Semua Bab Claimed By The Billionaire: Bab 121 - Bab 130

Aria I duck from Damon’s side and finally manage to get to the drawers. My hand slips into the middle one, fishing out the pyjamas I’d meant to grab the first time. It’s a cute set of a tank top and shorts, light enough to sleep in but still soft against my skin.As I pull it out, I can practically feel him still watching me from where he’s standing. It’s like he doesn’t know how to blink sometimes. Or maybe he just chooses not to when I’m in the room. I don’t know what it is about Damon and his sudden urges to tease the hell out of me. It’s almost like the man lives for my reactions. Every jab and smug retort that leaves his mouth is always calculated and somewhat intentional. He knows exactly how to pull at my threads until I spark. And somehow, I always do. Even with the countless agreements I’ve made with myself, not to.But the most messed-up part? I think I like it. No, scratch that, I know I like it. Not all the time, and definitely not when he’s being an unbearable prick. Bu

Damon I sit back in the chair by the window, my leg propped on the ledge, waiting. The glass reflects just enough of the room for me to keep half an eye on the closet door without looking like I’m watching it. Which I am. Obviously.I wasn’t supposed to take her with me today. That wasn’t the plan. The plan was to get out, clear my head, maybe stop by the office, and circle back just in time for dinner with Mum.But then, I remembered what happened with Marcus. Or rather, the news about him.The second Kingsley dropped the update, my instincts went full tilt.Someone was sending a message. Not just to Marcus, he's already out of the picture. To us. To me. To whoever’s trying to dig around in this mess, they want to be buried. I don’t know who it is, or what the hell they want, but I know one thing for sure:A’s got nothing to do with it.It’s Ava.It’s always been Ava.She’s the one who started this fire. She left the house soaked in gasoline and disappeared before the spark caught.

AriaThe car rolls away from the Stone residence, and I sink a little deeper into the seat, my phone in hand, and my thumb aimlessly scrolling through nothing. I don’t know what I’m looking for. A distraction, maybe. Something to undo the taste of that dinner."Well," I say, keeping my voice even. "That was something."Damon lets out a sigh. It’s quiet, but not casual. There’s a weight behind it, like his ribs are trying to keep something from spilling out."That was nothing," he says, voice rough, eyes still on the road ahead. "It’s usually worse."I nod, then tap my screen again just to avoid looking at him. "Right."Silence returns, stretching across the car like thick glass. The kind that cracks but never quite breaks.I shift my gaze to the window. The night hums outside, the city melting into silence as we take the long road back to his place. Back to that ridiculous fortress of glass and marble. I blink slowly, mind already replaying every glance, every veiled jab from James. A

AriaThe second the door clicks shut behind him, the air in the room feels... odd. Still. Like it’s holding its breath with me.The soft click of the door closing behind him echoes in my ears, but my mind is elsewhere.What has gotten into him?I lie there, staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly and heavily. My body feels warm where he kissed me. My forehead still tingles, annoyingly. And my brain is already building a thousand theories on what exactly is happening here.Why do I always have to wake up to a side of Damon that throws me off balance?Always switching between hot and cold. One moment, he’s ice and silent and biting sarcasm. Next, he’s saying words like please, and giving forehead kisses with those eyes.He said we need to talk.Since when did we start 'talking'? Since when did it change from clipped responses, cold stares, and commands?And that kiss.It wasn't a slip-up. Didn't feel like it. Not with the way he paused after like it meant something. Not with the way he

DamonThe elevator doors slide shut behind me with a whisper, sealing me into this glass-and-steel illusion of quiet. Polished brass rails line the walls, and soft instrumental music hums low from hidden speakers. The air smells like pinewood polish and clean air. It’s all too serene for the chaos rolling in my chest.I lean back against the mirrored wall, with one hand still in my pocket, and the other gripping my phone. My reflection stares back at me, revealing my tight jaw and my eyes, already miles away.How the hell do I start this conversation with A?Do I start with an apology? Some vague, cover-all statement that says sorry without really saying it?Or do I just dive into it all? The mess I made, the lies I let pile up, the fact that I kept her in this sham even after I knew she wasn’t Ava? And worse, how I dragged her to Vancouver with that truth already burning a hole in my gut. Or how I have the nerve to feel this much for her when I’ve done nothing but put roadblocks in h