Chapter 121: The Insatiable Devil
Ana reached Clara’s recovery room just as the heavy tension inside seemed to reach a boiling point. She knocked lightly before pushing the door open, catching Jullian leaning impossibly close to Clara’s bed.
At the sound of the latch, Jullian straightened up smoothly, not a single trace of embarrassment on his face. Clara, on the other hand, was glaring at him with pure venom, her cheeks flushed with indignant anger.
"I’ll give you two some space," Jullian said smoothly, dipping his head toward Ana before shooting Clara one last lingering, possessive smirk. "Rest up, fiancée."
"Get out, Jullian!" Clara threw a box of tissues at him, which he deftly caught with one hand, winking before stepping out into the corridor.
The moment the door clicked shut, the anger drained from Clara’s face, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion.
"Ana..." Clara choked out.
Ana rushed to the bedside, carefully wrapping her arms around her best friend, terrified of pressing against Clara’s bruised ribs.
The two women held each other tightly, tears spilling freely as the terrifying reality of how close they had both come to death finally caught up to them.
"I thought I lost you," Ana whispered, burying her face in Clara’s hair. "When I got that video... I couldn’t breathe."
"You came for me," Clara sobbed softly, pulling back just enough to take in the delicate butterfly stitches along Ana’s cheekbone. Her gaze softened with deep worry. "Look at what they did to you... And Damian? Ana, is he going to be okay? The nurses said he took two bullets to the spine."
Ana quickly composed herself, swallowing down the bitter knot in her throat. To Clara, to the Sterling family, and to the entire world, Damian and Anastasia were a reconciled couple who had found their way back to each other after a brutal, public divorce.
Nobody could ever know about the humiliating, legal slave contract hanging over her head.
"He’s out of danger," Ana said, forcing her voice to remain steady and reassuring. "He’s awake, stubborn, and barking orders like he didn’t just come back from death on an operating table."
Clara exhaled a ragged sigh of relief, though her eyes narrowed slightly as she glanced toward the door.
"Good. Because between your husband and that arrogant idiot Jullian Montgomery, I’ve had enough hero complexes to last a lifetime. Do you know Jullian signed my emergency surgery form as my fiancé? The man is completely delusional!"
Ana couldn’t help a faint, weary smile, noting the genuine fury sparking in Clara’s eyes. "He was terrified for you, Clara. I’ve never seen Jullian look like that."
"He’s insane, that’s what he is," Clara huffed, crossing her arms carefully. "I’m not letting him drag me into his chaotic, privileged world."
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A few hours later, the fortified private transport rig was prepared to move Damian back to the heavy security grid of Northwood Estate.
Inside the spacious, custom medical cabin, the ride was silent and tense. Damian sat propped against the cushioned leather bench, his face pale and jaw clenched tightly as the vehicle navigated a slight bump in the road.
A sharp, involuntary wince crossed his features, his breathing hitching with raw agony as the movement pulled against the severed muscle near his spine.
Ana moved on instinct. Sliding onto the bench beside him, she gently placed one hand behind his uninjured shoulder and used her other hand to steady his chest, absorbing the vibration of the vehicle to ease the strain on his back.
Damian let out a low, raspy breath, leaning slightly into her touch.
Slowly, his obsidian eyes opened, taking in the deep, solemn worry etched across her face. Even through the haze of pain, a faint, mocking smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"What’s with that tragic face, Anastasia?" Damian rasped, his voice low and gravelly. "You’ll have to try a hell of a lot harder than an armed ambush if you want to get rid of me."
Ana didn’t laugh. She frowned deeply, her dark eyes dead serious and glistening with raw frustration.
"Don’t joke about that," she said, her voice tight. "You almost died."
Damian’s smirk faded into something far darker, far more intense. Reaching out with his uninjured arm, he caught the back of her waist, pulling her flush against his side despite the sharp ache it caused in his ribs.
He looked down into her wide, conflicted eyes, his gaze holding her completely captive.
"You’re going to be the death of me one day, Ana," he murmured, the dark timber of his voice vibrating straight through her chest.
Ana looked right back into his dark abyss, lifting her chin with quiet defiance. "Then next time, I’ll take the bullet for you. Just to return the debt."
A slow, dangerously amused smile curved Damian’s lips. His fingers tightened possessively at her waist, his thumb tracing a slow line against her hip.
"I can think of a dozen other ways I’d prefer to collect your debt, little doll," he murmured, his gaze dropping to her bruised lips with unvarnished heat. "None of which involve you bleeding."
Ana rolled her eyes, a sharp heat rising to her cheeks despite herself as she leaned back just an inch.
"You’re completely insatiable, Damian."
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The heavy mahogany double doors of the master bedroom at Northwood swung shut, enclosing them within the fortified heart of the estate.
Damian was settled against a mountain of firm pillows on the expansive king-sized bed, his broad chest wrapped tightly in fresh, sterile dressings.
The family’s private physician finished adjusting the portable IV stand beside the headboard, turning to address the room with a grave, professional demeanor.
"Mr. Sterling’s spinal trauma requires absolute stillness for the next seventy-two hours," the doctor explained, his eyes settling deliberately on Anastasia. "The surgical sites must be cleaned twice daily with antiseptic solution, and the drain checked every four hours. The oral analgesics are on a strict schedule. If his temperature spikes above 38.5°C, page me immediately."
Anastasia nodded solemnly, absorbing every single instruction while memorizing the sterile care kit placed on the nightstand.
Once the doctor bowed out and excused himself, Valerie stepped forward, her hands twisting nervously in the hem of her jacket.
"Ana, if you’re kept here under total lockdown, taking care of Damian’s medical needs alone is going to run you ragged," Valerie said softly, her eyes full of lingering guilt. "You shouldn’t have to carry this entire burden by yourself."
Across the room, Victoria caught her son’s eye. A brief, imperceptible nod passed between Damian and his mother... a silent, calculated agreement forged before they had even left the hospital.
Victoria smoothed the front of her tailored blazer and stepped toward the foot of the bed.
"Valerie and I will be staying on the estate grounds as well," Victoria announced, her tone smooth and authoritative. "However, to ensure you and Damian have complete privacy during his recovery, Valerie and I will occupy the suites in the west wing. You will have full household staff and security at your disposal, but the main floor remains yours."
A small, genuine breath of relief escaped Anastasia’s lips.
During their two-year marriage, his estate had felt like a desolate, suffocating fortress where Damian worked until midnight and left her to wander empty hallways alone. Knowing Valerie and Victoria were within reach softened the suffocating reality of the lockdown.
"Thank you, Victoria," Ana said softly, a faint, grateful smile touching her lips. "Truly."
Victoria offered a subtle, elegant tilt of her head. "Do not thank me, Anastasia. It was Damian’s decision to move the family into the estate."
Ana turned her head sharply toward the bed, her dark eyes widening with genuine surprise.
Damian lay motionless against the pillows, his chiseled features giving nothing away. The thought that he had intentionally arranged for his mother and sister to stay so she wouldn’t feel isolated struck an unexpected, confusing chord in her chest.
"Oh," Ana muttered, her voice dropping into an awkward, self-conscious tone as her cheeks warmed. She looked down at him, clearing her throat. "...Thank you, Damian."
Damian didn’t offer a single word of comfort. The intense, unreadable look in his dark eyes said enough, holding her captive under a heavy, suffocating gravity that made her heart skip.
Then, the fleeting warmth in his gaze abruptly froze over.
His brow pulled into a sharp, lethal line, his jaw setting with dangerous precision as his eyes cut coldly between Anastasia and his younger sister.
"Now that the living arrangements are settled," Damian rasped, his low baritone cutting through the quiet bedroom like a whip, "Anastasia. Valerie. You both owe me a full, precise explanation for how the two of you managed to create this entire catastrophic mess."