Cleo's Return

Damien’s POV

I didn’t speak for a full ten seconds.

Not because I didn’t have anything to say. But because everything I wanted to say would’ve sounded like a fucking war drum.

“You’re not staying at my house and that's final.”

Cleo shrugged one delicate shoulder, completely unfazed. “Take it up with your HR department. Or Davidson. Or fate. I’m just following orders.”

“Bullshit.”

Her grin widened. “You always hated coincidences. But this one? It’s delicious.”

I stalked toward her. “You think this is a game?”

“No,” she said softly. “I think this is karma.”

We stood inches apart now. The air between us was tight, electric. Dangerous.

“You better get out of my sight.”

She didn’t blink. “Or what?”

I stared at her, barely containing the sheer fury that was building in my chest. My jaw locked. My nostrils flared.

She was taunting me.

Again.

I stormed out of the room, not bothering with a goodbye, not even pretending to be civil. She didn’t follow—not yet—but I felt her eyes on my back like a whisper of heat.

The second I hit the hallway, I snatched my phone from my pocket and barked into the line.

“Get HR. Now.”

Within moments, the familiar, chipper voice of Amanda from the housing liaison answered. “Mr. Voss—”

“Explain to me,” I snapped, “why the hell Cleo Richmond is being moved into my residence.”

There was silence on the other end for a beat too long.

“I-I’m so sorry, Mr. Voss,” she stammered. “There was an overlap in the system when the merger files transferred. Ms. Richmond’s profile was still linked to your emergency accommodations from your previous engagement. We were going to—”

“You were going to what?” I barked. “You what, Amanda? Put my ex in my bedroom and hope I'd do what? Bring her flowers?”

“No! No, sir!” she rushed out, voice trembling. “We’re actively working on alternate arrangements—there was just nothing available immediately. We expect an opening by Friday, and we’ll move her the moment it’s ready, I promise. She… she insisted you wouldn’t be upset.”

“Upset?” I said, voice rising to a roar. “Upset? This isn’t a mix-up! This is sabotage.”

“I-I understand, sir—”

“No, you don’t, Amanda,” I snapped. “Move her. Tonight. Put her in a fucking motel if you have to.”

There was a pause. “Yes, sir. I’ll escalate it personally. I—I apologize for the inconvenience.”

I hung up before she could stutter out another excuse.

When I turned around, Cleo was standing just down the corridor, arms folded across her chest, looking entirely unbothered. Her head tilted slightly, a quiet smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You done yelling at the interns?” she asked.

I walked past her without answering, but her voice trailed behind me like a thorny thread.

“Funny how you never barked at me like that when I slept in your bed the first time.”

I stopped mid-step, tension crackling down my spine.

Her heels clicked behind me.

“I told them you wouldn’t mind,” she said, tone soft. “I mean, I heard you never changed the passcode. Part of me wondered if you were hoping I’d come back.”

I turned slowly, gaze locked on hers. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Oh, I won’t,” she said, eyes gleaming. “But I am moving in. My bags are already en route. Your place—well, our place now—is being prepped.”

She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, the picture of calm.

I ran a hand over my face, then through my hair, dragging frustration down to the roots. Fuck. This was a disaster.

“You could have gotten yourself checked into a hotel, Cleo! You planned this from the onset, didn't you?”

“Oh no! Darling,” she mused, placing a hand on my chest which I slapped away immediately. Her touch burned. Like hell itself shared its fire with her.

“I thought about you last minute and was like, why not?”

She paused and looked at me, batting her lashes slightly. “Change of plans, I guess,” she added with a shrug. “I needed a base with high security. And since yours was already vetted and cleared…” She grinned, devilish and far too satisfied. “Lucky me.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I muttered.

She took a step closer, voice dropping to a silky murmur. “Isn’t this what you always wanted? Me in your home. Waiting for you when you come back from work. Making your life just a little more… interesting. Isn't that why you proposed?”

I had so much to say to her. So much venom to pour on her but instead, I chose to be calm.

“You are not staying at my place, Miss Richmond,” I said with a note of finality.

She smiled wider. “Did I forget to mention? My belongings are en route. So, it’s not just me staying at your penthouse, Damien. It’s also my shoes. My silk robes. And my favorite coffee blend. Which, for the record, your machine is compatible with. Lucky, right?”

My pulse thundered in my ears.

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t even blink.

I just turned on my heel and walked—stormed—straight toward the elevator.

“Damien!” she called after me. “At least give your new roommate a ride! I don’t want to get my heels scratched.”

I didn’t look back.

I didn’t answer.

I didn’t stop.

I needed to get to my penthouse before she did.

Isabella.

Fuck.

Did I even stand a chance of making her mine—with Cleo still circling like a shadow I couldn’t shake?

I slammed the car door so hard it echoed like a warning, my fingers clenched around the wheel as I sped off toward my house.

Cleo said her things were already on the way, that the movers were en route. But that only made the panic claw faster through my chest.

What if she used the chaos to slip away?

What if Isabella saw an open door and vanished before I even got the chance to hold her again?

No. I couldn't let that happen.

Not again.

Losing her once nearly destroyed me. If I lost her this time…

I'd rather lose myself entirely.

I’d untied her before I left this morning—gave her access to the kitchen and bathroom. Just basic courtesy. Stupid. I should’ve never—

My steps quickened.

I made a mental note to change everything—locks, codes, permissions. I had given Olivia access to the penthouse to stock supplies, never thinking twice. I’d shared that code with call girls before—easy, transactional visits. Nothing more.

But that was over now.

All of it.

Because the only person who had a right to be in my space… to me … was already there.

And she was the last person I could afford to lose.

Isabella.