2.

2

For a moment, I wanted to know what was so urgent that the usually aloof Damian Sterling needed to see me at this hour.

Then reality crashed back over me.

'Screw the Sterling family.'

I turned on my heel, ignoring the sleek black sedan waiting down the street. I flagged down a passing cab instead. I needed to think. I needed to drown the ache in my chest.

I needed to get completely numb.

***

The club sat on the outer edge of the city—well outside Sterling territory.

It was a dim, loud, neutral sanctuary. A place where broken men came to forget and hurting women came to disappear.

Perfect.

The moment I stepped inside, the bass washed over me. The air smelled of expensive whiskey, heat, and reckless decisions. I slid off my coat, instantly feeling the weight of the room's attention shift toward me.

They weren't looking at me as Mrs. Sterling. They were looking at a solitary woman in a mid-thigh red lace dress—an outfit meant for a surprise party with my husband that had turned into a nightmare.

I walked straight to the bar.

"Give me something strong," I told the bartender.

He gave me a brief, evaluating look before pouring a dark amber liquid. The glass was ice-cold in my hand, but the burn in my throat was a welcome relief against the suffocating weight in my chest.

'He didn’t even look remorseful,' I thought bitterly. 'He replaced me like I was nothing.'

I finished the glass and slid it forward. "Another."

Then another.

Sienna, that treacherous snake. They weren't even hiding it anymore. And why her? A quiet, humorless laugh escaped my lips. Was it really just because of her face? Because she looked like *her*?

I gulped down the fresh drink—and that was when I felt it.

A gaze.

It wasn't a glance from a curious bystander or a hopeful stranger. It was heavy, deliberate, and intense enough to raise the fine hairs on the back of my neck.

I looked up.

A man stood a few feet away, leaning casually against the polished edge of the bar as if he owned the space simply by existing in it. Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Eyes that didn't soften when they met mine—no, they sharpened, tracking my every breath.

My heart slammed against my ribs as recognition set in.

Damian Sterling.

My powerful, enigmatic father-in-law. The man who had spent three years studying me with quiet, intense dark eyes from across formal dinner tables. The man whose mere presence had always made me hold my breath.

He looked far younger than his years, effortlessly commanding and lethal. The last time I had seen him was three months ago at Ethan's and my third anniversary party.

Right now, he wasn't looking at me like I was a broken wife. He was looking at me as if I were the only person in the room.

My pulse skipped erratic beats. I should have looked away and pretended to be too intoxicated to notice him.

Instead, I froze.

Damian stepped closer, his signature scent—clean, costly, and distinctly dangerous—overtaking the heavy air around us.

I forced myself to look away at the last second, gripping my glass tightly. I wasn't equipped to face Damian tonight. Not after ignoring his lawyer's command. Not while the humiliation of Ethan's betrayal was still burning beneath my skin.

Of all the men in the city... why did it have to be him?

"Arabella," he spoke slowly, his deep voice carrying over the music, sounding as if he were savoring the syllables of my name.

My chest tightened. I couldn't pretend any longer.

"I—" My voice caught in my throat. I swallowed, forcing myself to stand tall and refuse to let him see me tremble. "I didn’t realize it was you."

A subtle corner of his mouth tilted—not quite a smile, but something far more dangerous.

"I did," he replied softly.

That single, calm statement rattled me more than the alcohol.

I clenched my fists, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the dry tear tracks on my cheeks, the way the red dress clung to my skin, and the raw humiliation clinging to me like a shadow.

Damian took another step forward, closing the distance between us completely.

Up close, his presence was overwhelming. Tailored in a bespoke suit that radiated power, he carried an aura far different from Ethan's arrogant posturing. Damian's authority was cold, ancient, and absolute—the kind that didn't need to raise its voice to control a room.

"You look..." He paused, his gaze dropping briefly to my empty glass before rising to meet mine. "...like you've had a rough night. Are you alright?"

Something inside me snapped. A hollow laugh broke from my lips.

"Better than ever," I lied, the words bitter on my tongue. He would find out the truth soon enough anyway.

An intense silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken tension. I needed to get away from him. Staying near Damian Sterling was playing with fire.

I lifted my chin. "Excuse me. I need to use the washroom."

Damian nodded, but as I turned, he moved beside me. "I'll walk with you. You're tipsy."

"I'm fine," I countered quickly.

He stopped, his dark eyes locking onto mine with suffocating intensity. "What are you so afraid of, Arabella?"

My fingers dug into my palms as my stomach twisted. "You."

His eyes darkened—a momentary flicker of something raw and possessive.

"Why?" He whispered, leaning down slightly so his warm breath brushed the side of my neck. "Is that why you try to shrink yourself whenever I'm around?"