Damian’s grip on Ana’s waist tightened violently, pulling her so hard against his flank that she let out a quiet gasp.
"Damian... you’re hurting me," she whispered, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What is wrong with you?"
Damian didn’t answer her. He didn’t even look down at her. His gaze remained pinned across the room.
Ana followed his line of sight.
Standing near the private lounge area, dressed in a sharply tailored charcoal suit, was a tall, blonde-haired man in his late thirties. He held a glass of scotch, his sharp, predatory eyes scanning the ballroom until they landed squarely on Ana.
The moment the man made eye contact with her, a slow smile spread across his face, and he raised his glass in a silent, chilling toast.
She had no idea who the man was or why he was looking at her like that.
Across the room stood Dante Sullivan. Damian’s reason for keeping her hidden all these years, had just walked into the room.
Ana looked up into Damian’s dark, storm-filled eyes, completely bewildered by the sudden, terrifying shift in his demeanor.
"Damian..." Ana whispered, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. "Who is he?"
"You stay right next to me tonight, Anastasia," Damian growled low, he pulled her flush against his chest. "You don’t take a single step away from my side. Not for anyone."
"Damian..." Ana whispered, her breath hitching as his fingers dug almost painfully into her waist.
Before Damian could pull her away, the tall, impeccably dressed man stepped smoothly out of the VIP lounge, cutting through the sea of tuxedos with effortless grace.
In his late thirties, with striking dark eyes, tailored silver-grey attire, and an easy, magnetic charm, Dante Sullivan didn’t look like a threat at all. To any outsider, he looked like high-society royalty.
"Damian," Dante greeted, his voice a smooth, cultured baritone. He offered a courteous nod before turning his gaze toward Ana, his eyes lingering on her with an appreciative, gentlemanly warmth. "And Ms Vance. It’s a rare pleasure. You look utterly radiant tonight."
Ana was caught off guard. Expecting a cold corporate rival, she instead met a man who treated her with gentle, refined deference.
"Thank you, Mr...?" Ana began, offering a polite smile.
"Sullivan. Dante Sullivan," he introduced smoothly, taking her hand and brushing his lips lightly over her gloved knuckles.
Instantly, Damian moved. He caught Dante’s wrist, his grip so violent the air in the immediate space went freezing cold. Damian stepped directly into Dante’s space, his broad chest blocking Ana entirely from the man’s view.
"Get your hands off my wife, Dante," Damian growled, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register that made nearby guests glance over in surprise. "Or I will break them right here."
Dante merely chuckled, smoothly pulling his wrist back without losing an ounce of his composure. He raised his hands in mock surrender, his sharp eyes glinting with amused malice behind his calm facade.
"Always so possessive, Sterling," Dante murmured softly, his gaze flicking back to Ana with a subtle, sympathetic tilt of his head. "A rose as delicate as yours shouldn’t be kept in an iron cage."
Ana looked between the two men, her mind reeling. Damian was practically radiating feral, aggressive rage... looking every bit the overbearing tyrant... while Dante stood calm, polite, and attentive to her obvious discomfort.
Damian isn’t protecting me... he’s hiding me. From this man?
Before Damian could snap Dante’s neck on the ballroom floor, Valerie appeared out of nowhere, flanked by two senior members of the Sterling Foundation board.
"Damian, thank goodness," Valerie interrupted loudly, her voice filled with exaggerated urgency as she grabbed her brother’s arm. "The board members from London just arrived. Mother needs you at the head table immediately to sign off on the endowment charter."
"Not now, Valerie," Damian snapped coldly, his dark gaze still fixed on Dante.
"It has to be now, Damian," Valerie insisted, her tone turning sharp and demanding as she tugged his arm. "The press is watching, and Mother is waiting. Surely your wife can survive five minutes without you holding her leash."
Damian hesitated, his jaw clenched tight. He looked down at Ana, his hand gripping her shoulder with brutal intensity. "Stay right here. Do not move an inch until I come back."
"I am not a child, Damian," Ana bit out beneath her breath, pulling her shoulder away from his heavy palm.
With a final, dark threat leveled at Dante, Damian was reluctantly dragged toward the main stage by Valerie and the board members.
The moment Damian’s towering figure disappeared into the crowd, the pleasant atmosphere evaporated.
Vivian Stark stepped out from behind a floral pillar, a crystal glass of champagne in her hand, her lips curved into a sharp, victorious smirk. She glided right up to Ana, her dark eyes gleaming with pure venom.
"Look at you," Vivian purred softly, standing beside a quiet, smiling Dante. "Playing the dutiful little wife while he parades you around like a shiny trophy."
Ana straightened her spine, her expression hardening instantly. "If you came over here to cause a scene, Vivian, I suggest you walk away."
"Oh, sweet Ana," Vivian chuckled, taking a slow sip of her drink as she leaned in close to whisper in Ana’s ear. "You really have no idea, do you? You think Damian’s choking grip on you is because he desires you? You’re so blind."
Vivian pulled back slightly, locking her poison-filled eyes onto Ana’s, her smile widening as she landed her deadliest blow.
"Damian keeps you trapped because he’s taking revenge on you, darling," Vivian whispered chillingly, every word dripping with precision. "He’s making you pay for what your father did to his father... framing him for fraud all those years ago. You aren’t his beloved wife, Anastasia... you’re his prisoner."
Ana’s eyes burned with cold, unyielding fire. She didn’t let her hand shake, nor did she let the blood draining from her face betray the sharp, sickening strike of Vivian’s words.
"Keep pushing, Vivian," Ana said, her voice dropping into a razor-thin whisper that cut right through Vivian’s smug composure. "Unless you want another slap in front of all these distinguished guests, I suggest you get lost."
Vivian’s smile wavered for a fraction of a second, her jaw tightening as her dark eyes flickered with genuine shock. She scoffed, taking a hurried step backward, but the threat was made.
Without waiting for a response, Ana turned on her heel and walked away.
Her heart hammered an erratic, suffocating beat against her ribs... Revenge. Framing his father for fraud. A prisoner. The words spun inside her head like a dark vortex, but she forced her spine straight and her chin high as she approached the polished marble bar.
"A dry martini, please," she requested calmly, resting one hand against the bar to steady herself.
While she waited for her drink, a few corporate socialites and foreign investors approached, offering polite greetings and flattering compliments about the success of Sterling’s recent brand initiatives.
Ana slipped effortlessly into her high-society persona, nodding gracefully and responding with practiced charm.
As the investors conversed around her, Ana caught a sudden movement in her peripheral vision.
Standing a few feet down at the bar, ordering a glass of bourbon, was Dante Sullivan.
Ana’s first instinct was to look away immediately. The memory of Damian’s lethal aggression and his tight, possessive grip on her waist echoed in her mind. She didn’t need any more trouble from him tonight.
Yet, as she subtly turned her head back, her dark eyes accidentally collided with Dante’s.
Dante didn’t smirk, nor did he make a predatory move toward her. He simply offered her a soft, respectful nod and a slow smile that... unlike Vivian’s venomous sneer or Damian’s cold, brooding scowl... felt remarkably genuine and warm.
It was the calm, gentle expression of a man who seemed to genuinely sympathize with her isolation.
Before Ana could process the strange comfort in his gaze, a tuxedo-clad waiter approached her side, holding out a small silver tray. Resting on it was a folded cream note.
"Mrs. Sterling?" The waiter bowed respectfully. "Mr. Sterling asked me to hand this to you directly."
Ana picked up the heavy cardstock, unfolding it carefully. Written in precise, dark handwriting were just a few words.
Meet me in the private garden area behind the ballroom. Now.
Ana sighed softly, her fingers crushing the edge of the paper. She was tired of his orders, tired of his iron leash, and deeply unsettled by the poison Vivian had just planted in her head.
But if she wanted to survive the night... and secure that promised day off from her contract... she had to obey.
She set her untouched martini on the bar and slipped through the grand French doors leading away from the noisy, crowded ballroom.
The air outside was cool and quiet, scented with fresh jasmine and rain. Ana navigated the path, her heels clicking softly against the stone as she walked deeper into the secluded, dimly lit garden courtyard.
"Damian?" Ana called out softly, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the evening chill.
"Looking for my brother?"
The voice came from behind the stone archway.
Ana spun around, her breath hitching. Stepping out into the dim moonlight was not Damian.
It was Valerie Sterling.
Valerie stood with her arms crossed over her sleek evening gown, her expression carved from cold, unyielding iron, holding a champagne flute between her slender fingers.
"Valerie," Ana said quietly, stepping back slightly as her guard immediately went up. "You sent the note?"
"I had to make sure you’d actually step away from him," Valerie replied coldly, taking a slow step forward until she stood just a few feet away. "We need to talk, Anastasia. And you’re going to listen."
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