Chapter 4 No.4

The Sterling estate in the Hamptons was less a house and more a fortress built to keep the poor out and the secrets in.

Rain had started to fall as the limo pulled up the long gravel driveway. The sky was a bruised purple, matching the mood in the car.

Julian was sweating. He kept checking his reflection, wiping invisible smudges from his face.

"Remember," he hissed as the driver opened the door. "Smile. Nod. Don't be your usual depressing self."

Vesper took his arm. His grip was tight, painful.

They entered the Grand Hall. It was cavernous, filled with aunts, cousins, and business associates. The air buzzed with polite, venomous chatter.

As they walked in, the room went silent.

It wasn't because of them.

Everyone was looking at the grand staircase.

A man was descending.

He was wearing a black tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. He moved with a predatory grace, silent and commanding.

Vesper's heart stopped.

It was him.

The sharp jawline. The dark hair. The eyes that looked like they could cut glass.

It was the man from the hotel.

The man she had tipped three hundred dollars.

Damon Sterling.

The world narrowed down to a tunnel. Vesper felt dizzy. She had slept with Julian's brother. She had slept with the head of the family.

She wanted to run. She wanted to vomit.

Damon reached the bottom of the stairs. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea. He didn't look at anyone. He looked bored.

Until his eyes landed on her.

For a second, his gaze held hers. There was no shock. No surprise. Just a cold, calculating flicker of recognition that was gone as quickly as it appeared. It was a look of ownership.

Julian dragged her forward. "Damon. Welcome back."

Damon looked at Julian with open disdain. "Julian. You look... tired."

"Work," Julian stammered. "The merger..."

"We'll discuss your failures later," Damon said smoothly. He turned his gaze to Vesper.

Vesper felt like a butterfly pinned to a board.

"And this must be the wife," Damon said. His voice was deep, vibrating in her chest.

"Vesper," Julian said. "This is Vesper."

Julian nudged her. "Shake his hand, Vesper."

Vesper reached out, her hand trembling.

Damon didn't move his hand. He was wearing black leather gloves. He looked at her outstretched hand, then back at her face.

"I don't shake hands," Damon said, his voice flat.

The rejection was public and humiliating. The room seemed to hold its breath.

"Of course," Julian said quickly, flushing. "I forgot. The... condition."

"But," Damon continued, his voice dropping an octave. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. To the onlookers, it looked like intimidation.

He leaned down, ostensibly to inspect the pearls in her ears. His face was inches from hers. She could smell the woodsmoke and rain.

"You owe me three hundred dollars," he whispered, his breath ghosting over her skin.

He pulled back. A small, cruel smirk played on his lips.

Vesper stood frozen, her blood roaring in her ears, staring into the eyes of the devil himself.