Lahat ng Kabanata ng Claimed By The Billionaire: Kabanata 31 - Kabanata 40

Damon.She walks toward me without panic.Every step is measured—shoulders high, chin forward, eyes locked. It’s not practised; it’s something more dangerous than rehearsal. She’s wearing a certain skin, like it’s never not been hers.The dress hugs her perfectly, fluid and silk-spun. Light catches on to her as she moves, like the world decided to spotlight her just for walking into it. But it’s her face that pulls me apart. It’s calm. Still. Too still. No cracks in her smile. No tremble in her jaw.And yet, somewhere behind the calm, something else lingers. A flicker of the girl who kissed me at Father’s estate. The one who fought back. The one who spat fire when I pushed too hard.My hand grazes hers when she gets to me. Just a brush, almost nothing. But she shudders. She’s shaking. Not visibly, not enough for the guests to notice—but I do.I grab her hand fully, wrapping my fingers around hers until the quiver subsides. It's not affection. It's instinct. It's performance.But maybe

AriaThe silence in the car stretches so long, it starts to feel personal.The kind that settles in your bones. Thick, heavy, impossible to shake. Damon sits beside me, eyes fixed out the tinted window like the night offers more peace than this leather seat ever could. Not a word since we got in. Not a glance.Fine by me.I can’t pretend anymore tonight. Not after all the smiling. Not after being paraded like some carefully groomed acquisition—packaged, tagged, and displayed. I played the role, alright. Gave them the blushing bride. Giggled at their terrible jokes. Pretended his hand on my back didn’t make my skin crawl.And now, I’m just... tired.The dress is too tight, my scalp aches from the pins holding up my hair, and the corners of my mouth still feel strained from holding the same fake smile for hours. My whole body feels like it’s been rented out to someone else. No room left in it for me.And now this—a stop, before Paris. No explanation. No warning. Just another layer of th

DamonShe’s predictable. I knew she’d run.Didn’t even have to check the cameras. The second I didn’t find her in the hallway, I knew where she was headed. There’s only one exit out back that slips past the guards. Hidden, rarely used. Most people don’t even notice it. But she did. Of course she did. She’s sharper than she looks when she’s quiet. Too sharp, sometimes.I don’t follow her right away. I wait. Just long enough for her to get close. For her to think, maybe, just maybe, this was her moment. Freedom. A break in the walls. A chance to breathe without my name wrapped around her throat.But nothing about this place is unplanned. Not even that gate. I had it locked the second I saw her step through the side hallway.So when she reaches it and starts pulling at it, desperate and barefoot, I step out from where I’ve been standing the whole time.“Where do you think you’re going?”My voice is even. Calm. She freezes. Doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs the latch a

AriaMy eyes feel weak. Heavier than they were when I woke from the coma. Lifting them feels like peeling myself away from cement. They won’t cooperate. Not yet.It might be the exhaustion. Yesterday left nothing behind but scraps. No fuel. No air. Just the weight of survival and the kind of mental fog that sticks to your ribs.I squeeze my lids shut, trying to block it all out—the panic, the sprint, the stupid hope when I thought the gate was open. That brief flash of relief, followed by adrenaline so sharp it almost felt like clarity. For a second, I thought I’d made it, that I’d beat him.But no. He got to me first. And just like that, the fight drained out of me. Gone. I didn’t resist. Didn’t scream. I didn’t even speak.Just followed. Numb.Now my eyes flutter open, and the ceiling above is white, high, and unfamiliar.Where...?The smell hits me next. Expensive linen. Something floral. Subtle. The kind of scent you get in overpriced hotels with too many stars. I glance around.T

DamonThe moment the car door shuts and the engine hums to life, the silence thickens. She’s quiet. Too quiet. Still wearing that smile she put on like war paint for her little sidewalk reunion.The driver shifts into gear, and before the wheels even roll forward, I say it.“What the hell was that?”It comes out low, even—but it slices through the quiet like a blade. I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. She knows exactly what I’m talking about.She stares out the window like I’m a minor inconvenience.“What?”She’s playing dumb now?“You ran,” I say. My jaw’s clenched, voice measured. “To a man. In public. With guards present.”She doesn’t flinch. “I know him.”Of course she does.“It doesn’t matter.”“He said my name.”“And that’s the bar now? He said your name so you throw yourself at him in the middle of Paris like it’s a goddamn reunion episode?”The memory flashes again—her full-on sprint, the way she flung herself into his arms like we didn’t have two security guards five st