"Did I tell you to sit?"
Anastasia raised her eyebrows, refusing to back down despite the sweat breaking out on her palms. "The butler brought me down here to have breakfast with you."
"Then I am sure there must be a misunderstanding on your part," Damian purred, leaning back slightly in his chair. His gaze was entirely unyielding, projecting a terrifying, ruthless authority. "In my house, everyone does exactly what I tell them to do. So, if I tell you to sit... only then will you sit."
Anastasia frowned deeply, her temper flaring. She was ready to throw a complete fit. She leaned against the back of the chair, glaring at him. "Oh, really? Then let me ask you something. Does undressing me while I am unconscious also come at your will? Without my consent?"
Damian didn’t even blink at her accusation. His face remained a mask of pure, untouchable control.
"I did that because it was necessary," he replied coldly, his voice entirely devoid of remorse. "You were literally half dead yesterday, soaking wet and burning up. If I hadn’t changed you, you would be in a hospital right now. You should be thanking me, Ana."
As he spoke, his dark eyes slowly dragged down her body, taking her in with a heavy, deliberate scan.
The designer dress he had instructed his butler to provide was the exact size she used to wear two years ago. But as his eyes traced the fabric, his brow twitched almost imperceptibly.
The dress looked noticeably baggy on her now. Her collarbones were too sharp, her waist too thin. She had shrunk under the weight of her poverty.
The ruthless edge in his eyes hardened.
"Now," Damian commanded, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Sit."
Anastasia gritted her teeth in pure anger. Her knuckles turned white against the expensive wood of the chair. But her body was still weak, her stomach was empty, and she knew she couldn’t fight him on an empty stomach. Reluctantly, she pulled the chair out further and sat down.
Damian watched her submission with a cold, dark flash of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Eat," he ordered flatly, gesturing to the feast before her.
Anastasia stared at the lavish spread, her appetite suddenly vanishing despite the hollow ache in her stomach. She picked up a fork, poking at a piece of fruit just to give her hands something to do.
"I don’t want your food, Damian," she whispered, her voice tight. "I want my clothes, I want my shoes... and I want to go back to my home."
Damian didn’t even pause. He took a slow sip of his black coffee, the dark liquid contrasting sharply with the pristine white porcelain. When he set the cup down, the soft clink echoed like a gavel in the silent room.
"You aren’t going back to that filth, Ana," he said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "You’re done living in that godforsaken state. Today, you will call every single one of those pathetic establishments you work for and quit."
Anastasia’s fork clattered against her plate. She bolted upright, her chair screeching harshly against the hardwood floor.
"Quit?" She echoed, her voice rising in disbelief. "Are you insane? Those jobs are how I pay my rent! They are how I buy my food and pay my medical bills! I spent two years building a life away from you, and I am not throwing it away because you felt like playing dictator this morning!"
Damian didn’t flinch. He didn’t even look surprised by her outburst. He simply leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his massive chest throwing a shadow over her side of the table.
"You call that a life?" he mocked, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, dark intensity. "You are starving yourself to death in a damp apartment, working eighteen hours a day for pennies. You are coming back to Manhattan. With me. Where I can keep an eye on my investment."
"No!" Ana shouted, her chest heaving as she glared across the table at her ruthless ex husband. "I am not your wife anymore, Damian! You can’t just order me around and force me to move back to the city! I refuse!"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Anastasia braced herself, expecting him to snap, to let out the violent fury she knew he possessed.
Instead, Damian did something far worse. He let out a low, dark chuckle.
"You refuse?" He purred, a predatory smile slowly stretching across his handsome face. "You think you’re in a position to negotiate, Ana? Look at you. You can barely stand on your own two feet, yet you’re trying to bite the hand that just kept you from collapsing on the pavement."
He leaned back, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. The sudden shift in his demeanor made a cold shiver run down Ana’s spine.
"I was being exceptionally kind to you this morning, Ana," Damian continued, his voice dropping to a smooth, lethal purr. "Because despite your little tantrum, I actually have an alternative for you. An offer, if you will."
Ana narrowed her eyes, her body tense. "What kind of offer?"
"An offer to settle your entire one hundred million dollar debt," Damian said, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute, unyielding possession. "And you will be completely free of me in exactly one year."
"One year?"
Anastasia whispered the words, a harsh, disbelieving laugh escaping her lips. She slowly lowered herself back into her chair, her eyes narrowed in deep suspicion.
"One hundred million dollars paid off in a single year? Don’t make me laugh, Damian. I know you. You don’t do charity unless there is something massive for you to gain. What’s the catch?"
Damian’s dark eyes glinted with cold amusement at her sharp reaction.
"There is no catch, Ana. It is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to finally taste the freedom you’ve been crying for," he murmured, his voice dropping to a smooth, seductive purr.
He leaned forward, resting his large hands on the marble table. "But you are correct about one thing. I am a businessman. I do not do charity."
Ana braced herself, her knuckles turning white against the edge of the table. "Then name your price. What do I have to do?"
Damian’s gaze locked onto hers, heavy, dark, and completely unyielding. The temperature in the room seemed to drop instantly.
"You will sign a new contract," Damian commanded flatly. "For the next three hundred and sixty-five days, you will be my slave."
Anastasia’s breath choked in her throat. "What?"
"You heard me," he continued, his tone chillingly calm, completely devoid of any mercy. "Whatever I demand of you, whenever I demand it, you will obey without question. There will be no boundaries involved. No limits. Pure, absolute submission to my will. You will give me your body, your time, and your complete obedience. In exchange, every single cent of your debt is wiped clean the moment the clock strikes midnight on the final day."
He tilted his head, watching the color drain entirely from her face.
"So tell me, Ana," Damian whispered, a lethal, predatory smile stretching across his lips. "Are you ready to serve your Devil?"
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