Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 181: Barely a Gentleman

Chapter 181: Barely a Gentleman

Shoved into the car, Emma Hart was still trying to gather her wits when Damien Sterling’s gaze, icy and bloodthirsty, never left her. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice cold.

Locking eyes with Damien, Emma felt the weight of his anger, as if smashing the store wasn’t enough to quell it. Yet, she knew they had to stop before things escalated further. Waving her arms dismissively, she hurriedly assured, "I’m fine, really, not a scratch on me."

Damien’s cold glance made Emma’s heart race with fear, desperate not to stir any more trouble. Already dragged into the car, she quickly leaned forward, grabbing at Damien’s coat in a pitiful plea. "Mr. President, can we get in the car and close the door? It’s so cold."

What Emma really wanted to say was, "Can we just leave it at that, please?"

Damien glanced at Emma, seeing her in a vulnerable state, rare for her, and got into the car, remarking, "This one’s on you."

What did he mean by that? What’s on her now?

Emma turned, draping herself over him, and Damien looked down. Emma retracted her hand, asking cautiously, "What’s on me?"

Glancing outside, Damien indicated the situation was Emma’s responsibility.

Was he referring to the store?

Emma, pointing at Damien, protested, "You came here on your own. I didn’t ask for this. Wait, how did you even find me?"

"I was following you," Damien stated flatly.

"I knew it!"

"You knew nothing!" Damien retorted, his irritation clear. It was a mere coincidence; he happened to be passing by, saw a familiar foolish figure, and decided to check on her, only to stumble upon the scene.

"No matter what, you can’t pin the cost of this on me," Emma stated firmly, suddenly remembering something and urgently addressing the driver, "Stop, no, turn around! Hurry!"

The driver, confused by Emma’s command, waited for a directive from Damien, who remained silent, continuing their drive.

Emma, giving up on the driver, tugged at Damien, "Tell him to turn around!"

"And then what?" Damien looked at her, sensing she wished she could leap out of the car this instant.

"To see if there’s anything left unsmashed, of course!"

Wasn’t it obvious? Every strike, every hit was going to be charged to her account. Emma feared she’d never be able to repay that debt in her lifetime.

Damien Sterling seems bent on driving her to her wit’s end. Will Emma Hart ever see the day she can repay him? Can she ever break free from his grasp? She was teetering on the edge of despair.

The price tags in that store soared into the hundreds of thousands with ease; Emma found herself counting on her fingers, tallying up amounts she dared not fully comprehend.

Impulse is the devil incarnate!

"Damien Sterling..." Emma’s eyes brimmed with tears, unable to bear the thought of being held accountable for his ostentatious displays time and again.

Observing her, Damien couldn’t help but find her naivety almost laughable. Did she really think he’d make her pay up? Yet, her constant efforts to distance herself from him irked him to no end.

"The damages behind us are on me, but surely you agree you’re responsible for what happened before?" he posited.

Lifting her downtrodden face, Emma realized he referred to the $580,000 mishap. Faced with astronomical figures, opting for the $580,000 seemed the lesser of two evils.

"Right..." Damien was getting stingier by the day, it seemed, now insisting on settling debts so meticulously, a far cry from his previous carefree generosity.

"Fine, I accept!" Emma clenched her fists, resigned to her fate.

Damien chuckled coldly, gazing out the window. Was it her foolishness that he found so captivating?

As they drove to the villa, Emma glanced at the time, noting it wasn’t yet the end of the workday. Despite the company being owned by the man beside her, she couldn’t just abandon her duties; she had tasks to complete, ones assigned by Sophia Greenwood. And now, after wreaking havoc in a perfectly fine store, she was returning empty-handed. How would she explain this?

Upon arrival at the Sterling Group villa, Mrs. Harris greeted them, "Why so early today?"

Emma eyed Mrs. Harris, then shot a glance at Damien. Behind his back, she pulled a face, which Mrs. Harris met with a suppressed smile. Given Damien’s icy demeanor and Emma’s visible nervousness, it was clear Emma had stirred up trouble again.

Damian Sterling wandered among the rows of artifacts in the living room, collections he had gathered from around the country. While not all were personally acquired by him, there was no doubt that each piece held significant value.

"Come here," Damian commanded coldly, his hand resting on an art piece he had brought back from England and treasured for years.

Emma Hart approached, observing the white sculpture in Damian’s hand, about thirty centimeters in height, "This looks like..."

"The Vienna Goddess, a work by the British sculptor Martin, downsized to scale. The complexity of creating a smaller version often surpasses that of the original," Damian explained, lifting the sculpture. For him, its worth was measured not by price but by its artistic value.

However, Damian’s attachment to things, like his attachments to people, was fleeting.

Mrs. Harris had already prepared the artifact’s box, taking the sculpture from Damian’s hands.

"Are you planning to give this away, sir?" Mrs. Harris inquired.

"Yes," Damian nodded, passing the box to Emma, "Take this back as your task."

Emma paused, realizing it was intended for her. As she reached out to take it, Damian withdrew his hand slightly, his gaze flickering towards her, "Say thank you."

"Thank you," Emma automatically responded, echoing his words.

Damian pursed his lips, taking the item back.

Emma stood still, surprised at her own compliance. Had she become so obedient, to thank him just because he asked?

"Hey? Why are you taking it back?"

"It’s too heavy," Damian stated, cradling the object and walking ahead, his voice deep.

Watching Damian’s retreating figure, Emma sometimes thought he could be considered gracious, barely passing as a gentleman.