Ana said, hazel eyes narrowing with playful suspicion. "Damian sent you, didn’t he?"

?"What? Damian? Please," Valerie scoffed theatrically, waving a dismissive hand. "As if my brooding brother can tell me what to do. I am an independent, self-motivated woman of culture."

?"You hate waking up before noon, Valerie," Clara pointed out from the couch, deadpan. "You don’t cross lower Manhattan in a rainstorm for ’culture’ at two in the morning."

?"Exactly," Ana agreed, taking half a step forward and shaking her head. "So turn right back around. No brothers allowed, and strictly no sisters-in-law allowed either. The door is that way."

?Valerie gasped, pressing a manicured hand to her collarbone in mock horror. "You’re kicking me out?! In the freezing rain?!"

?"Without hesitation," Ana teased.

?"Wait, wait! Hold your judgment!" Valerie pleaded dramatically.

?With the flourish of a magician revealing a grand prize, Valerie dropped the pink tote onto the floor and spun the giant grocery bag around, thrusting it into Ana’s view.

?Inside sat four pints of limited-edition Brooklyn artisanal gelato, three bags of imported truffle potato chips, a stack of gourmet Korean sheet masks, and a massive tin of warm, double-chocolate sea-salt cookies from a bakery that required a three-week waitlist.

?"I bring tribute," Valerie declared, her eyes wide and pleading. "Carbs, dairy, and pure saturated fat. Tell me you’re going to look these warm cookies in the eye and send them into the cold."

?Ana looked at the cookies.

?Then she looked at Clara.

?Clara immediately sat up straight, pointing toward the marble kitchen island. "Permission granted. Put the ice cream in the freezer and give me a cookie."

?Ana burst into laughter, shaking her head as she took the heavy bag from Valerie’s arms. "You are completely ridiculous, Valerie. But fine. You bought your ticket."

?"I knew the cookies would break you," Valerie beamed, flopping face-first onto the leather sectional with a groan of pure satisfaction. "God, Jullian’s couch is ridiculously comfortable. Someone pass me a glass before I pass out."

?The morning sun broke over the Manhattan skyline in pale, golden streaks, filtering through the blinds of the penthouse.

?The living room looked delightfully disheveled. Empty gelato tubs and chip bowls sat on the coffee table beside half-peeled packaging from overnight hydrating masks.

?Clara was yawning into an oversized mug of black coffee by the window, while Valerie was sprawled across the armchair, scrolling lazily on her tablet, still in her lavender silk.

?Ana padded out of the kitchen barefoot, holding a fresh mug of green tea. The warm, lingering comfort of a night spent laughing and teasing had left her looking brighter than she had in months.

?"Did Jullian’s high-tech machine finally cooperate?" Clara asked with a soft smile.

?"Barely," Ana smiled, sitting on the edge of the sectional. "It took three attempts to figure out the steam wand. Valerie, turn something on. Let’s see what morning traffic looks like before we have to face reality."

?Valerie reached for the sleek remote on the side table, casually pointing it at the eighty-inch media screen recessed into the wall. "Let’s hope there’s some mindless morning talk show to balance out my impending sugar crash."

?The screen flickered to life.

?It didn’t land on a lifestyle channel. Jullian’s default feed was set directly to Bloomberg Manhattan Live.

?The screen showed a bustling live exterior outside the Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse. A swarm of reporters, flashing cameras, and private security guards were packed tightly around the stone steps.

?The banner flashing across the bottom of the broadcast in stark, crimson capital letters made the air freeze in the room:

?"BREAKING NEWS: SPECIAL PROSECUTOR WITHDRAWS INDICTMENT AGAINST VIVIAN STARK — ALL CHARGES VACATED."

?Clara froze, the coffee mug stopping midway to her lips.

?Ana’s heart slammed violently against her ribs, the tea in her hands trembling.

?On the screen, the courthouse doors pushed open.

?Stepping out into the morning sunlight, wrapped in an immaculate white camelhair coat, was Vivian Stark. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves, her face radiant and completely unmarred by her weeks in federal custody. She walked down the steps with slow, arrogant grace, directly into the wall of flashing cameras, offering a serene, cold smile to the world.

?"Ms. Stark! Ms. Stark!" a reporter shouted over the microphone feedback. "Are you planning to pursue civil damages against the Sterling coalition?!"

?Vivian paused at the base of the marble stairs, looking straight into the center camera lens—her dark eyes piercing through the broadcast with chilling, venomous clarity.

?"I hold no grudges against those who were misled," Vivian’s smooth, melodic voice echoed through the penthouse speakers. "I am simply looking forward to returning to my rightful place in this city. Starting today."

?Beside the couch, Valerie dropped the remote onto the rug, her face draining of all color.

?"Oh god," Clara whispered, her knuckles turning bone white against her mug as the trauma of the docks came crashing back into her eyes. "She’s out."

?Ana sat completely still.

?The warmth from the tea, the lingering laughter of the night, the peaceful bubble they had built—all of it vanished, replaced by an icy, suffocating dread. Her hazel eyes stayed locked on Vivian’s smiling face on the screen, her breath turning shallow.

?Before anyone could speak, the elevator chime rang again.

?The doors slid open.

?Damian stepped out into the foyer, his overcoat damp with morning mist, his tall silhouette blocking the hallway light. Behind him stood Henry, holding two encrypted tablets, surrounded by three armed members of Sterling’s personal elite security detail.

?Damian didn’t look at his sister. He didn’t look at the mess of snacks on the table.

?His dark, lethal eyes cut directly across the room, locking straight onto Anastasia’s pale face.