Chapter 9
"Are you prepared to remove the ring from your finger, Vanessa, or must I cut it from your hand?" Damon asked, his deep voice carrying a measured, lethal calm.
Vanessa flinched violently at the threat. She dropped her hands, her fair skin streaked with ruined makeup. She knew the stories of what Damon Sterling did to traitors within his syndicate.
"You can't do this!" Vanessa choked out, the venom returning as self-preservation took over. "My father is Victor Cross! He commands the entire southern seaboard! He will burn your empire to the ground if you humiliate me like this!"
"Is your father a man who fights battles for foolish, sadistic daughters?" Damon asked quietly.
"He will kill you!" Vanessa pleaded, reaching out to grasp the edge of a velvet sofa. "I am going to be your wife, Damon! We signed the contracts! You cannot back out now without causing a massive war!"
"Do you expect me to harbor a monster under my roof to appease a shipping magnate?" Damon asked.
He didn't wait for her to answer. He reached into his tailored jacket and retrieved a sleek, encrypted smartphone. He dialed a single digit and pressed the phone to his ear. The small artistic tattoo above his collar shifted seamlessly with the movement.
"Vincent," Damon said into the receiver, his eyes locked on his former fiancée. "Will you come to the salon and escort Miss Cross to the holding cells beneath the east wing immediately?"
He lowered the phone and looked at the broken socialite one last time.
"Have you finally realized the price of your ambition, Vanessa?" Damon asked softly, as the heavy mahogany doors of the salon burst open.
Vincent and another massive security guard in dark suits entered the room. They marched forward without a word, hauling Vanessa roughly to her feet. She shrieked, thrashing wildly against their iron grip, but they were unyielding.
"You will regret this, Damon!" she screamed as they dragged her backward toward the doors. "You will all burn for this!"
"Will you convey my deepest regards to your father when I send him the pieces of his syndicate?" Damon asked quietly, watching the doors slam shut.
May you like
The profound, ringing silence of the grand salon settled heavily over the remaining figures. The cascading crystal chandeliers continued to cast their warm golden light over the smoldering fireplace and the towering Christmas tree. The opulent space, designed for celebration, now felt entirely different—it was a war room.
Damon stood silently for a moment, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a slow, controlled breath. The betrayal was absolute, the upcoming syndicate war with Vanessa’s father inevitable, but the immediate, toxic sickness within his home had been surgically removed. Now, he had to secure his daughter and the woman whose child was fighting for her life.
