Todos os capítulos de Claimed By Three: The Stalker, The Don and The Killer: Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

Lucas POVAlissia rolls her eyes. “So, what’s the big discussion? You’ve already told me my toe is fractured and that I need ice. Done, right?”Demitri narrows his eyes. “Stop acting like a brat, Alissia. I’m talking about us—this,” he gestures between the three of us. “This isn’t nothing.”She crosses her arms. “This is nothing, Demitri. It can never be anything. That’s why I keep saying I’m staying single.”He groans in frustration, rubbing his temples as if she’s giving him a headache. “You can’t keep saying you’re staying single.”“Why not?” she challenges. “You’re not willing to share unless I push you too far. You three are completely different, constantly battling each other. It won’t work. I’ll stay single.”She’s not entirely wrong, but she’s not entirely right either. I decide to speak up. “We can work through our differences, Alissia. Yeah, we’re different, but that’s what makes this interesting. I enjoy the chase, Blake thrives i

Demitri POVBlake considers this, and then, with a calculating gleam, he sits back, tapping his fingers against the arm of his chair. “If we rearrange the lyrics or analyze any embedded patterns, it might reveal something. I’ve got a decryption program we could run this through, see if there’s anything coded in it.”Lucas, sprawled on the couch with his legs stretched out, chuckles and shoots me an amused look. “So, let me get this straight – this month isn’t just going to be about dealing with each other, but a treasure hunt too? And let me guess, half the time we’ll be reeling her back in whenever she’s caught up in her own messes?”I smirk, glancing at the hallway toward Alissia’s room. “She’s probably holding back more than she’s letting on. If we’re going to keep her safe – and in one place – we’ll need to figure this out.”Blake crosses

AlissiaI woke up with a slight ache from my toe and hobbled out to find Blake and Lucas, who were comfortably lounging around. They told me Demitri’s busy working, so I settled in with ice on my foot. When Demitri came back, he had my laptop.Saying a quick thanks I fire up my laptop. It feels great to have it back; I need to dive back into my story and make some serious changes. Hours slip by as I get lost in my writing, adjusting each scene with renewed inspiration, aware of the occasional glances from both Blake and Lucas. They’re watching me; I can practically feel their eyes on me.“Food’s here,” Blake announces, breaking my focus. I stretch and close the laptop, realizing how much time has flown by.“I’ll take some down to grumpy,” I say, grabbing two plates and standing up, a bit wobbly on my injured foot.Blake smirks. “You sure you can manage?”I roll my e

Blake POVI wake up around five, feeling strangely off balance, like I’m living someone else’s life. I’ve always been on my own, handling everything myself, so this is a different rhythm altogether. After getting ready, I walk out, set up my laptops, and then head to the elevator.Being inside Demitri’s system has shown me a lot of things, like the fact he doesn’t even have a functional kitchen—not even for coffee. Instead, he orders it, and someone brings it up. It’s ridiculous.In the restaurant kitchen on a lower floor, I grab two coffees, ignoring the curious stares of a few onlookers. A woman eyes me as I’m putting on the lids, and I give her a quick, “I’m with Demitri—ask him.” No way am I paying for coffee; if he expects people to live in his place, he should have a basic setup.Once I’m back upstairs, I settle in with my laptops. Yesterday, I didn’

AlissiaI linger, staring at the wall of monitors. Blake’s words echo through my mind, and the weight of them settles heavy in my chest. When I saw his setup, it felt so clear—he was watching other people live while he remained in the shadows, an observer in his own life. I’d blurted it out without thinking, but his response hit a nerve I didn’t know I had.“Your reason for not living was that living means giving up some power? Getting a job would mean giving up control. Making real friends again? That would be surrendering more power. And a relationship? That’s the ultimate surrender of control, even in the little moments.” He watches me, a question lurking in his gaze, one I don’t want to answer.The frustration rises, prickling beneath my skin. “And what about you?” I ask, maybe a bit too sharply. “What was your reason for never really living?”His gaze slides away, distant. “I never got the chance,” he says quietly, his voice a mixture of resignation