Semua Bab Claimed By The Billionaire: Bab 21 - Bab 30

AriaThe lights inside the mansion are blinding after the dimness of the garden. I blink against them, pulse still raging, my breath catching with each step. The argument outside plays on a loop in my head—Damon’s cold accusation, the slap, his warning.I push open the doors to the dining room, and everything screeches back to life. Everyone’s still seated. Joshua walks in a moment after me, all too pleased with himself. He’s still smirking. I can feel Damon’s presence behind me—rigid, burning with restraint.I walk past Joshua without looking at him and take my seat beside Damon. His chair scrapes slightly as he sits last, his expression carved from stone. I don’t acknowledge him.Grace’s voice slices through the room like a knife. “So, Aria, tell us more about your family. You said they’re from Maryland? What kind of business did they run again?”My eyes widen in surprise. “Hardware. My—my father ran a chain of hardware stores.”“Really? What’s the company called? Maybe I’ve heard o

Damon“She’s gone.”What??!“What the hell do you mean by that, Leo? What happened? You were supposed to watch her, dammit,” I curse through the phone, barely keeping it together.“She was right here. I briefly stepped away from the door to check with the other assignment you gave me. The other guys were on their brea—”I cut him off before he can finish. “For fuck’s sake, Leo! This is more important than any other task I send your way. You better find her. NOW!”My voice booms through the line. “The freaking instruction was ‘Man her door at all times!’ I say one thing! One! And you all decide to do the opposite!” I end the call before I say something worse.Ava. Ava. Ava.I should’ve known. Should’ve predicted it. She’s always been like this—impulsive, unpredictable. But I didn’t think she’d actually do it. Not this time.Where do I even start? What kind of story can I manufacture to Father? Those vultures at home already think she’s a fake– just a pretty face I pulled in for appeara

Aria Light penetrates my eyes before I even open them.It's crisp and clinical, and everything smells like antiseptic and plastic. There’s a quiet hum beneath everything—machines, perhaps. The continuous beep of a monitor next to me confirms something I don't want to admit.Hospital. Again.I try to move, but my arms fail me. There's an IV in the back of my hand.I open my eyes.Fluorescent ceiling tiles hang above me. A hanging drape is drawn halfway around the bed, and a hard sheet covers me up to my chest. My body feels as if it has been dropped down a precipice and then regretfully sewn back together.My lips are dry, and my tongue tastes like metal. When I try to speak, all I manage to let out is a cracked, hollow rasp.The memories come in fragments.Running. The park. Barking dogs.Damon—shouting, furious.His tight grip on my arms. Me yelling.Then the ground. A jolt. Everything turning black.The monitor beside me spikes with my heartbeat.The door swings open, and Dr Jenna

DamonLetter?Who the hell still writes a letter?It’s not the kind of thing that shows up in this house. Not with my systems, my protocols. Everything’s monitored, filtered, and controlled. That’s the point. So when the maid shoved the envelope into my hand earlier, it barely registered. Some PR stunt, probably. A thank-you from a client’s assistant. But now, standing in the dim hallway, my eyes catch the opening line, and every muscle in my body locks up.Hey Aria,It’s been a minute.How is he treating you?A low buzz floods my ears.I’m asking because it’s important. To me.I can always come to your rescue. I know you're trapped.The words turn razor-sharp.Now, don’t rack your head with thoughts, my darling.You don’t know who I am. Or do you? But, rest assured, I know you. I see you, and I know your struggles. Be good. I’ll keep in touch. Don’t ask how. I’ll see you before you see me.Till next time—whenever that is.The paper rustles in my hand as I lower it.What the act

AriaShe stands at the top of the stairs, arms gently crossed, with a look on her face like she’s stepped into a memory. Her smile stretches wide, full of warmth and some quiet amusement, like seeing me is the final piece of a puzzle she’s waited years to complete.I pause, one foot still on the step. Her presence feels out of place—like I walked into someone else’s story.“Who are you?” The words come out sharper than I mean them to.“Oh, my darling,” she says, voice light and familiar, “you wouldn’t know me.” She starts down the stairs, moving like the place still remembers her. “I’m Eunice. Just got back this morning.”I squint slightly. Nothing about her rings a bell.“I’m not following. Got back from where?”“I’ve served the Stone family for over twenty years,” she says with a kind of nostalgic pride. “Took a break to tend to my health. But now I’m back.”Something in her voice carries history. It pulls me in despite myself.“Nice to meet you,” I offer. “I’m Aria.”She touches my