The Specialist

Damien’s POV

I didn’t breathe.

I didn’t blink.

Because the woman standing in front of me… was her.

Cleo fucking Richmond.

My ex-fiancée.

The girl who once carved her name into my chest with love—and damn near carved out my heart with betrayal.

She should’ve been halfway across the globe, sulking in someone else’s penthouse, licking her

wounds with some rich rebound.

She shouldn’t be here, in my boardroom, dressed like she’d stepped out of a fantasy I didn’t ask for. Her bubble-blonde curls tumbled around her shoulders, glossy and wild, as if she hadn’t aged a day—but her eyes… They were different.

Sharper. Hungrier.

What the hell is she doing here?

Mr. Davidson cleared his throat. “Mr Voss, this is the specialist I was telling you about. Ms. Richmond. Cybersecurity and legal counterintelligence. She’s—”

“Qualified,” Cleo interrupted, sauntering forward like she owned the damn place. “Top of my class at Cambridge. Ran ops with Interpol. Consulted for two Fortune 100 companies on breach containment and AI ethics. But I guess that’s not why you’re looking at me like that, is it, Damien?”

The entire room came to a halt as all eyes turned to me.

I said nothing.

She was wearing a navy pencil skirt that hugged her curves like a second skin and heels that could probably pierce through a man’s soul. And judging by the subtle twitch in my jaw, mine was already halfway impaled.

She walked to the seat beside me, brushing past Olivia with a grin that could make ice melt, and settled in like she was born to sit there. She crossed one long leg over the other, letting the hem of her skirt slide up—just enough for me to notice.

Just enough to taunt.

“So,” she said, opening her slim tablet, “I’ve already reviewed the firm’s litigation issues, found the API leak in their backend, and traced it to a ghost firm based out of Jakarta. But that’s not the real issue.”

She angled her body toward mine, her knee brushing lightly against my thigh.

“The real issue, Mr Voss,” she whispered, “is that your company has been making deals with men who sell more than code.”

Her voice dropped to a sultry hush that only I could hear. “Of course… you always liked dirty things, didn’t you?”

My hands curled into fists beneath the table.

Cleo let out a soft, amused sigh and continued addressing the board with perfect poise. But all I could think about was the way her leg had begun to inch toward mine again—trailing soft heat along the fabric of my slacks.

It Infuriated me more than I could have ever imagined.

She smiled brightly as she explained the cybersecurity vulnerabilities, the threats, and how she’d lock down the entire system in 72 hours. Everyone else nodded along, transfixed.

But I knew better.

This wasn’t about the company.

This was about me.

Her foot nudged mine again, a deliberate movement hidden beneath corporate formality. Then, in the middle of detailing firewall protocols, she conveniently dropped her pen.

“Oh—clumsy me,” she purred.

She bent over to pick it up, slowly, and that’s when I felt it—her hand, brushing against my thigh, then climbing higher.

Higher.

I jolted to my feet so fast my chair nearly toppled when I felt her hand on my cock.

Everyone looked up, startled.

“I need to stretch my legs,” I snapped, voice rough.

Cleo looked up innocently, twirling the pen between her fingers. “Of course. Sitting too long can make your joints so… stiff.”

I turned my back to her, walking to the wide glass windows overlooking the city skyline, teeth grinding so hard I thought I might shatter them.

What the fuck was she doing here?

Of all people—why her?

The woman who once cried at my doorstep, begging to be let in. The woman who left claw marks down my back in bed—and then left me with nothing but a note and a broken engagement ring.

Now she was back. Wearing my name in her mouth like it still belonged to her.

I hated her.

I hated how gorgeous she looked. How confident she sounded. How she hadn’t lost a single step. She was a weapon—refined, rebranded… and still dangerous as hell.

But as I stood there, watching her from the reflection in the glass, I couldn’t help but admit one thing.

I hadn’t gotten rid of her. I thought I did.

She’d just been biding her time.

“Mr. Voss?” she called out sweetly.

I turned slowly, jaw clenched.

“I was just explaining how the server logs from Net Technologies were tampered with. I believe you’ve got an inside man—someone in your own company.” She looked at me with glittering eyes. “I can find him. That is… if you’re ready to let me in again.”

The double meaning didn’t escape me. Not her. Not anyone.

Silence thickened around us.

I stared at her for a long, dangerous moment, then gave a tight nod.

“Continue.”

She smiled like the cat who'd already devoured the canary.

The meeting dragged on another twenty minutes. Cleo dazzled them all—technical jargon rolling off her tongue, complex data laid out like kindergarten math, polished projections that had the board members nodding along like hypnotized marionettes.

But not me.

Not even close.

I didn’t clap when the presentation ended. I didn’t offer a word of praise. I simply stood, adjusted the cuffs of my shirt, and turned toward the door without a glance back.

But of course—her voice followed.

“Damien,” she called softly. “A moment?”

I paused, my fingers tightening around the brushed steel handle. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to look at her again. But I did. Slowly.

Olivia passed me on her way out, offering a smirk that made my blood itch. “Good luck,” she murmured under her breath, before disappearing into the hallway with the others.

Then it was just me and her.

The room was quiet now, sterile. The weight of memory and tension sat heavy in the air.

Cleo closed the door gently behind the last person, then turned and leaned against the table, arms folded, eyes gleaming like she was exactly where she wanted to be.

“What do you want, Cleo?” I asked, voice cold.

She smiled—slow and deliberate. “To talk. Like civilized exes. I thought we could start with the part where you pretend you aren’t shaken seeing me.”

“I’m not shaken,” I said flatly.

She laughed. Low. Sultry. “Oh Damien. That’s what makes it so cute—you still lie with such conviction.”

I stepped closer, just enough to make my point. “You’re here to do a job. Do it. But outside this building, you and I are nothing.”

Cleo’s smile didn’t falter. But her eyes darkened.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she murmured, brushing a speck of dust from her skirt. “I moved on a long time ago. I’ve had better.” She paused, letting the lie hang in the air like smoke. “Well… not better, exactly. Just… less complicated.”

I didn’t respond.

She tilted her head, studying me. “You look tired. Restless. Still brooding like a beautiful villain in some sad noir film.”

“Is that why you came back?” I asked. “To poke the beast?”

“No,” she whispered, walking around the table until she stood directly in front of me. Her perfume hit me like a curse—jasmine, vanilla, and old sins. “Although I would love to poke the real beast,” she purred, staring down at my cock. “But I came back because I go where I’m sent. And this deal? It’s bigger than what we had, Damien.”

I gave a bitter chuckle. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that about anything.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You really think I’m still the girl who cried in your sheets and begged for forever? That girl’s dead.”

“Good,” I said. “I buried her myself, years ago.”

I took a step back. “While you’re here, make sure you stay the hell out of my way. I don’t want to see you unless it’s behind a boardroom table. You understand me?”

She nodded slowly… then smiled.

“Well,” she purred, “then we already have a problem.”

I raised a brow. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She tilted her head, mock-innocent. “Your firm was supposed to arrange accommodations for me, but apparently there was some mix-up with the merger’s housing agreement. Temporary quarters were assigned based on past emergency protocol defaults.” She batted her lashes. “And, well… it looks like your name was still on my file.”

A beat of silence.

Then she said it. Soft. Casual. Explosive.

“I’ll be staying at your penthouse.”

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am,” she said, stepping closer, lips curling into a wicked grin.