Reborn From Ashes: The Billionaire's Obsession

Cordelia gasped for air.

Her eyes snapped open. The cold, hard porcelain of the bathtub pressed against her spine.

The phantom smell of thick, acrid smoke from the warehouse fire choked her throat. She coughed violently, her chest heaving as she tried to expel ash that was no longer there.

She looked down.

Crimson-tinted water surrounded her pale legs. The metallic scent of fresh blood hit her nose, instantly replacing the imaginary smoke. Her heart pounded in sheer, unadulterated panic.

Her trembling fingers brushed against her left wrist. A shallow, bleeding cut stung sharply under her touch.

The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She recognized the black marble vanity and the luxurious fixtures. This was the guest bathroom of Damien Sterling's Manhattan penthouse.

She stared at the massive mirror above the sink. Her twenty-two-year-old face stared back, completely unmarred by the horrific burns that had ended her life.

Memories of Julian Carlisle locking the heavy iron doors of the burning warehouse flooded her mind. A visceral gag reflex seized her throat. She leaned over the edge of the tub, dry-heaving.

She gripped the cold marble edge of the tub. Her muscles shook with weakness. She pulled her shivering, wet body out of the bloody water, her bare feet slipping on the slick floor tiles.

A profound, crushing wave of guilt washed over her. In her past life, Damien had run into that inferno. He had burned alive trying to save her.

Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from the hardwood floor in the adjacent hallway. They were moving too fast, entirely lacking their usual measured rhythm.

The heavy oak door of the bathroom was violently kicked open. It slammed against the tiled wall with a deafening crack.

Damien Sterling stood in the doorway.

His broad chest heaved under a tailored charcoal suit. His dark eyes were wild, blown wide with absolute terror.

He stepped into the bathroom without a single second of hesitation. His expensive Italian leather shoes splashed directly into the bloody puddles on the floor.

Damien dropped to his knees beside her. His large, calloused hands were visibly shaking as he grabbed her injured left wrist.

He ripped the dark silk tie from his neck. He wrapped it tightly around her bleeding cut, pulling the fabric taut to staunch the blood flow.

Cordelia stared at his pale, terrified face. Tears welled up in her eyes. She could feel the violent tremor traveling up his arms and into her skin.

Damien's jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathered along his cheek. He let out a ragged, furious breath. His eyes burned with a dark, suffocating obsession.

"Pierce!" he yelled over his shoulder, his voice echoing off the tiles. "Bring the premium medical kit! Now!"

Cordelia weakly lifted her uninjured right hand. Her cold fingertips brushed against his tense jawline.

Damien flinched hard at her touch. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He misinterpreted the gentle gesture entirely, seeing it as a desperate plea for Julian.

He scooped her wet, shivering body into his arms. He ignored the dampness and the blood rapidly staining his crisp white dress shirt.

Cordelia rested her head against his solid chest. She could hear the deafening, erratic thud of his heartbeat against her ear.

He carried her out of the bathroom. His long strides quickly crossed the plush, thick carpet of the master suite.

He gently placed her on the exact center of the massive king-sized bed. His hands moved with agonizing care, treating her as if her bones were made of fragile glass.

The cold air conditioning of the penthouse hit her wet skin. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering.

Damien immediately grabbed the thick down comforter. He pulled it up over her bare shoulders, tucking the edges securely under her chin to trap the heat.

He turned his back to her to grab a dry towel from the nearby lounge chair. His spine was completely rigid, his broad shoulders tight with suppressed rage.

Cordelia watched his back. She opened her mouth, desperate to apologize for her foolish suicide attempt.

Her dry, raw throat only let out a pathetic, broken croak. She failed to form a single coherent word.

Damien spun around. His eyes were dark and stormy, resembling a violent ocean.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He warned her in a lethal, icy whisper:"Don't say his name. Don't you dare say Julian's name. If you do, I'll kill him with my own bare hands."

Pierce rushed into the master bedroom. He held a heavy, silver premium trauma medical kit in both hands.

The assistant stopped dead in his tracks. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of the bright red blood smeared across Damien's bespoke suit jacket.

Damien snatched the heavy kit from Pierce's hands. He didn't even bother to look up from Cordelia's pale face.

Damien barked a harsh order: "Leave. Now. Close the door behind you."

Pierce nodded quickly. He stepped backward and exited. The heavy mahogany double doors clicked shut, sealing them inside the silent room.

Damien dropped the kit onto the mattress. His hands were steady, but a muscle jumped in his jaw as he popped the metal latches open, his movements slightly jerky in a stark contrast to his usual controlled grace.

He pulled out antiseptic wipes, sterile gauze pads, and a roll of white medical tape with practiced, rigid efficiency.

Cordelia watched his tense jawline. Her heart ached with a profound, suffocating regret for her past blindness.

Damien carefully untied the ruined, blood-soaked silk tie from her wrist. He tossed the expensive fabric onto the floor without a second glance.

He ripped open a square packet. He pressed the cold, chemical-soaked antiseptic wipe directly against the shallow cut.

Cordelia hissed sharply in pain. Her body instinctively pulled back, sinking deeper into the soft pillows.

Damien's grip tightened instantly on her forearm. He held her arm firmly in place, his fingers digging slightly into her skin to prevent her from jerking away and causing further injury.

He glared down at her. His voice dripped with icy, biting sarcasm: "What's wrong? That hurt? For someone who supposedly wanted to die, you have got a remarkably low pain tolerance."

Cordelia bit her lower lip hard. She forced her muscles to relax, remaining perfectly still under his rough but necessary touch.

Damien's harsh expression softened for a microsecond. He gently, almost reverently, cleaned the dried flakes of blood from her pale skin.

He took a square of sterile gauze. He wrapped it carefully around her wrist, applying perfect, even pressure before securing it.

Cordelia took a deep, shaky breath. She mustered every ounce of courage she had left to explain her past actions and clear the suffocating air between them.

She opened her mouth. Her voice was raspy but clear: "Julian lied to me. About the corporate documents."

Damien froze completely.

The roll of white medical tape slipped from his fingers. It bounced off the mattress and rolled onto the hardwood floor.

The air in the massive bedroom seemed to drop ten degrees. His posture turned rigidly, terrifyingly hostile.

He slowly looked up. His dark eyes were filled with a violent, swirling storm of possessive jealousy.

Damien grabbed her shoulders through the thick comforter. He pinned her back against the tufted leather headboard with overwhelming force.

He snarled, his face mere inches from hers: "You are never leaving this penthouse for Julian Carlisle. Not as long as I have breath in my lungs."

Cordelia shook her head desperately. She tried to force out the words: "I hate him now. I want nothing to do with him--"

Damien cut her off. His voice cracked with a raw, suppressed agony: "You tried to kill yourself as a negotiation tactic? To get back to your lover? That is sick. That is sick, Cordelia."

He released her shoulders abruptly. He stepped back, stumbling slightly as if he had been physically burned by her proximity.

Damien turned his back to her. He ran a trembling hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, ruining the expensive cut.

He kicked the heavy wooden leg of the bedside table. The impact rattled the remaining medical supplies, a raw display of his explosive frustration. Cordelia flinched at the sudden violence, pulling the comforter tighter around herself.

Cordelia shrank back against the pillows. Her stomach plummeted. She realized her poorly chosen words had just triggered his deepest, most painful insecurity.

Damien marched toward the bedroom door. He didn't look back. He left her entirely alone in the center of the massive bed.

The heavy oak door slammed shut. The loud sound echoed off the high ceiling of the silent, cavernous bedroom.

Cordelia looked down at her left arm. The perfectly wrapped white bandage rested starkly against the dark silk sheets.

She traced the edge of the gauze with her right index finger. A bitter, self-deprecating smile formed on her dry lips.

She recalled the exact moment in her past life when Julian had handed her those forged documents. He had manipulated her into hating Damien with surgical precision.

She remembered Scarlett's fake, sugary sisterly love. That same love had ultimately led to her being locked inside the burning warehouse, gasping for air as the flames licked her skin.

Her hands curled into tight fists. Her fingernails dug painfully into her palms.

An unsettling calm replaced the vulnerable exhaustion in her eyes. The tears dried up instantly.

The sleek, modern intercom on the bedside table suddenly buzzed. The sharp electronic sound broke the heavy silence of the room.

Cordelia startled. She stared at the blinking red light on the black console.

She leaned over the edge of the mattress. She pressed the answer button with her uninjured right hand.

Nash's gruff, professional voice came through the small speaker: "Mr. Sterling, Scarlett Montgomery is in the lobby. She is demanding immediate entry."

Cordelia's breathing hitched. Just hearing that name sparked a pure, unadulterated hatred deep in the center of her chest.

Out in the hallway, Damien stood rigid. He glared at the wall-mounted security monitor displaying the live feed of Scarlett pacing in the marble lobby.

He pressed his earpiece and ordered: "Nash, throw her out. Physically. Onto the avenue."

On the security feed, Nash nodded visibly. The large man stepped forward, preparing to execute the physical removal.

Inside the bedroom, Cordelia pressed the intercom button again. Her voice cut through the secure line, clear and steady: "Nash, let her come up."

In the hallway, Damien stared at the intercom speaker on the wall. His jaw clenched in absolute, staggering disbelief.

His mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. He assumed Cordelia wanted to see her sister to receive secret messages or escape plans from Julian.

He punched the reinforced wall beside the monitor. His knuckles turned stark white from the impact.

Damien pressed the master talk button. His voice was laced with pure venom: "Nash, escort Scarlett directly to the master bedroom."

He turned his head and ordered Pierce, who was standing nearby: "Activate the hidden audio surveillance in the master suite."

He walked into the adjoining study. He left the connecting door open just a fraction of an inch.

Damien stood in the pitch-black study. He positioned himself perfectly to observe the bedroom bed without being detected.

Cordelia heard the sharp click of the intercom disconnecting. She knew Damien's paranoid nature. She knew he was likely watching her right now.

When the soft, melodic ding of the private elevator opening in the foyer echoed through the penthouse, her shoulders slumped. Her gaze fell to the sheets, presenting the very image of a broken, helpless woman.

She pulled the comforter up slightly higher, hiding the tense, ready muscles in her arms. Her enemy had arrived.