Chapter 89 – Blushes and Bold Questions at the Sterling Manor
The iron gates of Sterling Heights Estate opened silently as I drove through, my nerves dancing beneath my skin. In the passenger seat lay a garment bag containing the custom suit I’d promised Damien. Next to it was a beautifully wrapped box holding a cashmere shawl for Mrs. Sterling–a small token of appreciation for her kindness.
I hadn’t seen Damien in nearly two weeks. After Julian’s collapse in the courtroom, I’d needed space. Between that drama and the news of my father’s imprisonment for financial fraud, my emotions had been a tangled mess. The fifteen–day appeal period for my divorce was still ticking away, leaving me in limbo–not quite married, not fully
divorced.
The winding driveway led to an impressive manor house that somehow managed to be both imposingly grand and warmly inviting. As I parked, the front door opened. Instead of the butler I expected, Damien himself emerged.
My heart skipped embarrassingly at the sight of him. He wore casual dark jeans and a simple navy sweater that somehow looked more expensive than most people’s formal
attire.
“You came,” he said, his voice carrying across the circular driveway. There was subtle relief in his tone that made my chest tighten.
“I promised I would,” I replied, collecting the packages from my car. “I finished your
suit.”
Damien smiled, the rare expression transforming his usually serious face. He took the garment bag from me. “Mother’s been asking about you. She’ll be thrilled you’re here.”
“I brought her something too.” I held up the smaller package.
He gestured toward the house. “She’s in the garden room. Let me take these.”
As we walked side by side into the manor, I felt his eyes on me.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said quietly, not an accusation but a statement of fact.
I bit my lip. “I needed some time. With everything happening-”
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“I understand,” he interrupted gently. “Your father’s sentencing, the divorce proceedings… it’s been a difficult month.”
“You heard about my father?”
“Fifteen years for fraud and embezzlement.” Damien nodded. “A fair sentence considering what he did to your maternal grandparents‘ company.”
I swallowed hard. “It feels strange. I should hate him after everything, but…”
“He’s still your father,” Damien finished for me. “You’re allowed to have complicated feelings about it.”
We paused in a sunlit hallway decorated with tasteful artwork. Damien turned to face. me, his expression searching.
“But that’s not all that’s been keeping you away, is it?”
My cheeks warmed under his perceptive gaze. “I’ve been thinking about what people might say.”
“About?”
“About me,” I admitted, fidgeting with the wrapped box in my hands. “The ink is barely dry on my divorce papers–which aren’t even final yet–and I’m already…” I trailed off, unsure how to describe whatever was happening between us.
“Already what?” he pressed, moving a step closer.
“Being seen with someone else,” I finished lamely. “People talk. They might think I’m-”
“Does it matter what they think?” His question was gentle but direct.
I looked up at him. “I don’t want to be perceived as the type of woman who jumps from one relationship to another. And I especially don’t want to drag you into my mess.”
Understanding softened his eyes. “You’ve spent too long worrying about public perception, Hazel. But I appreciate your concern for my reputation.” A hint of amusement touched his lips. “Though I can assure you, it can withstand association with you.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “You’re too kind.”
“Not kind. Honest.” He gestured toward a set of glass doors ahead. “Would you join us
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for lunch after we see my mother?”
I hesitated, and he noticed immediately.
“You’re still avoiding me,” he stated plainly. “Why?”
His directness caught me off guard. Most men I knew, Julian included, would have accepted my polite deflection and moved on. But Damien seemed determined to understand my reluctance.
“I’m not sure I belong in your world,” I confessed quietly. “You’re Damien Sterling. Your family has been influential in this city for generations. I’m just Hazel Ashworth, fashion designer with a failed marriage and a criminal father.”
Damien’s expression remained unchanged. “Is that how you see yourself?”
“It’s who I am.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It’s what happened to you. Not who you are.”
Before I could respond, a melodic voice called from beyond the glass doors.
“Is that Hazel I hear?”
Mrs. Sterling appeared, elegant as ever in a simple cream blouse and tailored pants. Her face lit up when she saw me, and she hurried over with outstretched hands.
“My dear girl! I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about us.”
I was immediately enveloped in a warm embrace that smelled of expensive perfume and comfort. When she pulled back, she held my face between her soft hands.
“You look tired,” she observed. “Have you been sleeping properly?”
“Mother,” Damien warned gently.
She waved him off. “Hush, Damien. Let me fuss over her. Come, Hazel. The tea is just
brewed.”
The garden room was exactly as its name suggested–a glass–walled space overlooking immaculate gardens, filled with comfortable furniture and lush indoor plants. It felt like sitting inside and outside simultaneously.
“I brought you something” I said, presenting her with the wrapped box. “Just a small
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thank you for your kindness.”
Mrs. Sterling unwrapped it with graceful fingers, gasping softly when she revealed the shawl. It was hand–dyed silk–blend cashmere in subtle shades of blue and silver that I’d designed specifically with her coloring in mind.
“Hazel, this is exquisite!” She immediately draped it around her shoulders. “The craftsmanship… did you make this yourself?”
I nodded. “I wanted something unique for you.”
She turned to Damien, who had been watching our interaction with quiet interest. “Damien, isn’t this lovely? Look at how the colors shift in the light.”
He nodded appreciatively. “Hazel has extraordinary talent.”
“I want to see your suit too,” Mrs. Sterling declared. “Damien’s been impossibly
secretive about it.”
“It’s nothing special,” I said modestly. “Just a classic cut with some subtle personal
touches.”
“She’s being humble,” Damien said, unzipping the garment bag. “She asked detailed. questions about my preferences that no tailor has ever bothered with.”
I felt a blush creeping up my neck as he removed the charcoal suit with its subtle blue undertones–selected to bring out his eyes. It featured hand–stitched details and a custom silk lining printed with a pattern inspired by traditional Sterling family emblems I’d researched.
Mrs. Sterling circled the suit, examining it with an expert eye. “The craftsmanship is impeccable. Damien, try it on. I want to see it properly.
He raised an eyebrow but acquiesced, disappearing to change.
Left alone with Mrs. Sterling, I felt a sudden nervousness. She poured tea into delicate
cups.
“He’s been checking his phone constantly, she commented casually. “Every time it rings, he hopes it’s you.”
I nearly choked on my tea. “Mrs. Sterling-
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“Please, call me Elizabeth. She patted my hand. “I’ve known my son his entire life. I recognize when he’s taken with someone.”
“We’re just friends,” I managed, though the words sounded hollow even to my own
cars.
She gave me a knowing look. “Damien doesn’t make ‘just friends, dear. He has acquaintances, business associates, and family. You’re something entirely different.”
Before I could formulate a response, Damien returned wearing the suit. The tailoring highlighted his broad shoulders and lean waist perfectly. The subtle blue undertones brought out the striking color of his eyes, just as I’d intended. He looked… magnificent.
“Well?” he asked, a rare hint of self–consciousness in his voice.
“It’s perfect,” I breathed, professional pride momentarily overcoming my personal discomfort.
Mrs. Sterling circled him, nodding approvingly. “Remarkable work, Hazel. The cut is impeccable.” She turned to me with a gleam in her eye. “You should make suits for my husband too. He’s impossible to fit properly, always complaining about the shoulders. or the length.”
“I’d be honored,” I said, genuinely touched by her faith in my abilities.
“Excellent! That’s settled then.” She smiled warmly. “You know, Hazel, I’ve been telling Damien for years he needed someone with your creative eye in his life. He’s brilliant. with numbers and strategy, but aesthetics…” She shook her head fondly.
“Mother,” Damien warned again, but there was no real annoyance in his tone.
“What? It’s true.” She turned back to me. “He’s quite accomplished, you know. Running that big institute of his, advising on international matters. Very important man, my
son.”
I smiled uncomfortably, recognizing her not–so–subtle matchmaking.
“But more importantly, she continued, leaning forward, “he’s kind. Loyal to a fault. The kind of man who remembers birthdays and anniversaries without reminders. Who checks on people who matter to him. Who notices when someone’s had a difficult day.”
My face grew hotter with each word. Mrs. Sterling was clearly singing her son’s praises for my benefit, and from Damien’s expression, he knew it too.
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“What do you think of my son, Hazel?” she asked directly, catching me completely off guard.
“I… well, he’s…” I stammered, feeling like a teenager caught passing notes in class. My face must have been crimson by now.
Damien mercifully intervened. “Mom, Hazel, lunch is ready”
Mrs. Sterling smiled innocently. “Perfect timing. I’m famished.” But the knowing look she gave me suggested our conversation was merely postponed, not concluded..
As we stood to move to the dining room, I caught Damien’s eye. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a half–smile that sent my pulse racing.
What exactly had I gotten myself into with the Sterlings?
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