Chapter 189: Devil’s unknown Rumours

​Ana opened her eyes, letting out a weary, self-deprecating laugh as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

​"I thought getting out of the penthouse would make me feel normal," Ana murmured, rubbing her forehead. "Instead, these damn antibiotics are completely wrecking my system. They’re killing my appetite one minute, giving me waves of nausea the next... and yet, out of nowhere, all I can think about is a greasy double cheeseburger and an obnoxious, artificial strawberry milkshake."

​Clara stared at her, her lips parting in mild disbelief before a dry chuckle broke through. "A cheeseburger and a strawberry shake? At ten in the morning, right after being discharged for chemical inhalation? You’re certifiably insane, Vance."

​Ana groaned, hiding her face in her hands. "I know. The thought of coffee makes me gag, but cheap fast food sounds like heaven. It makes zero sense."

​"I’ll have an intern run down to the diner on fifth if you really want it," Clara joked lightly.

​Yet, as the banter settled, the teasing smile on Clara’s face slowly faded. She looked down at Ana... noticing the pale, exhausted hollows beneath her eyes, the unconscious way her hand drifted down to rest flat over her stomach, and the bizarre, sudden clash of acute nausea and hyper-specific food cravings.

​Loss of appetite. Sickness triggered by coffee. Cravings out of nowhere.

​A quiet, uneasy flicker ignited in Clara’s mind. She knew the medical nightmare Ana had endured two days ago, but this didn’t look like lingering toxins or routine post-trauma fatigue.

​Is she actually okay? Clara wondered silently, a sharp, unspoken question forming behind her guarded gaze. Or is something else happening to her body entirely?

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

Garry stepped into the thirty-fifth floor lounge, an area shared by senior IT and the digital marketing leads. The cold, mechanical hum of the server banks had left him jittery, and after handling the personal, encrypted hardware of the company’s ruthless CEO, he felt an inflated sense of proximity to the inner sanctum.

​He poured himself a fresh mug of dark roast at the espresso machine, leaning against the polished counter. Two junior sysadmins and an associate brand strategist from Clara’s team were already huddled around the high table, dissecting the sudden security lockdown from the weekend.

​"Did you actually touch his personal drive?" One of the sysadmins asked in a hushed tone, eyeing the secure badge clipped to Garry’s belt. "Henry usually has external contractors handle executive hardware wipes."

​Garry took a slow sip, a self-important smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He set his mug down with an intentional click.

​"Let’s just say things on the top floor might be shifting pretty drastically soon," Garry murmured, lowering his voice just enough to draw the entire circle in closer. "The ice prince might finally have to soften up his operational style."

​The brand strategist raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Damian Sterling? Soften up? The man fired an entire acquisitions team last quarter over a three-minute slide delay."

​"I’m serious," Garry whispered, leaning forward, unable to resist flaunting the explosive glimpse he’d caught on the mirrored display. "With that kind of family planning on the horizon, Sterling Global isn’t going to be run like a military camp much longer. Turns out even titans have to make room for a nursery."

​A sharp, collective intake of breath swept through the small circle.

​"Wait... are you saying Ms. Vance is..."

​"I didn’t say anything official," Garry interrupted quickly, suddenly realizing the sheer corporate liability of his loose tongue. He snatched his coffee mug, his chest tightening with sudden panic. "Forget I said a word. Seriously. If Henry hears this came from Systems, we’re all out on the street."

​He turned on his heel and hurried out of the lounge, leaving the three employees staring after him in stunned, wide-eyed silence.

​Within ninety seconds, the brand strategist pulled out her phone beneath the counter, her thumbs flying across an encrypted internal chat as the rumor ignited its first spark right outside Clara’s department floor.

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

"Forget the pitch decks for an hour," Clara said, stepping back into her private office and gently pulling Ana up from the sofa. "If you are craving a greasy cheeseburger and a strawberry shake after surviving chemical poisoning, you are getting one. Let’s go down to the lower plaza diner."

​Ana offered a tired, genuine smile, sliding her blazer back on.

​The two women stepped out into the thirty-fourth-floor corridor, heading toward the private express elevators. As they neared the junction leading to the technical operations wing, Clara abruptly stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing at a sudden flurry of movement ahead.

​Emerging from the elevator bank in a rush of heavy wool and frantic energy was Valerie Sterling. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her expression was etched with wild, desperate panic as she marched straight toward the secure IT doors.

​Clara grabbed Ana’s arm, pulling her slightly behind a pillar. "Isn’t that... Valerie? What on earth is she doing down here on the system’s floor?"

​Ana blinked, watching her sister-in-law vanish down the corridor, and slowly shook her head. "I have no idea. She looked terrified."

​Ana frowned, a sudden thought piercing through her brain fog. "Wait... Damian said he was having corporate tech pull a replacement for my broken phone and send it up. I was supposed to pick it up." She checked her watch. "Maybe I should just go up to Damian’s office after we grab lunch."

​"Right. Let’s get that burger in you first before you deal with high-tech corporate gymnastics," Clara urged, steering Ana toward the elevators.

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

​Meanwhile, Valerie had stormed past the security checkpoint and burst straight into the primary systems bullpen.

​Scanning the rows of glowing monitors, her eyes landed immediately on Garry, who was casually trying to wipe down his coffee mug at the sink.

​Valerie lunged forward, slamming both hands down onto Garry’s workstation so hard that he jumped back with a sharp yelp, dropping his sponge.

​"Where is it?!" Valerie hissed, her voice trembling with absolute terror, her chest heaving as she cornered the terrified sysadmin. "The phone! Anastasia’s phone! Where is the restored unit?!"

​Garry shrank back against the counter like a frightened stray cat, his eyes wide behind his frames. "I...I don’t have it! I gave it to Henry five minutes ago!"

​"Henry?" Valerie’s voice cracked in horror.

​"Yes! He took it straight upstairs! He’s on his way to Mr. Sterling’s office right now!" Garry stammered, raising his hands defensively.

​Valerie threw her hands straight up in the air with a sharp, ragged gasp of sheer disbelief.

​"We are all dead," she whispered to herself.

​Without another word, she whipped around on her heel, her coat billowing behind her as she sprinted back toward the elevators, ready to race the clock all the way to the top floor.

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

Damian stepped out of the executive lift onto the thirty-fourth floor.

​He told himself he was merely doing a routine walkthrough of the creative wing before the midday acquisition call, but his long, quiet strides carried him directly toward Clara’s strategy corner.

He wanted to see Anastasia. He wanted to verify with his own eyes that her breathing hadn’t faltered, that the color hadn’t drained from her lips, that she wasn’t collapsing under the corporate glare.

​Yet, as he approached the glass-walled marketing bullpen, her seat was empty.

​Clara was nowhere to be seen, and Anastasia’s jacket was gone from the chair. What Damian did find was an eerie, electric tension rippling across the entire floor. Groups of junior copywriters and analysts were huddled over partitions, their heads bent in frantic, hushed whispers that abruptly died the instant the CEO’s imposing shadow crossed the threshold.

​A few feet away, Marcus stood near the communal printer, holding a stack of briefs with a deeply sour, irritated scowl carved into his face... clearly put out by Ana’s absence or the rising tide of office gossip. Damian caught the man’s bitter expression, and a dark, vicious flicker of satisfaction warmed his chest.

Seeing Marcus look utterly miserable in Ana’s orbit was always a welcome sight.

​"Mr. Sterling."

​Henry stepped into the corridor, perfectly composed as always, matching Damian’s pace. From his breast pocket, Henry produced the pristine, unblemished replacement phone, its sleek screen still dormant and dark, and offered it to his employer.

​"Garry completed the initialization," Henry reported in a low, measured voice. "The backup has been fully restored and sealed. Also, building security just flagged an alert at the private garage gates. Miss Valerie has arrived at the tower and was seen heading toward the IT system’s wing."

​Damian took the cold metal slab into his hand, his dark brows drawing together in sharp confusion. "Valerie? What on earth is she doing here? She never sets foot in a corporation unless she needs her credit limit raised."

​Before Henry could respond, heavy footsteps echoed down the adjacent corridor.

​Nathaniel Sutton... a veteran board member and key institutional shareholder... rounded the corner holding a leather folio. The silver-haired executive was known for keeping a stiff, strictly professional distance from Damian’s volatile corporate reign.

​Today, however, Nathaniel had a wide, jovial grin spread across his face.

​"Damian!" Nathaniel boomed, closing the distance with an uncharacteristic, almost conspiratorial warmth. He clapped a hand onto Damian’s shoulder with a familiarity no living executive had dared to attempt in years.

​Damian’s frame went dead-still beneath the touch, his obsidian eyes turning arctic.

Did he just call me by my name?