Chapter 11

~CLAIRE'S POV~

The elevator doors slid open with a whisper, revealing the executive floor of Blackwood Industries—a place I had once been banned from visiting because Richard said it would "distract" him.

How times had changed.

I walked into the hallway with marble floors, wearing my bright red power suit that fitted perfectly and high heels that clicked on the floor, signaling my stubbornness.

I held the Hayes International portfolio in my well-groomed hands; it was my key to enter Richard's private space.

His secretary barely looked up from her computer. "I'm sorry, but Mr. Blackwood is in meetings all...." She glanced up and her words died in her throat.

She recognized me, and her surprise was hard to hide.

"Hello, Janet," I said smoothly, enjoying the way she paled. "I'm here representing Hayes International for the three o'clock meeting."

Janet struggled to type on her keyboard, and her professional behavior began to slip."I... I will need to verify this with Mr. Blackwood's office."

"Please do." I settled into the leather chair across from her desk, crossing my legs with deliberate precision.

"I will wait."

The minutes ticked by like torture.

Janet kept stealing glances at me while pretending to type, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.

The last time she had seen me, I had been crying in this very hallway, begging Richard to reconsider the divorce. Now I looked like I could buy and sell this entire building.

Which, thanks to Alexander, I technically could.

"Miss... Winfred?" Janet's voice was carefully neutral. "Mr. Blackwood will see you now."

I stood, smoothing down my skirt. "Thank you, Janet. Oh, and it's lovely to see you again."

The lie tasted sweet on my tongue.

The conference room was filled with nervous energy as Richard's team waited for the CEO. I sat at the far end of the table, so he would see me first when he walked in.

The other executives kept looking at me with curiosity. I was the representative from the British billionaire's company who had not given my name beforehand.

"So, you work for Hayes International?" asked the CFO. He was a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and kept checking his phone.

"I must say, your company's acquisition strategy has been very fierce lately."

I smiled, the expression sharp enough to cut glass. "Alexander believes in pursuing what he wants with single-minded determination. He doesn't take no for an answer."

The words carried a double meaning that would become clear soon enough.

At exactly 3:02 PM, the door opened.

Richard Blackwood strode in like he owned the world—which, in this building, he essentially did.

His charcoal hair was slightly mussed, as if he had been running his fingers through it, and his navy suit jacket was already tossed somewhere.

His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal those strong forearms that used to pin me against our bedroom wall.

Even angry, even hurt, even plotting his downfall—my traitorous body still responded to the sight of him.

Six-foot-two of lean muscle and masculine confidence, his olive-tanned skin glowing under the conference room lights.

Those sea-blue eyes that could freeze or burn depending on his mood.

He was mid-sentence, discussing quarterly projections with his CFO, when his gaze swept the room and landed on me.

The words died on his lips. His coffee mug froze halfway to his mouth.

For a heartbeat, we just stared at each other across the polished conference table, the consequence of our shared history crackling between us like electricity.

I watched his face cycle through emotions—shock, confusion, something that might have been longing before it hardened into cold recognition.

"Gentlemen," he said finally, his voice carefully controlled, "something's come up. We'll need to reschedule."

"But sir, Hayes International...." the CFO started.

"Will be handled privately." His eyes never left mine. "Everyone out. Now."

The authority in his voice brooked no argument. The room quickly emptied as people knew better than to question their CEO's tone.

The door clicked shut, leaving us alone in the sudden silence. The air between us felt charged, dangerous.

Richard set down his coffee with deliberate care, his knuckles white against the ceramic. "What the hell are you doing here, Claire?"

I stood slowly, smoothing down my skirt with intentional accuracy. Each movement was designed to draw his attention, to remind him of what he had thrown away.

"Business, Richard. Surely you remember what that is? You used to prioritize it over everything else."

His jaw tightened. "Don't."

"Don't what?" I moved around the table toward him, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

"Don't mention how you chose eighteen-hour workdays over your wife? Don't bring up how you said I was 'suffocating' you when all I wanted was to spend time with my husband?"

Each word was a plotted strike, designed to hit where it would hurt most. Richard's hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Or maybe," I continued, now close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes, "you don't want me to mention how you found time for Monica in our living room when you were too busy for dinner with me."

"Stop talking." He stood abruptly, his chair rolling backward. "You have no right to…."

"To what? To be in your building? To represent a client?" I kept moving until I had backed him against his desk.

The power dynamic changes with each step.

"Or to look at you like this?"

His breathing had changed, becoming shallow and quick. I could smell his cologne—different from what he used to wear, harsher somehow.

Like he was trying to erase even the scent of our memories.

Up close, I could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the new lines around them that spoke of sleepless nights. His skin had a grayish tint that expensive suits couldn't hide.

Everything about him screamed of a man trying to convince himself he was happy.

"You look tired, Richard," I said softly, reaching up to straighten his tie. He flinched at my touch but didn't pull away. "Marriage is not everything you thought it would be?"

"My marriage is none of your business." His voice was rough, strained, like he was fighting some inner battle.

"Isn't it?"I ran my fingers down his chest and felt his heartbeat quicken under the soft cotton fabric. "After all, you made it my business when you served me divorce papers in a hospital bed."

I gripped his tie, using it to pull him closer until we were breathing the same air. His pupils widened, his lips parting slightly as his body responded to our closeness despite his clear hesitation.

This was the moment I had been planning for months. The moment when I would prove to both of us that he wasn't as immune to me as he pretended to be.

"Tell me, Richard," I purred, letting my voice drop to that husky whisper I used to use in our bedroom, "do you still find me disgusting?"

The question hung between us like a blade. I watched him struggle, watched his careful control begin to crack.

His hands came up to grip the edge of the desk behind him, knuckles white with the effort of not touching me.

"Yes," he said, but his voice cracked on the word.

The lie was so transparent it was almost insulting. But I had come too far to back down now.

I pressed closer, my body flush against his, and felt the unmistakable proof of his dick pressing against my hip.

My smile turned predatory.

"Then explain why you're so hard right now."

The color drained from his face, then rushed back in a wave of humiliation and fury. His breathing became ragged, his chest rising and falling against mine.

"You're..." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're different."

"Better," I corrected, my grip tightening on his tie. "I'm better, Richard. In every possible way."

I leaned up until my lips were barely an inch from his ear, my breath hot against his skin. "The question is... are you brave enough to find out how much better?"

His hands moved as if he wanted to touch me, but then they stopped, hovering between desire and self-control. It was fascinating to see the internal struggle on his face.

"Claire..." My name came out like a prayer and a curse combined.

For a moment, I thought he might kiss me. Part of me—the part that still loved him despite everything—wanted him to. But that wasn't the plan.

This was about power, about proving I could make him want what he had thrown away.

I released his tie and stepped back, leaving him leaning against his desk, disheveled and breathing hard.

I was now in control, and we both realized it.

"The Hayes International proposal is on the table," I said, smoothing my hair back into place. "You have forty-eight hours to review it."

I headed for the door, then paused with my hand on the handle. "Oh, and Richard? Next time you lie to me about finding me disgusting..."

I looked back over my shoulder, letting my gaze drop pointedly to the evidence of his dick still pushing against his suit pants.

"Tell your body to keep up with the lie."

The door clicked shut behind me, shutting him inside a war he was no longer winning.