Chapter 137: The Devil And The Montgomery
The sleek black car glided through the wrought-iron gates of Northwood Estate the following morning, crunching over the crushed gravel driveway.
Inside the quiet cabin of the vehicle, the silence was suffocating.
Clara sat rigidly against the passenger door, her gaze fixed entirely out the tinted window as the towering pine trees blurred past. A sterile white bandage was still taped neatly along her collarbone, but her back was straight, her posture guarded and defensive.
Jullian Montgomery glanced sideways from behind the steering wheel. His sharp, calculating features softened just a fraction as he looked at her pale face.
"The private physician at the clinic assured me your concussion cleared," Jullian said, his voice measured and unexpectedly gentle. "If the road is too bumpy for your shoulder, I can slow the pace."
Clara didn’t turn her head. She offered only a cold, clipped murmur. "I am fine, Mr. Montgomery."
Jullian’s jaw tightened slightly, though his tone remained patient. "You don’t have to keep your guard up with me, Clara. You’re out of the hospital, the perimeter at Northwood is ironclad, and Vivian’s men won’t get within two miles of you here. You’re safe."
Clara’s hands tightened on the strap of her handbag, a bitter scoff dying quietly behind her closed lips.
Safe.
She hated the word, and she hated the towering, arrogant men who used it like currency. In Clara’s mind, men of wealth and power were all cut from the exact same cloth... predators who wrapped chains in velvet and called it protection.
She had only allowed Jullian to escort her because staying under his security detail was the fastest way to get to Ana and keep herself alive. Every polite nod she gave him was calculated survival, not gratitude.
The car came to a smooth halt in front of the grand stone steps of Northwood.
Jullian stepped out first, rounding the hood and opening Clara’s door before she could even reach for the handle. As she stepped onto the gravel, he instinctively hovered close, his broad frame angling to shield her injured side, his hand lightly brushing the small of her back to guide her forward.
Clara stiffened at the contact, subtly stepping ahead to break his touch, though she kept her face composed as they walked through the towering double doors.
Walter greeted them in the vaulted foyer, bowing his head respectfully. "Mr. Montgomery. Miss Reed. Please wait in the main living room. Mr. Sterling and his family are on their way down."
Jullian led Clara into the expansive drawing room, pulling out a plush armchair near the roaring hearth. "Sit. Rest before the meeting starts."
Clara swallowed an irritated sigh, sitting down only to avoid an argument. "I told you, I am not made of glass."
"You had a surgery forty-eight hours ago," Jullian countered smoothly, taking a watchful stance right beside her chair. "Pardon me for making sure you stay upright."
Before Clara could snap back, the sound of light, hurried footsteps echoed across the marble corridor.
Ana appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in an elegant cream cashmere knit and dark trousers, but the high collar couldn’t completely hide the faint edge of the dark bruise on her throat, nor could anything conceal the brilliant emerald-cut Sterling diamond sparkling on her left hand.
"Clara!" Ana gasped, the tense composure on her face shattering into raw, desperate relief.
"Ana!"
Clara stood up instantly, completely bypassing Jullian’s outstretched hand, and rushed across the Persian rug to throw her uninjured arm around Ana’s shoulders. The two women held on tightly, the suffocating terror of the docks and the past few days finally washing away in a quiet, shared embrace.
Clara pulled back fractionally from the embrace, her hands resting on Ana’s arms as she scanned her best friend’s face. Almost immediately, Clara’s sharp eyes caught the dark plum edge peeking just above the cream cashmere collar, before flicking downward to the unmistakable, heavy diamond glitter on Ana’s left hand.
Before Clara could part her lips to ask, heavy, measured footsteps sounded against the marble foyer.
Damian stepped into the drawing room.
He wore a tailored black charcoal shirt... buttoned carefully to conceal the fresh bandages wrapping his torso... and dark trousers. Though his stride carried an innate, predatory grace, the slight stiffness in his left flank betrayed the sheer physical toll of his wounds.
Jullian, leaning casually against the marble, broke into an easy, irreverent grin the moment he saw his associate walk in.
"Look at you, Sterling," Jullian drawled with a low chuckle, pushing off the hearth with his hands in his pockets. "Up and walking like you didn’t take enough lead at the docks to anchor a yacht. The private clinic rumor mill said you were practically holding your own ribs together with stubbornness and bad temper."
Damian didn’t offer so much as a polite smile. He walked past Jullian, coming to a halt directly beside Anastasia. With quiet, deliberate ownership, his right hand settled firmly on the curve of Ana’s waist, pulling her a fraction closer to his side as his dark eyes locked onto Jullian.
"I heal fast, Montgomery," Damian rasped, his baritone cool and unwavering. "And you talk too much. What did you bring?"
Jullian tossed a slim leather portfolio onto the low glass coffee table between them, settling back onto a nearby sofa.
"The offshore freight routes and corporate transit ledgers you asked for," Jullian said, though his lighthearted demeanor shifted into something more puzzling. "Though for the life of me, Damian, I don’t know why you’re suddenly pulling intelligence on the Sullivan syndicate. Logistics, high-end maritime shipping, and real estate are my sector... the underground arms and loan syndicates run in entirely different circles."
Jullian leaned forward, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"I tracked Vivian Stark’s logistics chain after the ambush, and it was obvious she was getting heavy financing and tactical muscle from some powerful backer. But finding out it traces back to Dante Sullivan? That’s outside my usual jurisdiction. Though," Jullian added, tilting his head with a faint shrug, "my old man did some shipping contracts with the Sullivan family years ago. If Dante is the one pulling strings behind Stark, I can call my father this evening and see what skeletons he can dig up on their operation."
Clara, who had remained standing rigidly near the armchairs, frowned deeply. Her arms crossed over her chest, the protective bandage beneath her blouse pulling taut as she looked between Jullian and Damian with sharp skepticism.
"Wait a second," Clara interrupted, her voice flat, direct, and layered with irritation. "Why are we sitting here talking about some syndicate head named Dante Sullivan? Vivian Stark was the one who planned the hit, hired the mercenaries, and dragged me to those docks to bait Ana. If she’s not dead, why are we pivoting to an entire crime family?"
Ana’s pulse spiked against her ribs. She kept her lips firmly shut, deliberately avoiding Clara’s probing stare. Neither she nor Damian could afford to utter a single word about the hundred-million-dollar Vance debt, her father’s fraudulent counterfeit collateral, or the reality that Dante Sullivan wasn’t just backing a petty vendetta... he was hunting Anastasia down to collect a blood contract.
Damian’s fingers tightened fractionally on Ana’s waist, an unspoken command for her to remain silent.
"Vivian Stark was a pawn who overplayed her hand," Damian replied coldly, his voice smooth, dismissive, and utterly devoid of telltale emotion as he looked at Clara. "She had a grudge, but she didn’t have the resources to breach Northwood estate’s outer grid on her own. Sullivan provided the hardware. Which means until I settle the score with the supplier, none of you leave this perimeter."
Clara’s brow furrowed in thought, her skeptical gaze drifting from Damian toward the large bay windows before snapping back.
"Wait... Sullivan?" Clara murmured, tilting her head. "As in Sullivan Global Enterprises? The conglomerate handling international asset management and corporate acquisitions downtown?"
She looked between Damian and Jullian, her tone genuinely curious.
"Is that the same family we’re talking about? Because about two weeks ago, their head recruitment executive reached out with a senior portfolio manager offer. I was actually seriously considering taking it."
Damian’s dark eyebrow slowly arched, a cold, dangerous flicker of incredulity crossing his sharp features. His hand remained planted on Ana’s waist as he leveled a look at Clara that could freeze molten steel.
"You work directly in the financial auditing wing of Sterling Enterprises," Damian rasped, his baritone dropping into a dry, lethal rasp. "And you’re standing in my living room, casually explaining that you’re shopping resumes with the head of a rival conglomerate?"
Ana instinctively held her breath, well aware of Damian’s zero-tolerance policy for anything resembling corporate defection.
Clara, however, didn’t flinch. She simply gave an unapologetic, indifferent shrug, crossing her uninjured arm tighter over her chest.
"The offer had comprehensive benefits, full autonomy, and the base compensation was forty percent higher than what Sterling Enterprises pays my bracket," Clara stated with complete, deadpan practicality. "I don’t play corporate loyalty games, Mr. Sterling. I work for numbers. If a competitor offers top dollar for my credentials, of course I’m going to look."