Chapter 3: The Man Who Could Feel

I walked into the blinding fluorescent lights of the police precinct.

Sterling was sitting on a metal bench. His left arm was hanging at an unnatural, sickening angle. His bespoke Tom Ford suit was torn at the shoulder, and his face was smeared with blood and bruised violet. Yet, he looked like a wild, untamed beast, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with a dark, violent possessiveness.

Declan looked like he was about to pass out from the stress. The moment he saw me, he rushed over as if I were his savior. "Maeve! Thank god. Sterling went completely berserk at the Viper Room. He nearly killed three guys, and even when the cops dragged him in, he was trying to break their jaws."

I remembered what the Uber driver had said. My lips pressed into a tight, bloodless line.

Declan, misinterpreting my silence, tried to run interference. "Maeve, please, you can't blame Sterling for this. Those Wall Street scumbags were absolute animals. They had a few drinks and thought they could play God. They cornered Liana in the bathroom and almost..."

My gaze shifted toward the corner of the room. Liana sat there, enveloped in a pristine white Zimmerman silk dress. Her dark hair cascaded perfectly over her shoulders. Her large, doe-like eyes were brimming with tears, her trembling bottom lip making her look so exquisitely fragile and victimized that any man would want to wage war for her.

Sensing my gaze, she stood up, biting her lip, and walked toward me with hesitant, timid steps. "Maeve... I'm so sorry," she whimpered, her voice trembling perfectly on cue.

I ignored her completely, turning my cold eyes back to Declan. "What are the police saying?"

Declan dragged a hand down his face. "It's bad. Aggravated assault. If those guys press charges, Sterling is looking at real jail time."

Liana let out a loud, pathetic sob. "Maeve, it's all my fault!"

I frowned, a wave of disgust rolling through me. Before I could even open my mouth to tell her to shut up, a massive shadow eclipsed the harsh lighting.

Sterling stepped forcefully between me and Liana, shielding her with his broad, muscular back.

His face was a mask of cold fury. "Maeve, stop it. You’re terrifying Liana."

I looked at him, my voice dangerously calm. "Sterling. I haven't said a single word. I haven't done a single thing."

Sterling glared at me, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles ticked. "Your eyes are screaming murder, Maeve. You’re looking at her like you want to tear her limb from limb. Liana did absolutely nothing wrong. She is the victim tonight."

I almost laughed out loud. It was genuinely hilarious. Sterling Vance, the ruthless billionaire who claimed he couldn't read human emotions, was suddenly a master at micro-expression analysis. He could flawlessly decipher the 'murderous intent' in my eyes just to justify his defense of his precious Liana.

Across the room, the three bruised and bloody thugs heard our exchange. The ringleader, a guy with a bleached buzzcut and a tribal tattoo on his neck, spat blood onto the floor and let out a nasty, mocking laugh.

"Oh, so you're the official girlfriend?" The thug sneered, pointing a bruised finger at me. "Let me do you a favor, sweetheart. Your boyfriend and this little white-lotus bitch in the dress? They ain't innocent. The way he was screaming her name and hovering over her? I guarantee you they've been rolling around in the same sheets for years."

The words acted like a match in a powder keg. Sterling let out a feral roar, his control completely shattering. He lunged across the room, his good hand curling into a lethal fist, ready to beat the thug into a pulp right in front of the precinct captain.

"Sterling!" Declan screamed, his face turning pale. "Stop! You hit him in front of the cops, and you’re doing ten to fifteen years!"

"Sit the hell down, Vance!" A senior detective roared, reaching for his taser. "Back to your seat, now!"

Sterling ignored them all. His eyes were completely bloodshot, the veins in his neck bulging. He radiated an overwhelming, suffocating aura of violence. He looked like an apex alpha predator, driven completely mad by the threat to his chosen mate.

His fist was inches away from shattering the thug's nose when I spoke.

"Sterling."

My voice wasn't loud. It wasn't panicked. It was dead.

Sterling froze. His massive shoulders heaved as he slowly lowered his fist. He turned his head to look at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Declan collapsed against a desk, gasping for air. "Jesus Christ, Maeve. Thank god you’re here."

I looked at Sterling’s heaving chest, at the feral heat radiating from his body, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

I knew that heat. I remembered when that violent, animalistic dominance had been directed at me. I remembered the night after his company's IPO. He had come home practically vibrating with adrenaline. He hadn't spoken a word; he just grabbed me by the throat, slammed me against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering Manhattan skyline, and devoured my mouth.

It was the most explicit, raw intimacy we had ever shared. His large, calloused hands had ripped my silk La Perla lingerie right off my body, his fingers leaving dark bruises of ownership on my hips. He had pinned my wrists above my head, his heavy, muscular frame crushing me against the cold glass. The friction was agonizingly good, the heat between my thighs melting under his relentless, dominating thrusts. I had arched my back, screaming his name into the empty penthouse, tears streaming down my face as he buried his teeth into my neck, groaning in raw, carnal ecstasy.

I thought, in that heavy, sweat-drenched darkness, that I had finally reached his soul. I thought the beast had claimed me as his mate.

But the next morning, I woke up to an empty, cold bed. Sterling was fully dressed in a crisp suit, adjusting his Rolex. He tossed a black Amex card onto the nightstand, didn't even look me in the eye, and told me to buy a new dress, before walking out to conquer Wall Street. He had just been using my body to burn off his adrenaline. His mind, his heart, had remained firmly locked behind a vault of ice.

But tonight, looking at him trembling with rage over a thug insulting Liana, I finally understood. He wasn't an emotionless machine. He was just a man deeply, madly in love with someone else.