Chapter 184: The Devil Is A Creep?

Victoria sat on the low velvet sofa, her posture impeccably straight, delicately holding a fine porcelain cup of herbal tea. Valerie was curled up at the opposite end of the couch, shoes kicked off, scrolling lazily through her tablet.

​"You need to start taking your future seriously, Valerie," Victoria said, her tone carrying the crisp, polished authority of a woman who had navigated high-society boardrooms and family empires for decades. "You cannot simply coast through life on your brother’s corporate dividends and private security detail forever. The corporate world is cutthroat, and you need something tangible that belongs solely to you."

​Valerie twirled a lock of hair around her index finger, flashing an impish, theatrical grin. "Actually, Mother, I’ve given it extensive thought. I’m thinking of going into modern astrology. Maybe high-end fortune telling. Seriously, Wall Street executives pay thousands just to hear someone in silk robes tell them Mercury is in retrograde before a merger. It’s pure profit."

​Victoria gasped in mock horror, placing her teacup onto its saucer with an indignant clink. "All those private tutors? A four-year degree from Columbia, and you want to reinvent yourself as a boutique con artist?"

​Victoria leaned across the cushions and gave her daughter’s shoulder a sharp, affectionate nudge.

​Valerie giggled, knocking her mother’s hand away. "Hey, extracting wealth from gullible billionaires is basically the Sterling family legacy, isn’t it..."

​A sharp digital chime cut through her sentence, vibrating insistently against her hip.

​"Hang on, Julian probably finally forwarded the press statements," Valerie mumbled, digging her hand into the deep pocket of her oversized coat.

​She pulled out the sleek black device, intending to flick through her notifications. But the moment the glass display lit up, her brow knit together. The lock screen was set to an understated photograph of the Hudson River at sunrise.

​It wasn’t her phone.

​In the chaotic rush at Nocturne... when the paramedics were cutting open Anastasia’s clutch and barking orders into their radios... Valerie had scooped up Ana’s personal effects and shoved them into her coat. She had completely forgotten it was still in her pocket.

​Valerie went to turn the screen off, but the bright banner notification had already dropped down from the top edge of the display.

​A vibrant rose-and-white icon was pulsing beside clear, unmistakable text.

​Cycle Tracker Alert.Periods is four weeks late. High probability. Please log your symptoms or take an at-home test.

​Valerie froze. Her jaw dropped, her gaze locked onto the words on the screen as the blood rushed entirely out of her face.

​Four weeks. A full month.

​"Oh, shit," Valerie blurted out, her voice cracking in the quiet living room.

Victoria frowned, her teacup rattling against the delicate saucer as her sharp gaze snapped toward her daughter.

​"Valerie, language," Victoria scolded, her brow furrowing with aristocratic disapproval. "What on earth happened? Why are you staring at your screen like the entire world just went on strike?"

​Valerie’s fingers twitched around the cold glass. Her heart hammered against her ribs, panic flashing across her wide eyes. This wasn’t her secret to spill.

She had no right to broadcast something so fragile, so terrifyingly unconfirmed... especially not to Victoria Sterling, who could turn a whisper into a boardroom campaign before sunrise.

​"Nothing," Valerie stammered, forcing a clumsy, nervous laugh as she quickly tilted the screen toward her chest. "It’s... it’s nothing, Mom. Just a stupid social media update."

​Victoria didn’t buy it for a fraction of a second. Her posture straightened, her keen eyes narrowing into a piercing, no-nonsense squint that had made seasoned chief executives wilt under pressure.

​"Don’t play games with me, Valerie," Victoria warned, her tone dropping into a cool, dangerous register. "I know that look. You don’t pale like a ghost over an Instagram caption. What are you hiding from me?"

​Valerie swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably against the velvet cushions. "It’s not about me, okay? It’s... it’s about someone else. A private matter."

​Victoria’s gaze sharpened, tracking Valerie’s defensive posture until her eyes landed squarely on the sleek device clutched in her daughter’s grip. She recognized the understated leather casing instantly.

​"Wait a moment," Victoria said, her chin lifting as the dots connected with lethal speed. "The phone in your hand... that belongs to Anastasia, doesn’t it? So this is about her."

​Realizing she had walked directly into a trap, Valerie instantly shoved the phone deep into her coat pocket, knowing full well that trying to outmaneuver her mother was like trying to outswim a shark.

​"I’m starving," Valerie blurted out, scrambling to her feet so fast she nearly tripped over the edge of the low coffee table. "I’m going to raid the kitchen for snacks. Don’t wait up, Mom!"

​Without waiting for permission, she turned on her heel and practically bolted down the wide hallway toward the kitchen island, disappearing around the marble corner in a blur of nervous energy.

​Victoria sat entirely still on the velvet sofa, her teacup held halfway to her lips as she watched Valerie’s frantic retreat.

​The silence settled back over the sprawling, living room. A cold prickle of unease brushed the back of Victoria’s neck, recalling the hollow, fatalistic look in Damian’s eyes outside the hospital room, followed by Valerie’s sheer panic just now.

​Victoria set the teacup down on the side table, letting out a long, weary sigh that seemed to drain the air from her chest.

​"I hope to God," she murmured to the empty room, her eyes drifting toward the shadows of the staircase, "this isn’t another disaster waiting to blow this family apart."

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

Damian’s eyes opened slowly, dragging himself from the deepest, most undisturbed sleep he had known in months.

​Faint slivers of twilight bled through the sheer drapes of the master suite, painting the ceiling in soft shades of bruised violet and amber. The quiet in the room was absolute, broken only by the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of the small weight pressed firmly against his side.

​He glanced down.

​Anastasia was curled completely against his broad chest, her cheek pillowed over his heart, one arm slung loosely over his ribcage. She had burrowed beneath the duvet like a cat seeking heat, her body warm, soft, and entirely defenseless in slumber.

​Without moving his torso, Damian lifted a hand, his calloused thumb gently brushing the delicate swell of her cheek. The feverish pallor from the poison was gone, replaced by a healthy, natural flush.

He trailed his fingers down to the curve of her throat, feeling the steady, unobstructed flutter of her pulse beneath smooth skin. The violent swelling had fully subsided. The bruising from the harsh medical tubes was fading.

​She was healing.

​As his thumb lingered over her jawline, Ana stirred. Her dark lashes fluttered, parting slowly to reveal sleepy hazel eyes, heavy and unfocused in the dim dusk.

​She blinked once, twice, realizing his dark, hooded gaze had been studying her every feature.

​"Why are you staring at me?" She murmured, her voice thick and raspy from sleep, though a small, teasing spark flickered behind her words. "It’s rude and completely creepy. Are you a creep now, Mr. Sterling?"

​A low, dry chuckle rumbled deep in Damian’s chest, the vibration humming directly against her cheek.

​"You practically dragged me into this bed by my collar, spent the entire afternoon using my body as your personal heating blanket, and suddenly I’m the creep?" Damian countered smoothly, one dark brow arching in dry amusement. "Good going, Ms. Vance. Masterful spin."

​A blush bloomed across Ana’s cheeks. Reality rushed back in, and a sudden wave of self-consciousness made her squirm. She pressed her palms against his chest, attempting to push herself backward to put some distance between them.

​"I was delirious..."

​Before she could retreat an inch, Damian’s large arm snapped around her waist, locking her in place. With effortless, unyielding strength, he hauled her flush against his hard frame, eliminating every millimeter of space.

​"Too late to retreat," he growled low in his throat.

​He cupped the nape of her neck, his long fingers tangling fiercely into the soft waves of her hair, tilting her head back as he claimed her mouth.

​There was no hesitation this time, no cold restraint. His lips came down on hers with dark, starving hunger... a desperate, possessive claim.

​A quiet, helpless moan caught in Ana’s throat, vibrating straight into his mouth. Damian drank it in greedily, his tongue parting her lips to explore and consume every inch of her warmth, his grip in her hair tightening just enough to make her pulse race. The heat between them flared instant and consuming, burning away the lingering chill of hospital wards and near-fatal toxins.

​The kiss deepened until Ana’s head spun, her lungs crying out for oxygen.

​She placed her hands firmly against his broad shoulders and pushed, breaking the contact with a ragged, breathy gasp.

​Strands of hair fell across her flushed face as her chest heaved against his, her lips swollen and damp, hazel eyes wide and shining in the twilight as she struggled to catch her breath.