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."

---

"Hide," Damon commanded.

He pointed to the knee-hole of the massive desk. It was enclosed on three sides.

"Are you insane?" Vesper whispered.

"Do you want him to find you here? Looking like that?" Damon gestured to her. Her lipstick was smudged. Her blouse was askew. She looked thoroughly ravished.

Vesper scrambled off the desk. She smoothed her skirt and crawled into the dark space under the desk just as the heavy door handle began to turn.

Damon sat in his chair. He pulled it in close to the desk, effectively sealing Vesper inside.

She was trapped in the darkness, curled up by his feet.

The door burst open.

"Damon!" Julian's voice was shrill. "We need to talk about the merger!"

Vesper held her breath. She saw Julian's expensive Italian loafers enter the room. He was alone. But as he paced closer, a waft of scent drifted under the desk. Vanilla and cloying sweetness. Serena's perfume. It clung to him.

"You don't knock, Julian?" Damon asked. His voice was calm, composed.

"I don't have time for pleasantries," Julian snapped. "Serena is in the car downstairs. She's sick. I need to get this over with."

"Ah," Damon said. "The pregnant pop star. How touching."

Vesper looked up in the darkness. She couldn't see Damon's face, only the underside of the desk and his legs.

"I need a loan," Julian said, pacing. "Vesper... she's poking around the accounts. She's refusing to sign the disbursement papers. I need cash to secure the condo before she figures it out."

"Why?" Damon asked. "Is your wife becoming... difficult?"

"She's a nuisance," Julian spat. "Once the baby is born, I'm dumping her. I just need to wait for the morality clause in the prenup to expire."

Vesper felt a tear slide down her cheek. Hearing it was different than suspecting it.

Damon shifted in his chair. His hand dropped down to the side, resting on the armrest support, just inches from where Vesper was huddled.

He didn't reach for her. He didn't make any movement that Julian could see. But his pinky finger brushed against her shoulder. A silent acknowledgement. I hear him too.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Julian," Damon said to his brother. "Women can be... surprising."

"She's a doormat," Julian scoffed. "She has no talent, no spine. She's nothing without the Sterling name."

Vesper bristled. Rage burned through her sadness.

Damon's finger tapped against her shoulder, a rhythmic, calming beat. Or maybe a warning. Wait.

"Get out, Julian," Damon said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "Before I decide to audit your personal accounts myself."

"You wouldn't," Julian said, faltering.

"Try me. Get out."

The door slammed.

---