All Chapters of My Husband's Father Wants Me: Chapter 1 - Chapter 6

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

4The ride to Premier Care Hospital passed in a blur. All I could think of was my mother.'Why had she relapsed so suddenly? Was she going to make it? Should I call my father? Would he even care?’My thoughts were in such complete disarray that I didn't even realize we had pulled up to the hospital entrance.I was so consumed by panic that I didn't notice Damian getting out until my side of the door swung open.He leaned into the vehicle, his broad frame blocking out the streetlights as he reached across me to unbuckle my seatbelt."Mr. Sterling—""Damian," he corrected softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine as he unlatched the belt. "Call me Damian."I didn't answer. The moment the buckle released, I stepped out of the car, deliberately avoiding his outstretched hand."Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sterling, but I'll take it from here," I said, stepping back when I realized he intended to walk me inside. "You don't need to come with me.""Arabella—""Thank you. But I'm fine... really.

The morning heat beat down on the pavement as I walked out of my fifth jewelry house of the day, my feet aching and my arms heavy from clutching my leather portfolio.Every single door had closed in my face.Without a recognized brand or a prominent backer, the luxury brand managers barely glanced at my sketches. One boutique owner in the fashion district, one of Ethan's associates, had offered me a meager two thousand dollars for the entire collection—an insulting sum that wouldn't cover even a fraction of a single ICU dose for my mother.She hadn't even bothered to hide her contempt. Somehow, I felt that offer came from Ethan.By two in the afternoon, exhaustion settled deep into my bones. I slumped into a chair at a small corner cafe near the commercial district, ordering a cheap black coffee just to earn a few minutes of air conditioning.I set the black portfolio on the table and pulled out my phone, staring at the growing list of missed calls from the hospital billing department