All Chapters of Damien's Willing Captive : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

228 Chapters

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 F

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—bu

A Fiancée or a Prisoner?

Damien's POV The city blurred around me in streaks of neon and dusk as I tore through traffic like a man possessed. My foot was a weight on the gas, but it was nothing compared to the chaos in my head. Every piece of the puzzle twisted in my mind like a knife. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not like this. Cleo had played it perfectly. Used protocol, bureaucracy, and timing like a scalpel. And the worst part? She wasn’t bluffing. The agency she worked under didn’t tolerate breaches. No broken deals. No complaints. If I pushed her out now—especially without a legitimate reason—they’d pull every contract I had with them. I’d be blacklisted across half the sector before sunrise. That couldn’t happen. Not now. Not with Osmond breathing down my neck like a rabid dog, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Cleo knew that. She knew everything. And now she was moving into my penthouse—into my world again—like a godda

When History Knocks

Damien’s POV The ding came again. Sharp. Insistent. A reminder that no matter how tightly I tried to lock down my world, Cleo would always find a way in. I turned to Isabella—no, Ariana now. My voice cut through the air like a blade. “You’re my fiancée. From today henceforth, you sleep in my bed.” Her lips parted. Confusion flickered in her wide, glassy eyes. “If you want to live,” I added, softer but deadlier, “you follow my rules. Understood?” She nodded. Hesitantly. Slowly. The same way someone nods at a loaded gun. The sound of the doorbell echoed through the penthouse like a shotgun blast. I didn’t move, still studied her carefully. What if she tries something funny. But she didn’t. Isabella’s lips parted slightly, breath trembling. I could see her calculating—whether to run, whether to hide, whether she could make it to the balcony and throw herself over the edge if it meant escaping the madness she’d been dragged into. But I was already walking. Every st

Lies

Isabella’s POV The door slammed down the hall, rattling the walls with its finality. I stood frozen in the living room, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. Every nerve in my body was wired tight, humming with adrenaline and anger. I could still feel her — the ex fiancée — like a stain in the air, her perfume clinging to the furniture, her venom burning in my veins. My hands balled into fists. I turned to Damien, whose eyes hadn't left me once since she disappeared. "Next time," I said coolly, voice dripping with fury I barely recognized as my own, "put your dog on a leash. Why do I have to be barked at?” His jaw twitched, but he said nothing, only watched as I tossed the blanket onto the couch and stormed past him. I didn’t bother looking back. The penthouse seemed to stretch endlessly as I walked down the hall, every footstep a battle against the instinct screaming at me to run. I found a bedroom and climbed onto the massive bed, crawling to the farthest edge.

The Fire Beneath

Isabella’s POV Cleo moved. Fast. She stood so quickly her chair screeched back on the marble floor, making me flinch despite myself. She leaned over the table, bracing her manicured hands on the surface, her face inches from mine. "You think you’ve won something, don’t you?" she hissed, her voice low and trembling with fury. I leaned back leisurely in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, meeting her glare head-on. "You’re nothing special," she spat. "Damien's just... using you. He’ll get bored. He always gets bored. And when he does, he’ll come crawling back to me." I smiled sweetly, tipping my head slightly like I was considering her words. Then, with a voice as sweet as poisoned honey, I said, "If you were so special, he wouldn’t have left you in the first place." Cleo blinked. I saw the blow hit her like a slap across the face. Her perfectly glossed lips parted in shock before twisting into an ugly snarl. Gosh she’s so infuriating. "You think you're b

The Shadow Beside Him

Cleo moved fast—heels clicking against the marble floor as she raced into the elevator and slid in beside Damien before the doors could shut. “Morning, Damie,” she cooed, batting her lashes like a deranged Disney villain. “Hope you don’t mind me tagging along.” Damien didn’t answer. Not even a twitch. The silence was his rejection, his armor. But of course, Cleo was persistent. She trailed after him like a shadow to his car, slipping into the passenger seat without being invited. Buckling her seatbelt with a sharp click, she turned toward him with a saccharine smile that barely masked her irritation. “So…” she began, crossing her legs slowly. “Who is she really? That girl back there. Ariana or… whatever name she goes by. Is she someone you hired to get my attention?” Her voice was mocking, but behind it lurked something wounded. Damien didn’t glance at her. His eyes stayed locked on the road, jaw tight. “I’m not doing this with you, Cleo,” he muttered, flat and cold.

Not Missing…Taken

Damien’s POV I didn’t move. Not an inch. I stood there—shoulders stiff, hands in my pockets, every muscle strung tight beneath my tailored suit—watching the man cross the street. The flyer in his hand trembled in the breeze, but his grip didn’t waver. He was young. Too clean-cut to be anything but trouble. Eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled like he’d slept in them—and probably had. But the most dangerous thing about him wasn’t the way he looked. It was the look in his eyes. Hope. Raw. Stubborn. Stupid. “Hey!” the man called, picking up speed. “Hey—hey you!” My mouth twitched, but not into a smile. I turned—just slightly—letting the man reach me. “Hey—hey, excuse me!” the man called again, holding the flyer like a lifeline. His chest heaved with the effort of running, desperation scrawled across his face. “Have you… have you seen her?” My eyes flicked once to the photo. My pulse didn’t change, but something in my gaze darkened. The man shove

All The Curves

Damien’s POV I returned to the meeting with a blank expression, smoothing the mask back over my face like slipping into a finely tailored coat. The mayor was droning on about zoning conflicts and the new investor gala. I nodded, leaned back, and let my mind concentrate. I said all the right things. Gave a compelling breakdown of the new offshore fund, disarmed the governor’s opposition with a single raised brow, and promised the mayor the zoning permits for his “legacy project” would be delivered before the next election cycle. And yet—I wasn’t really there. A few more minutes passed before something new cut through the meeting. Perfume. Too repulsive. Too familiar. I felt her before I saw her. She sashayed in without shame, hips swaying in a rhythm only desperation could birth, platinum blonde hair cascading over bare shoulders. One of the call girls I used to keep around in my darker, lonelier hours—Sienna, I think. Or was it Star? Simone? They all blended. "Mr Vos

Only Her Matters

Damien’s POV A sultry voice, dipped in pouting charm, filled the line. “Damieeeen,” Cleo crooned. “Come pick me up? It’s raining and I don’t want to get wet. Let’s go home together, hmm?” Her voice dripped with suggestion. With possession. I stared out the window at the black clouds and let the silence stretch. Then, with one slow movement, I ended the call and shoved the phone deep into my jacket pocket. She was the least of my fucking problems. All I wanted—craved—was Isabella. I wanted her curled into my side. I wanted her sleepy smile when I brought her everything she'd asked for and more. I wanted her trust. I wanted her to love me. Even if I left the doors wide open. Even if she could walk away. I wanted her to stay. We turned the corner onto my private drive. The gates opened with a slow groan, welcoming me back into my world of silence, control, and shadows. But the moment the car stopped, I saw it. A figure at the front of my door. Drenched. Lean

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