Chapter 177: The Devil’s Woman Wants To Die

​The temperature on the sun drenched patio seemed to drop ten degrees.

​Vivian’s jaw tightened, her hands clenching into fists beneath the rim of the table. "She was with Damian," Vivian spat, a sharp, defensive tremor cracking through her polished facade. "They were together on the floor, Dante. He was touching her. Kissing her. I have waited years to watch Damian Sterling lose everything, and seeing her look at him like that... seeing them happy... made my blood boil. I took an opening. I wanted my revenge, and I wanted to see her suffer."

​Dante listened in absolute silence, not a single muscle in his chiseled face moving.

​When she finished, he leaned back, resting his intertwined fingers over his knee.

​"I took you in when the Sterling family had you hunted like a stray dog," Dante said, his voice dropping into a quiet, chilling rasp that made the hairs on her arms stand up. "I gave you safe houses. I gave you my resources, my funds, and my tactical men to fulfill your petty, dirty little wishes. And yet... in your pathetic, blinded hysteria, you dared to touch what is mine."

​Vivian’s breath hitched. A cold knot of dread formed in her stomach as the reality of her position crashed down on her.

​She had thought Dante only cared about the offshore vault codes tied to the Vance bloodline. But looking into those empty, merciless eyes, she realized the terrifying truth: Dante Sullivan’s claim on Anastasia wasn’t just a ledger entry. It was an obsession just as dark and unyielding as Damian’s.

​Dante leaned forward, placing both palms flat on the table, closing the distance between them until his shadow fell heavily over her face.

​"No one touches what belongs to me, Vivian. Not Damian Sterling, and certainly not an expendable ghost like you," Dante whispered, the cold finality in his voice leaving no room for negotiation. "So now you need to make a decision. Do you want to remember your place and obey my orders to the letter... or do you want me to tie an anchor to your ankles and feed you to the fishes before lunch?"

​Vivian stared back, paralyzed, the ocean wind carrying the terrifying, absolute certainty of his threat into the silence.

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

Julian felt the hair on the back of his neck stand entirely on end. The glare Damian was boring into his temple could have melted straight through reinforced steel.

​Ana, still insulated by the heavy haze of medication, shifted her head weakly against the pillow and let out a faint, wistful sigh. "Clara really has no idea how lucky she is to have someone like you in her life... while mine is just completely swallowed by bitterness."

​Julian swallowed hard, offering a strained, diplomatic nod that masked the genuine alarm sounding in his brain. While the flattery was undeniably satisfying, he knew staying in this room for another thirty seconds meant risking a bullet from his own employer.

​"Right," Julian laughed awkwardly, taking a half-step backward toward the heavy suite door. "I’m, uh... exceptionally flattered, Ana. Truly. But I suddenly remember I have about four dozen things that require my immediate absence."

​He reached the threshold, gripping the door handle, and paused just long enough to throw a parting grin over his shoulder. "Make sure to repeat every single word of that to Clara the moment you’re back on your feet, will you?"

​Julian offered her a swift, playful wink, yanked the door open, and slipped into the corridor before Damian could cross the room to strangle him.

​A soft, breathy giggle bubbled past Ana’s swollen lips... an innocent, girlish sound that seemed to shatter against the stone walls of the private room.

​A sharp, derisive scoff sliced through the air.

​Ana blinked, turning her head on the pillow toward the sound, her brow furrowing in genuine confusion at the suffocating storm rolling off the man beside her. "What?"

​Damian’s jaw was clamped so tight the tendons stood out along his throat, his dark eyes fixed on her with lethal, simmering resentment.

​The heat of his gaze suddenly jarred the fog in Ana’s mind. The fragmented memories of the club rushed back in a cold, startling wave: the agonizing constriction in her chest, the shattering glass, and then the heavy, crushing weight of Damian’s body slamming down beside her on the floorboards. She remembered the metallic click, the sharp, biting burn driven straight into her thigh, and the desperate roar of his voice commanding her to pull air into her lungs.

​He had saved her. Without a second of hesitation.

​"The shot..." Ana murmured, her voice thinning to a strained, raspy whisper as she searched his rigid face. "In the club... how did you have an auto injector so fast? How did you even know what was happening to me?"

​Damian didn’t look flattered. If anything, the question seemed to infuriate him even more. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back with a cynical sneer.

​"Because I know everything about you, Anastasia," he rasped, each syllable clipped and venomous. "And knowing what a walking catastrophe you are... how you attract ruin everywhere you step... I keep a specialized medical kit stocked in the car, in my primary office, and in every single estate I own. Every vehicle in my convoy carries an ampoule with your name on it."

​Ana stared at him, her hazel eyes widening in sheer, stunned disbelief. Her mind spun, unable to reconcile the ruthless syndicate head with a man who quietly stocked life saving countermeasures in every corner of his world just for her.

​"Why?" she breathed softly, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

​"What do you mean, why?" Damian shot back, his voice rising in dark, impatient exasperation. "If I hadn’t prepared for your complete inability to survive your own existence, you would have choked to death on that floor before Julian could draw his sidearm! You are a liability. You make me want to bolt the doors, weld the windows shut, and keep you locked inside a padded room for the rest of your miserable life."

​Ana quickly turned her face toward the far wall, unable to bear the accusing, furious blaze in his eyes.

​She felt an ache deep beneath her ribs... a hollow, desperate yearning for something he never gave her. She didn’t want the cold, clinical excuses about assets and contracts. She wanted the truth. She wanted to know what madness drove him to hold her like glass on a crowded dance floor, only to tear her apart with his tongue the moment she opened her eyes.

​The silence grew heavy, suffocating them both.

​Before her defenses could catch the thought, the raw, exhausted despair leaked past her lips.

​"Isn’t it better..." Ana blurted out, her voice barely a thread, staring blankly at the sterile wall, "...if I just die?"