All Chapters of Claimed By The Billionaire: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

DamonI'm moving before I even know I'm moving. One second, I'm frozen in the hallway; the next, I'm barreling toward the door. My hand snatches the keys off the console, and I don't even pause long enough to think.Outside, the air is thick with the kind of tension that presses on your chest. Like the sky's holding its breath with me. The clouds look ready to crack open, and I honestly wish they would. I need something to give.I swing the door open, slide into the driver’s seat, and slam it shut. The bouquet is still on the passenger seat. I don't even look at it now. The car growls to life, and my foot hits the gas harder than I should. Gravel kicks up behind me as I round the curve of the waterfall and tear through the driveway. The iron gates crawl open like they don’t understand urgency. I don't wait. I squeeze through the half-gap, close enough to scrape the mirrors, but I don't stop.The streets blur. Headlights, taillights, and pedestrians fade in and out of sight, and I weav

DamonI’m weaving through traffic like it’s a damn obstacle course, one hand gripping the wheel, the other on my phone. I hit redial on Mark’s number.Come on.It rings. But he doesn’t answer.I check the side mirror, and Kingsley’s car is still behind me, tailing like a shadow. Good.I try again, and he picks this time. He’s already talking, his voice already panicked. “I’m sorry, sir. I–”“Where are you?” I snap. “And where the hell did you leave your phone?”“I’m at home,” he stammers. “I–”“Just save it,” I cut in. “You already know what I’m about to say. Not a single word of what happened today leaves your mouth. Even to yourself. If this leaks, I’ll know exactly where it came from.”“Got it, sir. Not a word.”“Keep your ears and eyes open, too. If there’s any strange movement back home, you report it.”“Noted.”“Also, the story you’ll be giving Eunice and any other gossiping mouth is that my wife and I are away for a while. That’s it.”“Yes, sir.”“And my room’s open. Supervise

DamonI pull up right behind Kingsley’s car, the tires groaning against gravel as I throw the gear into park. The warehouse in front of us is everything I expected: worn-out, anonymous, and ugly as hell. It blends into the neighbourhood like a shadow. The kind of place nobody notices until something explodes.Kingsley’s already out, his phone pressed to his ear. I step out into the thick air, squinting at the sun slicing through a mess of rusted gutters and jagged rooftop lines.“I’m right outside,” he says into the phone, then ends the call. We don’t say anything. Just wait.A full minute ticks by before the huge metal door creaks open, revealing a guy who looks like he hasn’t left this place in weeks. Slacks. Loose shirt. And glasses too big for his face, with his hair like he fell asleep in the middle of an explosion.He nods to Kingsley, then turns to me.“Todd. Good afternoon.”I nod, following Kingsley inside as the door clanks shut behind us. Inside, it’s like stepping into a m

DamonIt’s three days now. Seventy-two full hours since A was taken. That number loops in my head like some sick timer I can’t shut off. And still, nothing. No lead, no voice on the other end of a call, no whisper. Nothing but silence, like the world’s holding its breath.I’m on the couch, back against the leather, staring at the ticking clock on Kingsley’s wall like it owes me something. It's 2:00 p.m.Two hours to go.Two hours till I’m on the road again, heading back to Todd. The moment that clock strikes four, I’m out of here. I called him this morning, my voice low and calm, but laced with enough threat to shake his spine.“Forty-eight hours on the dot,” I told him. “You better have it.”He assured me he would. So help me God, if he doesn’t—I look across to the kitchen, and Kingsley’s typing furiously on his phone. His thumbs moving like he’s trying to punch the life out of his screen.“What’s got your knickers in a worse twist than mine?” I ask, not looking away from the clock.

AriaIt’s been four days.Four days of the same bed, same walls, same air.My arms are still cuffed, though the metal doesn’t bite like it did the first night. Maybe I’ve gone numb to it. Maybe my body has given up resisting. But my mind? It won’t shut off. It keeps going, circling the same questions, hitting the same dead ends. Like clockwork. Like torture.What kind of sick game is this?I stare up at the same high window, its light dim again. Evening, maybe. The days blur together in here. I’ve counted ninety-six hours. I’ve said it over and over again in my head. Twenty-four. Forty-eight. Seventy-two. Ninety-six.Ninety-six hours of being held like this. Of being treated like I’m not human. No explanations. No answers. Just water, sometimes food, and silence. That, and the walls. The air. The sound of my own breathing and the slow, echoing creak of footsteps when someone finally decides I’m worth checking on.Four days of eating like a rat and pissing like a prisoner. Four days of