All Chapters of Claimed By The Billionaire: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

AriaWhat happens after that?Breach the contract. Lose the little freedom I have. Put Derek in danger. Put myself in something worse than a floor next to a king-sized bed.I stare down at my plate.“A.” His voice cuts through again.And I realise—I’ve been sitting here in silence. Again.Just... zoning out and internally screaming.Derek leans forward, eyes searching my face, and gently places his hand to my forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “I’ve seen you twice, and both times, you’ve disappeared into your head. Are you okay?”I let out a soft laugh. The kind that doesn’t mean joy. “I’ve just... been in my head a lot lately.”“Yeah. I’m noticing.”He pulls his hand back, gives me that soft half-smile that used to make everything feel manageable. I look away.“So,” I say, trying to sound casual, like I’m finally ready. “Where do I start?”He doesn’t answer. Just waits. Elbows resting on the table now, fully leaned in.I could still tell the truth. I could finally say it.Inste

Aria‘He was watching?’That’s it?‘He was watching???’That’s all he could say? No apology. No hesitation. No sign that maybe, just maybe, he regrets shoving his mouth on mine in the middle of a Paris street.We step into the apartment, and the door clicks shut, but all I hear is the static in my head. My jaw clenches. My fingers twitch at my sides. I want to scream, throw something, make him feel what that moment did to me. But I don't.Because deep down, I know I can't put this all on him.I didn’t stop him.Could’ve pushed him off. Could’ve yelled. Slapped him. Anything.But I didn’t.I froze for half a second—long enough to give him a window. And then I did something worse.I leaned in.So no, I can’t go full firestorm on him. Not when my own body betrayed me first.He walks to the balcony like he always does. Like it’s his designated spot in this war zone of a living space. Hands in his pockets, face angled toward the skyline, pretending this city has more to offer than a thousa

AriaBefore long, he returns.The crowd hasn’t thinned much, but he moves through it like a wave parting the sea. His steps are confident and measured, like he belongs here. And when he reaches me, he doesn’t say anything at first. Just slips his hands into mine and rests them there like it’s normal. Like it’s muscle memory. Like it’s something he’s done a thousand times.His arm remains wrapped around my waist as we drift together through the rest of the evening like a couple caught up in their own cloud. Except we’re not. We’re just good at pretending. Or maybe he is, and I’m just trying to keep up.For the remainder of the sip and paint, he’s relentless in his performance. From one to another: A kiss on my temple. A soft peck on my cheek. A casual, perfectly timed rub against the small of my back that makes my breath catch even when I know it shouldn’t. He whispers things—“A, hope you’re good,”—just loud enough for people nearby to hear. Sometimes, he says it when no one’s watching

DamonThe second I step into the alley, my body just goes. Feet moving, eyes scanning, and every nerve in me alert like I’ve done this before. Like, I know how this ends. I don’t even think—I just move.Something about the way she said it. That line. “It was my name on the note.”Didn’t sound rehearsed. Didn’t sound rehearsed. And it stuck. Like a thorn under the skin.It shouldn’t matter. I should’ve just gone on to the apartment. Should've paid her no mind. But I didn’t walk away.I’m here. In the dark. Looking for something. For someone.The alley is quiet, but not empty. There’s a story in the dirt. Footprints, maybe. A flyer stepped on and left to rot. And then I see it—a folded piece of paper, just like the other one.My fingers are already reaching down before I decide if I should. Unfolding it before I realise I’m holding my breath.Nothing.No message. Which somehow feels worse.Blank paper says, I’m still here. Says, I’m watching. Says, I don’t need to warn you anymore.It’

Aria"Put on something professional. You're coming with me," Damon says without looking up from his phone, the minute he steps back in, like it’s just a calendar reminder.I glance at him from over my coffee mug. “And what exactly am I dressing up for this time?” He finally meets my eyes. His stare is cool, detached, but underneath it, there's something unreadable. “It’s a meeting. A private meeting. You sit, you smile, you stay quiet through it all. That’s all.”“That sounds a lot like an order.”He slips his phone into his pocket and straightens. “This time, it’s a favour.”The word lands differently. Damon doesn’t ask for favours. That’s not how the script works. He demands. He orchestrates. But here he is, standing in the doorway, calling it a favor. That alone is enough to make me pause.I narrow my eyes. “What kind of favour?”“The kind that requires you to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open.”Sounds easy. But nothing with Damon ever is. Still, something about the way he s