Reborn From Ashes: The Billionaire's Obsession

Cordelia gasped for air. Her eyes snapped open. The cold, hard porcelain of the bathtub pressed against her spine. The phantom smell of thick, acrid smoke from the warehouse fire choked her throat. She coughed violently, her chest heaving as she tried to expel ash that was no longer there. She looked down. Crimson-tinted water surrounded her pale legs. The metallic scent of fresh blood hit her nose, instantly replacing the imaginary smoke. Her heart pounded in sheer, unadulterated panic. Her trembling fingers brushed against her left wrist. A shallow, bleeding cut stung sharply under her touch. The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She recognized the black marble vanity and the luxurious fixtures. This was the guest bathroom of Damien Sterling's Manhattan penthouse. She stared at the massive mirror above the sink. Her twenty-two-year-old face stared back, completely unmarred by the horrific burns that had ended her life. Memories of Julian Carlisle locking the heavy iron doors of the burning warehouse flooded her mind. A visceral gag reflex seized her throat. She leaned over the edge of the tub, dry-heaving. She gripped the cold marble edge of the tub. Her muscles shook with weakness. She pulled her shivering, wet body out of the bloody water, her bare feet slipping on the slick floor tiles. A profound, crushing wave of guilt washed over her. In her past life, Damien had run into that inferno. He had burned alive trying to save her. Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed from the hardwood floor in the adjacent hallway. They were moving too fast, entirely lacking their usual measured rhythm. The heavy oak door of the bathroom was violently kicked open. It slammed against the tiled wall with a deafening crack. Damien Sterling stood in the doorway. His broad chest heaved under a tailored charcoal suit. His dark eyes were wild, blown wide with absolute terror. He stepped into the bathroom without a single second of hesitation. His expensive Italian leather shoes splashed directly into the bloody puddles on the floor. Damien dropped to his knees beside her. His large, calloused hands were visibly shaking as he grabbed her injured left wrist. He ripped the dark silk tie from his neck. He wrapped it tightly around her bleeding cut, pulling the fabric taut to staunch the blood flow. Cordelia stared at his pale, terrified face. Tears welled up in her eyes. She could feel the violent tremor traveling up his arms and into her skin. Damien's jaw clenched so tight a muscle feathered along his cheek. He let out a ragged, furious breath. His eyes burned with a dark, suffocating obsession. "Pierce!" he yelled over his shoulder, his voice echoing off the tiles. "Bring the premium medical kit! Now!" Cordelia weakly lifted her uninjured right hand. Her cold fingertips brushed against his tense jawline. Damien flinched hard at her touch. His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. He misinterpreted the gentle gesture entirely, seeing it as a desperate plea for Julian. He scooped her wet, shivering body into his arms. He ignored the dampness and the blood rapidly staining his crisp white dress shirt. Cordelia rested her head against his solid chest. She could hear the deafening, erratic thud of his heartbeat against her ear. He carried her out of the bathroom. His long strides quickly crossed the plush, thick carpet of the master suite. He gently placed her on the exact center of the massive king-sized bed. His hands moved with agonizing care, treating her as if her bones were made of fragile glass. The cold air conditioning of the penthouse hit her wet skin. She shivered violently, her teeth chattering. Damien immediately grabbed the thick down comforter. He pulled it up over her bare shoulders, tucking the edges securely under her chin to trap the heat. He turned his back to her to grab a dry towel from the nearby lounge chair. His spine was completely rigid, his broad shoulders tight with suppressed rage. Cordelia watched his back. She opened her mouth, desperate to apologize for her foolish suicide attempt. Her dry, raw throat only let out a pathetic, broken croak. She failed to form a single coherent word. Damien spun around. His eyes were dark and stormy, resembling a violent ocean. He leaned down, his face inches from hers. He warned her in a lethal, icy whisper:"Don't say his name. Don't you dare say Julian's name. If you do, I'll kill him with my own bare hands."