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.

---

The rain was coming down in sheets now, drumming against the roof of the portico.

Damon dismissed the valet with a sharp wave of his hand. A sleek, black Aston Martin DB11 sat waiting, its engine purring like a trapped beast. It was a driver's car, not a passenger's.

He turned to Vesper. The polite facade was gone. He looked dangerous.

"You left in a hurry," he said, his voice low, cutting through the sound of the rain.

Vesper crossed her arms, shivering in the damp air. "I didn't know who you were."

"And if you did?" He stepped closer. He smelled of the rain and that intoxicating woodsmoke scent.

"I... it was a mistake," Vesper whispered, her voice trembling. "I wasn't myself. The champagne..."

Damon chuckled. This time, it sounded genuine. "You have a terrible poker face for a liar."

He noticed her shivering. Without a word, he took off his tuxedo jacket. He draped it over her shoulders. It was heavy, warm, and smelled entirely of him.

"Get in," he ordered.

"My husband is inside," Vesper argued weakly.

"Your husband is a coward who is currently trying to figure out how to hide a baby from me. Get in."

Vesper hesitated, then opened the passenger door and slid onto the leather.

Damon got into the driver's seat. The heavy doors sealed them in. The silence returned, intimate and terrifying.

He turned to her. The dashboard lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the scar on his cheekbone.

"Why did you leave the money?" he asked.

Vesper looked out the window at the rain. "To make it a transaction. Transactions are clean. Emotions are messy."

Damon leaned over. He was close. Too close. He reached out and took her left hand.

His grip was iron. He wasn't wearing gloves now. His skin burned hers.

"I don't do clean," he whispered. "And I don't do married women. Usually."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object. He pressed it into her palm.

Her diamond earring.

"I found this in the sheets," he said.

Vesper stared at the diamond in her hand. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet."

His thumb brushed over the sapphire ring on her finger. The Sterling heirloom.

"You want a transaction?" Damon asked. "Fine."

Before she could react, he gripped the sapphire ring. With a smooth, forceful tug, he slid it off her finger.

"Hey!" Vesper gasped, trying to pull her hand back.

Damon held the ring up. "Collateral."

"Give it back," she demanded. "Julian will kill me."

"Let him try," Damon said darkly. He pocketed the ring. "Divorce him, Vesper."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command.

"Or what?" she whispered.

"Or I will make your life very complicated." He leaned in, his lips inches from hers. "I want my three hundred dollars back. But not in cash."

He unlocked the doors.

"Get out. Before I change my mind and take you with me."

Vesper scrambled out of the car, clutching his jacket around her, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She watched the taillights of the Aston Martin disappear into the rain, her finger feeling naked and cold without the ring.

---