Stripping For My Devil Ex Husband

The private surgeon arrived within fifteen minutes, setting his sterile tray on the mahogany side table of Damian’s master suite.

​Damian sat on the edge of the sprawling bed, his broad torso bare under the harsh light of the reading lamp. The atmosphere in the room was thick with sharp tension.

Damian had flatly refused local anesthetic, his jaw set in a rigid line as the needle pierced through his torn flesh, pulling the heavy sutures tight over his left ribcage.

​He didn’t flinch once. His obsidian eyes remained locked onto Anastasia the entire time, tracking every strained, nervous breath she took as she stood rigidly by the bedside, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

​"You’re remarkably fortunate the internal layer held, Mr. Sterling," the doctor muttered, snipping the surgical thread with a crisp metallic click. "A sudden physical strain of this magnitude could have ruptured the muscle wall entirely. What on earth were you lifting?"

​Before Damian could offer a sardonic reply, the heavy bedroom doors flew open.

​Victoria strode in, her refined features tight with genuine maternal panic, with Valerie trailing closely behind.

​"Damian! Walter said the wound tore completely open..." Victoria’s voice echoed through the room as she rushed to the bedside. "What possessed you to exert yourself when you can barely..."

​Her words died in her throat.

​Victoria stopped dead in her tracks, her sharp, aristocratic gaze sweeping from the fresh blood on Damian’s bandages straight to Anastasia’s flushed face.

​Standing in the harsh light of the bedside lamp, Ana’s high collar had shifted, leaving the fresh, dark plum bruise carved into the sensitive hollow of her throat entirely, undeniably visible.

​Valerie leaned around their mother, her eyes locking onto the vivid mark on Ana’s neck, then down to the heavy Sterling signet ring glittering on Ana’s left finger.

​A slow, devious smirk spread across Valerie’s face. The palpable, suffocating panic in the room dissolved instantly into pure, unadulterated mockery.

​"Well," Valerie drawled, crossing her arms with a theatrical sigh. "I suppose that answers the doctor’s question about the heavy lifting."

​Ana felt a sudden, scalding wave of heat rush from her chest straight to her ears. She instinctively pulled her collar up, but it was far too late.

​The surgeon, having cleaned the last of the iodine from Damian’s ribs, looked between the dark mark on Ana’s neck and the unbothered, smug glint in his patient’s eyes. The doctor cleared his throat, snapping off his latex gloves with dry, professional exasperation.

​"As your physician, Mr. Sterling," the doctor said flatly, packing his instruments into his leather case, "my official medical recommendation is that you two attempt to stop behaving like feral animals until the flesh actually knits together. Unless, of course, you enjoy having me stitch you back up every few hours."

​"I second the motion," Victoria chimed in, though the lingering shock in her eyes gave way to a knowing, elegant smirk as she turned to her son. "You have half the syndicate underworld gunning for your head, Damian, yet your greatest medical risk appears to be your own lack of basic self-control."

​Ana looked down at the Persian rug, ready for the floor to swallow her whole. "Victoria, I assure you, it wasn’t..."

​"Save your breath, darling," Valerie interrupted, grinning wickedly as she patted Ana’s shoulder. "We know our brother. When he finds a bone he likes, he simply refuses to let go."

​Damian didn’t look remotely sheepish. He leaned back against the headboard, his lips curving into an arrogant, unrepentant smirk as his uninjured hand reached out, curling his fingers firmly around Ana’s wrist and tugging her right back to his side.

​"The doctor is dismissed," Damian rasped smoothly, his dark gaze burning with absolute ownership as he looked up at Ana. "And the family can clear out. My nurse has a strict regimen to follow."

The doctor clicked his medical kit shut, offered a dry, parting nod, and quietly exited the room, closing the heavy mahogany doors behind him.

​The lingering amusement on Victoria’s face vanished the second the latch clicked into place.

​The aristocratic mother of the Sterling family stepped toward the foot of the massive bed, her posture rigid, her cool, evaluating gaze sweeping over her son.

Valerie, catching her mother’s sudden shift in energy, stepped back against the wall, her teasing smirk fading into watchful silence as the atmosphere cooled into absolute gravity.

​"Let go of her hand, Damian," Victoria commanded, her voice dropping to a low, authoritative register that brooked no defiance.

​Damian’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, but under the weight of his mother’s direct, uncompromising stare, his fingers loosened their grip around Ana’s wrist. Ana stepped back instantly, her heart pounding against her ribs as she clasped her hands together, keeping her gaze pinned to the Persian rug.

​Victoria walked slowly to the side of the bed, stopping directly beside her son.

​"Look at me, Damian," Victoria said, her tone steady and sharp as a scalpel.

​Damian met his mother’s eyes, his expression carved from unyielding stone.

​"You have forgotten who you are," Victoria stated, her voice quiet, firm, and layered with aristocratic authority. "You are the head of the Sterling empire. You arrived home two days ago bleeding from three fresh bullet wounds, barely conscious, yet the moment you open your eyes, you are tearing your surgical stitches open over a piece of furniture because you cannot exercise basic restraint."

​"Mother..." Damian began, his deep rasp tightening with warning.

​"Do not interrupt me," Victoria cut in, her words slicing clean through his defense. "I don’t care how passionate this reunion is, and I don’t care what business dockets arrived in the mail today. Your father built this house on discipline and calculated survival, not wild, reckless impulse. You are flesh and blood, Damian, not invincible. If you hemorrhage internally because you refuse to rest, the entire Sterling name sits completely vulnerable."

​She turned her sharp, discerning gaze onto Anastasia, making the air freeze in Ana’s lungs.

​"And you, Anastasia," Victoria continued, her voice devoid of cruelty, but dripping with cold, high-society pragmatism. "You are his partner. You are going to bear the Sterling name on that finger. Your duty right now is to keep this man alive and functional, not to indulge his feral ego while his body is literally holding together with nylon thread. If he breaks these stitches again, it won’t be on him... it will be your failure as his caretaker."

​Ana swallowed hard, the weight of Victoria’s aristocratic pride pressing heavily against her chest. The mother had no idea that a syndicate war was brewing, nor did she know that Ana was technically collateral bought for a hundred million dollars... to Victoria, this was purely a matter of preserving the dynasty’s pride and her son’s physical survival.

​Victoria turned back to Damian, leaning down slightly so her words fell like iron weights onto the mattress.

​"You will stay in this bed," Victoria ordered, her eyes unwavering. "You will not leave this suite. You will not touch work files, and you will not lay another hand on your wife until that surgeon personally clears you to stand without bleeding through your bandages. If you disobey me, Damian, I will have the house staff lock down this wing and place the estate’s domestic affairs under Valerie’s control until you act like a grown man."

​A suffocating silence settled over the master suite.

​Damian’s jaw was clamped so tight the muscle twitched under his skin. His obsidian eyes flared with cold irritation, but under the absolute moral weight of his mother’s command, he gave a single, rigid tilt of his head... a begrudging concession.

​"Good," Victoria said crisply, smoothing the front of her silk blouse. "Valerie, come. We’ll leave our head of house for his mandatory rest."

​Without another word, Victoria turned on her heel and strode out of the bedroom, Valerie following quietly behind her, leaving the heavy doors to click shut in a chilling, breathless quiet.