Three days later, the war was still cold, but the atmosphere in the house was suffocating.

Julian was barely home. When he was, he treated Vesper like a piece of furniture that had been placed in an inconvenient spot.

"Thanksgiving," Julian announced over a breakfast Vesper hadn't touched. He didn't look up from his tablet. "Mother expects us at the Hamptons estate."

Vesper gripped her coffee mug. "I thought we were skipping it this year."

"Change of plans," Julian said, his voice tight. "Damon is back."

The name landed on the table like a dead bird.

Damon Sterling. The eldest brother. The head of the family trust. The man Julian was terrified of.

"I thought he was in Europe," Vesper said.

"He was. Now he's not. And when Damon summons, we go. It's mandatory for the trust disbursement." Julian looked at her then, his eyes critical. "Wear the ring. The sapphire one. And try to look... happy. Damon smells weakness."

"He sounds like a monster," Vesper murmured.

"He is," Julian said, and for once, he looked honest. "He's a psychopath with a checkbook. Don't speak to him unless he asks you a direct question. And don't touch him. He has... issues."

Vesper went upstairs to dress. She chose a high-necked, long-sleeved dress in a severe navy blue. It felt like armor.

She sat at her vanity, opening her jewelry box. Her fingers brushed over the velvet slots.

She paused.

Her diamond earrings. The solitaire studs she wore every day.

One was there. The other was missing.

Vesper's heart hammered against her ribs. She frantically emptied the small box onto the marble countertop. Necklaces, bracelets, rings clattered out.

No earring.

She checked the carpet. She checked her purse. She checked the bathroom floor.

It was gone.

A cold dread settled in her stomach. She must have lost it at the hotel.

If someone found it... no, it was just a diamond stud. It wasn't personalized. It couldn't be traced back to her. Could it?

But if Julian noticed it was missing, he would ask questions. He knew every piece of jewelry he had bought her—not out of sentiment, but out of inventory management.

"Vesper!" Julian shouted from the foyer. "We're leaving!"

She quickly grabbed a pair of pearl drops instead, shoving the lone diamond stud deep into a drawer. She slid the heavy sapphire ring onto her finger. It felt cold and heavy, like a shackle.

She walked downstairs to meet her husband, her mind racing with anxiety, unaware she was walking straight into the lion's den.

---

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.

---

Dinner was a torture session disguised as a meal.

The dining table was twenty feet of mahogany, laden with silver and crystal. Damon sat at the head. Julian was relegated to the side, halfway down.

Vesper was seated to Damon's immediate right.

It was a position of honor she didn't want. Every time she looked slightly to the left, he was there. A dark, looming presence.

"So, Julian," Damon said, slicing into his steak. The knife scraped against the china, a harsh sound. "I reviewed the quarterly reports for the entertainment division."

Julian paled. "The market is volatile, Damon."

"You lost twelve percent," Damon said. "In a boom year. It seems your attention is... divided."

Julian choked on his wine.

Damon turned his gaze to Vesper. "And you, Vesper? What do you do to contribute to the Sterling legacy?"

"She dabbles," Julian answered for her, wiping his mouth. "Charity. Garden parties. She keeps the house."

Vesper gripped her fork so hard her knuckles turned white. She wanted to scream. I wrote the song that is currently number one on Billboard. I am Iris.

Damon saw her hand. He saw the anger.

"She looks capable of more," Damon mused, swirling his red wine. The liquid looked like blood in the candlelight. "Perhaps she just needs... better management."

The double entendre hung in the air, thick and heavy.

A cousin, drunk on expensive chardonnay, piped up. "Is it true about Serena Sharp? The tabloids say she's pregnant."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Vesper took a long sip of water to keep from screaming.

Julian looked like he was about to faint. "Rumors. Just rumors."

Damon laughed. It was a dry, cold sound. "If she is, I hope the father has deep pockets. The Sterling Family Trust has a very specific clause regarding illegitimate children. They get nothing. And the parent who sired them gets cut off."

Julian dropped his fork. It clattered loudly onto his plate.

"Speaking of the Trust," Julian said, his voice strained. "Vesper has been... difficult. She's asking questions about the annual disbursement signatures. Delaying the process."

Damon raised an eyebrow. He looked at Vesper. "Is that so?"

Under the table, Damon shifted. His leg, solid and heavy, pressed against hers.

Vesper tried to pull away, but the table leg trapped her on the other side. Damon pressed harder, his knee wedging between hers, forcing her legs apart beneath the heavy tablecloth.

It was a violation. It was a game.

She stared straight ahead, her face burning. He was casually eating his steak while dominating her space, owning her reaction.

"I just want to understand what I'm signing," Vesper managed to say, her voice shaking slightly.

"A prudent quality," Damon said. He slid his foot up her calf, the friction of the leather against her stockings sending a shiver up her spine. "Perhaps Julian underestimates you."

"Vesper looks flushed," Julian noted, oblivious to the assault happening three feet away from him.

"Is the room too warm for you?" Damon asked, his eyes mocking.

"I'm fine," she managed to choke out.

"Good," Damon said. He released the pressure on her leg suddenly. "Because dinner is over."

He stood up. "Vesper, walk me to my car. I have a file for Julian in the trunk, and he looks... indisposed."

Julian was practically hyperventilating. "Yes. Yes, Vesper. Go."

Vesper stood up, her legs shaking. She followed Damon out of the dining room, away from the light, and into the dark.

---