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.

---

The next morning, the reality of the missing ring hit Vesper like a physical blow.

She stared at her bare finger. If Julian noticed, he would kill her. If the family noticed, she was dead.

Her phone rang. It was a Manhattan number.

"Mrs. Sterling?" A professional voice. "This is Scott, Mr. Sterling's executive assistant."

"Yes?"

"Mr. Sterling has an item of yours in his possession. A sapphire ring."

Vesper closed her eyes. He was holding it hostage.

"Send it over," Vesper demanded, trying to sound authoritative.

"I'm afraid protocol requires you to retrieve it personally at Global Headquarters," Scott said, sounding apologetic. "Security measures regarding family heirlooms."

It was a trap. A power play.

Vesper hung up.

She drove to the city, fueled by rage.

The Sterling Global Tower pierced the sky like a glass needle. Security waved her through; she was expected.

The elevator ride to the 90th floor made her ears pop.

The doors opened to a reception area that was empty except for Scott, who pointed silently to the double mahogany doors.

Vesper took a deep breath and pushed them open.

The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Central Park.

Damon was sitting behind a desk that looked like it was made from the hull of a warship. He was on a call, speaking fluent, rapid-fire French.

He saw her. He didn't smile. He just flicked a finger, signaling her to sit.

Vesper remained standing.

He hung up the phone. The silence stretched.

"My ring," Vesper said, holding out her hand.

Damon opened a drawer. He pulled out the ring. He held it up to the light, inspecting it with a critical eye.

"It's a gaudy thing," he said. "Doesn't suit you."

"It suits my marriage," Vesper retorted.

"Your marriage is a lie," Damon said calmly. "And I have the proof."

He dropped a manila folder on the desk. It slid across the polished wood and stopped at her fingertips.

Vesper looked down. It was Julian's financials. Hidden accounts. Wire transfers to a real estate agent for a condo in SoHo. Payments to a fertility clinic.

"He's moving her in," Damon said. "He's using family funds to set up a second life."

Vesper stared at the papers. She knew it, but seeing it in black and white was different. It was a gut punch.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Because," Damon said, "I hate a bad investment. And you, Vesper, are wasting your potential on a sinking ship."

---

Vesper ignored the file. She pushed it aside.

"I want the ring," she repeated. "I don't care about your investment advice."

Damon leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. His biceps strained against the fabric of his white dress shirt.

"Take it."

He placed the ring on his chest, tucking it into the knot of his silk tie.

"Come and get it."

Vesper stared at him. "You're a child."

"I'm a man who wants to see how far you'll go," he corrected.

Vesper stepped forward. She reached for the ring.

Damon caught her wrist.

His grip was iron. His skin burned hers. There were no gloves today.

"Admit it," he growled, his voice rough. "You liked what happened at the hotel. You liked the lack of control."

"I was drugged," Vesper lied, her breath hitching.

"The drugs wore off by 3 AM," Damon countered. "You stayed until seven. We both know what happened in those four hours."

Vesper blushed.

He remembered. Every touch. Every sound.

Damon pulled her closer. She was now standing between his spread legs.

"Retrieve the ring, Vesper."

Vesper reached out, her hand shaking. She slid her fingers into the knot of his tie. She felt the heat radiating from his chest. She could feel his heart beating—fast, heavy, rhythmic.

She grabbed the cold metal of the ring.

But she didn't pull away.

Anger, lust, and frustration boiled over. She grabbed the silk of his tie with both hands.

She yanked it tight, choking him slightly.

"Here is your payment," she hissed, pulling his face down to hers.

Damon's eyes didn't widen in fear. They darkened. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the iris. He was turned on.

He grabbed her waist, his hands large and possessive. He lifted her effortlessly, slamming her onto the edge of the desk.

Papers flew everywhere. The file on Julian scattered across the floor.

He pressed his forehead against hers.

"You have a violent streak," he murmured against her lips. "I like it."

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It was a collision. It was punishing and claiming. He tasted like espresso and power.

Vesper tried to push him away, but her hands curled into his shirt instead, pulling him closer. Her body betrayed her. She melted into him.

For a moment, the world dissolved.

Then, the intercom buzzed. A harsh, grating sound.

"Sir," Scott's voice crackled, sounding panicked. "Julian Sterling is here. He's demanding to see you. He's making a scene."

Vesper froze. Ice water flooded her veins.

Damon pulled back, breathing hard. His lips were swollen. His tie was a mess.

He looked at the door. Then he looked at Vesper.

He smirked. He pressed the intercom button.

"Let him in."

---