Chapter 149: The Devil’s Bold Slave

​Damian’s eyes swept over the empty bottles, landed sharply on Valerie, and finally locked onto Anastasia, whose cheeks were glowing like spun sugar and whose robe had slipped precariously off one shoulder. A muscle in his jaw ticked with violent restraint.

​"Valerie," Damian growled, his voice pure gravel. "You gave her alcohol while the entire perimeter is on high tactical alert?"

​"Oh, lighten up, big brother," Valerie waved a dismissive hand, entirely immune to his terrifying glare as she stumbled slightly against the chaise. "We’re holding an emergency board meeting. Very serious stuff."

​Damian didn’t look at his sister for more than a second. His dark gaze bore directly into Ana, who blinked slowly up at him, entirely unfazed by his anger. In fact, a soft, rebellious smile curved her lips as she gave him a little two-fingered wave.

Damian’s nostrils flared, his chest rising in a heavy, furious breath... half enraged at her recklessness, and half maddened by how breathtakingly vulnerable and gorgeous she looked.

​Meanwhile, Julian hadn’t said a single word.

​His hazel eyes were locked entirely onto Clara.

​For the first time since he had met her, the sharp, defensive walls she wore like armor were completely gone.

Her hair was delightfully disheveled, her cheeks were dusted with a brilliant rose hue, and her lips were curved into a soft, carefree, unguarded smile that took the breath straight out of his lungs.

​Seeing the woman who usually carried the weight of the world on her shoulders looking so delightfully relaxed and unguarded struck Julian right in the chest.

​A slow, dangerously fond smirk tugged at the corner of Julian’s mouth as he pushed off the doorframe, stepping into the room.

​"Well, well," Julian drawled smoothly, his voice dropping into a low, velvet hum as his eyes drank in every inch of Clara’s flushed, defiant face. "Look who finally decided to let her hair down."

​"Don’t flatter yourself, Julian," Clara murmured, her words slightly slurred, though she couldn’t wipe the bright, carefree gleam from her eyes. "I’m only smiling because Valerie promised you’d buy me a port."

​"Done," Julian said without missing a beat, stepping closer. "Name the ocean, sweetheart."

​Before Clara could fire back, Damian closed the distance to the sofa in two long, lethal strides. Towering over Anastasia, he gripped her wrist, hauling her effortlessly to her feet and tucking her firmly against his side.

​"Party’s over," Damian commanded darkly, his voice brooking no argument as his arm locked possessively around Ana’s waist. "Upstairs. Now."

Before Damian could drag Ana out the door, the salon entrance was blocked by a formidable silhouette.

​Victoria Sterling swept into the room, impeccably dressed in a pearl-grey silk blouse, her sharp gaze taking in the empty Dom Pérignon bottles, Valerie humming off-key, and two towering men glaring like brooding storm clouds.

​"Must you two hover like overbearing guard dogs?"

Victoria said, raising an eyebrow with supreme aristocratic disdain.

"A little champagne never killed anyone. In fact, it has done wonders for the color in Anastasia’s cheeks."

​"Mother," Damian growled, his hand never leaving Ana’s waist. "There is a syndicate lockdown on this estate."

​"And there are three dozen armed men patrolling the perimeter so these girls don’t have to live in fear every second of the day," Victoria countered smoothly. She stepped forward, catching a wobbling Valerie by the wrist before she could take down a floor lamp. "Come along, Valerie. Let’s get you into bed before you embarrass what remains of our family dignity."

​Victoria paused, glancing pointedly at Damian and Julian. "Stop terrorizing them and see that they have water and rest. Do try to remember how to be gentlemen."

​With Victoria ushering a grumbling Valerie down the hall, the men took immediate charge.

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​In the master suite upstairs, Damian shut the door with a sharp kick of his boot and set Anastasia down on the edge of the sprawling bed.

​"Sit," Damian commanded, unbuttoning his cuffs with violent restraint before pouring a tall glass of cold water from the silver carafe. "Drink all of it. Now."

​Ana, however, was in no mood for orders. The champagne had stripped away every layer of her usual caution, leaving her eyes bright and dangerously playful. Instead of taking the glass, she leaned back on her elbows, her silk robe slipping further down her porcelain shoulder.

​"You’re very bossy, Mr. Sterling," Ana purred, a teasing, melodic giggle bubbling past her lips. "Does shouting make your bullet wounds hurt less?"

​Damian’s jaw ticked.

He set the glass on the nightstand with a thud, towering over her, his obsidian eyes burning with a lethal mix of irritation and raw hunger. "Anastasia, you are testing my patience."

​"Am I?"

Ana smiled up at him, entirely unafraid. As he leaned down to haul her upright, her hands shot out, catching the front of his charcoal shirt and tugging him down until his breath brushed her lips. Her fingers slid boldly up his broad chest, tracing the heat beneath the fabric.

"You look so gorgeous when you’re angry, Damian. Kiss me again... like you did last night."

​A dark, possessive growl vibrated in Damian’s chest.

His hands gripped her hips, pinning her beneath his towering frame as his control frayed to a microscopic thread. "You are completely reckless when you’re drunk," he rasped, his mouth hovering inches from hers. "And if you keep touching me like that, you won’t be sleeping a single wink today."

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Down the hall, Julian gently guided Clara into her guest suite, his arm wrapped securely around her waist to keep her steady as her heels caught on the plush carpet.

​"Easy, sweetheart," Julian murmured softly, catching her as she swayed.

​Clara leaned against the closed door, looking up at him through heavy, flushed lids. The sharp corporate armor she wore like a fortress was nowhere to be found. Her emerald eyes were unguarded, soft, and heartbreakingly raw.

​"You’re infuriating, Julian," Clara whispered, her words slow and slurred as her hand lifted, her fingers tentatively brushing against the sharp line of his jaw. "Why do you have to be so patient? Why can’t you just be the arrogant playboy everyone says you are? It would be so much easier to hate you."

​Julian froze at the delicate warmth of her touch, his breath catching in his throat. He covered her hand with his own, pressing her palm gently against his cheek, his hazel eyes darkening with deep, tender reverence.

​"Because I don’t want easy, Clara," Julian answered softly, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead. "I want you. Exactly as you are, scars and all."

​Clara stared at him, a soft, breathless sigh escaping her lips before exhaustion finally pulled her eyes shut, leaning entirely against his steady, unyielding chest.