Stripping For My Devil Ex Husband

​An absolute, deafening silence instantly swallowed the concrete bay.

​The running boots came to an abrupt halt. No shots were fired.

​Five excruciating seconds ticked by in complete stillness.

​Ana slowly cracked one eye open, breathing heavily. The six heavily armed men stood frozen in place, their rifles lowered slightly, exchange awkward, bewildered glances beneath their tactical visors.

​Above her, a low, gravelly vibration rumbled against her cheek.

​"Anastasia," Damian murmured, his deep voice impossibly calm, perfectly measured, and laced with absolute stillness.

​Ana looked up, trembling, still plastered tightly against his shirt. "Damian, stay behind me... they have..."

​"They are my men, little bird," Damian said quietly.

​Ana froze. The words hung in the subterranean air like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.

​A slow clap echoed from the driver’s side of the armored SUV.

​Jullian leaned casually against the open driver’s door, his tailored jacket unbuttoned and an utterly delighted, wolfish smirk stretching across his face.

​"Well, well, well," Jullian drawled smoothly, his aristocratic voice echoing off the concrete walls with unbearable amusement. "Look at the fierce soon to be Mrs. Sterling, ready to take on an entire private military contractor with her bare hands. Remind me never to get on your bad side, Anastasia. You almost gave my tactical commander a heart attack."

​From the lowered rear passenger window of the SUV, Clara peeked out, taking in the spectacle of Ana clinging for dear life to the terrifying CEO while six giant mercenaries stood at awkward attention.

Clara pressed her hand against her mouth, biting her lip so hard her shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

​A violent wave of crimson heat surged from Ana’s collarbones straight to the tips of her ears. The sheer, mortifying embarrassment hit her so hard she wanted the concrete floor to split open and swallow her whole.

​"I... I thought..." Ana stammered, frantically trying to peel herself off his chest, her face blazing. "You were barking orders about ambushes and... and they had guns..."

​She tried to take a hasty step back, but Damian’s uninjured arm didn’t budge.

​His large, calloused hand tightened firmly around her waist, keeping her locked flush against his frame, refusing to let her hide.

​Jullian continued to chuckle, and Clara looked on with wide, entertained eyes, but Damian didn’t laugh. He didn’t mock her, nor did he offer his usual cold, biting reprimand.

​His dark, obsidian eyes stared down at Ana with an entirely unreadable expression... an intense, bottomless darkness swirling with something dangerously heavy, fiercely possessive, and profoundly shifted.

For several quiet seconds, he simply looked at the woman who had just offered her life to shield his broken body, before he coldly snapped his gaze back to his men.

​"Pack the vehicles," Damian rasped, his voice dropping into low, absolute authority as he practically lifted Ana toward the SUV. "We’re leaving."

_________________________

The armored SUV tore through the rain-slicked downtown avenues, cutting through the shadows as Jullian navigated the security convoy away from the compromised perimeter.

​Up front, the tension was sharp enough to slice glass. Clara sat rigid in the passenger seat, her arms crossed tightly over her emerald dress, staring out the window with smoldering frustration.

​"Stop stewing," Jullian said smoothly, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as he handled the wheel with effortless precision. "You played Dietrich Richter like a fiddle. The fact that he brought a scrubbed device means they were testing the waters, not executing a kill."

​"I was supposed to pull their financial backbone, Montgomery," Clara snapped, turning her fiery glare on him. "Instead, I sat there drinking their pinot while they staged a power cut and treated us like an amateur theater troupe."

​"And you walked out without a scratch," Jullian countered, his aristocratic drawl dropping into an uncharacteristically firm, quiet rasp. He reached over, his large hand closing over hers where her fingers were tightly clenched on the center console.

Clara stiffened at the sudden warmth of his touch, but before she could pull away, Jullian held her gaze with steady intensity. "You gave them nothing. That’s a win in my book. Don’t go looking for guilt where none belongs."

​Clara swallowed, her sharp tongue faltering against the heat of his grip, before she turned her head away to hide the sudden jump in her pulse.

________________________

​In the back, the privacy partition cast the spacious leather cabin into dim, intimate seclusion.

​Anastasia was pressed as far into her corner of the seat as the door would allow, her cheeks still flaming with acute, mortifying embarrassment. She stared down at her hands, praying the vehicle would move faster so she could vanish into the estate’s darkest corridor.

​A large, heavy hand reached out, closing around her wrist with undeniable strength.

​Without a word, Damian pulled her effortlessly across the leather bench. Ana gasped as she was hauled flush against his broad chest, his uninjured arm wrapping like an iron band around her waist, pinning her securely against him.

​"Damian, let me go," Ana whispered frantically, her voice trembling as she kept her gaze glued to the buttons of his dark shirt, unable to bear the weight of his eyes. "I already made a fool of myself in front of your entire tactical unit. You don’t have to rub it in."

​"Look at me, Anastasia," Damian commanded softly.

​The rough, gravelly timbre of his voice left no room for retreat. Slowly, painfully, Ana lifted her chin to meet his dark obsidian gaze.

​There was no mockery in his expression. No biting humor. His features were carved from hard stone, but beneath the cold exterior, his eyes swirled with a raw, suffocating intensity that made her breath catch.

​"You saw six raised assault rifles," Damian rasped, his calloused thumb coming up to tilt her chin higher, holding her captive under his scrutiny. "You knew I took three bullets less than four days ago. And your first instinct was to put your own body between those barrels and my heart. Explain why did you do that?"

​"You couldn’t take another shot," Ana whispered, a sudden, fierce vulnerability cracking through her embarrassment. Her fingers curled into the lapel of his coat over his uninjured shoulder. "You were bleeding out on the floor two nights ago because of me. I couldn’t just stand there and watch them kill you."

​Something dark and profoundly shaken flickered deep within Damian’s eyes. His jaw tightened, his arm drawing her impossibly closer until she could feel the heavy, steady thud of his heartbeat right beneath her palm.

​"You don’t take a bullet for me, little bird," Damian murmured against her temple, his voice dropping to a low, possessive rumble that vibrated through her entire frame. "Ever. You stay behind me, and you let me burn whatever is in our way."

​Before Ana could answer, Jullian lowered the small partition speaker from the front, his voice breaking the heavy silence. "Sterling, the telemetry from the hotel grid just finished processing. We need to talk about why Dante pulled the power."

​Damian didn’t loosen his grip on Ana; he simply raised his head, his cold tactical mask sliding back into place. "Speak."

​"It wasn’t an assassination attempt," Jullian said, his eyes meeting Damian’s in the rearview mirror. "Dante had high-altitude scout drones stationed three blocks out. When the power dropped and the hotel went dark, we executed our standard alpha extraction protocol in the open."

​Clara turned around in her seat, her eyes wide as the realization clicked into place. "He didn’t want the data. He wanted to see how we’d react."

​"Precisely," Damian rasped, his eyes narrowing into lethal slits. "He baited Clara downtown to see if she was working for us. Then he cut the power at the hotel to see where my forward command post was, how fast my grid deploys, and who comes when I call."

​"And now he knows," Jullian added, his jaw tight. "He knows the Montgomery heir is backing you on the ground. He knows Clara is operating inside our circle. And worse..."

​Jullian trailed off, his gaze flicking briefly to Ana before returning to the road.

​Dante Sullivan now had high-definition proof that Damian Sterling... a man once thought to have no weaknesses, no blind spots, and no heart... was keeping Richard Vance’s daughter locked at the dead center of his personal security, willing to deploy an entire army just to keep her breathing.

_________________________

​Five miles across the city, on the top floor of the Sullivan Global high-rise, the glass walls reflected the rain-drenched skyline.

​Dietrich Richter stood at attention beside a massive glass conference table, placing a decrypted flash drive onto the surface.

​Across the room, standing with a cut-crystal tumbler of scotch in hand, was Dante Sullivan.

​A large holographic monitor flickered to life, replaying the thermal telemetry and drone footage captured outside The Obsidian Room and the hotel garage.

The screen paused on a freeze-frame... Jullian Montgomery holding the perimeter, Clara stepping into the tactical vehicle, and Damian Sterling standing in the basement shadows, his broad frame shielding Anastasia Vance.

​A slow, chilling smile spread across Dante Sullivan’s face.

​"So," Dante murmured, his voice silky and dripping with venomous amusement as he took a slow sip of his scotch. "Sterling hasn’t just bought himself a captive bride. He’s built an entire fortress around her... with the Montgomery heir holding the keys."

​Dante set his glass down on the table with a soft, decisive click, his eyes fixed on the image of Anastasia locked in Damian’s embrace.

​"For four years, Damian Sterling was untouchable because he had nothing to lose," Dante said softly, the edge of his mouth curving into a predator’s grin. "Now we know exactly where to aim."

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