All Chapters of Claimed By The Billionaire: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

AriaHours after the Duval disaster, we're back in the apartment, packing in silence for the flight back to New York. Back to the cage. Back to surveillance, secrets, and stiffly filtered air. I move around the room with slow, mechanical motions, folding clothes I don’t care about, pretending like this isn’t the same place where everything just spiralled out of control. And maybe if I move slow enough, time will slow down with me, and I won’t have to face what comes next.Damon’s here, too. Not that you’d know it. He hasn’t said a word in over thirty minutes, his back turned, his energy closed off like a door slammed shut. Colder than usual. Detached. His silence is a mood, but honestly, I’m too tired to match it. Too exhausted to figure out what kind of ice I’m walking on now.I do everything right. Act exactly as he says I should. Say nothing when he says so. Breathe evenly. And yet, still somehow, I feel like I’ve committed some crime. Like breathing wrong might trigger another expl

Damon“Alright, man. If you say so,” Kay says, and with that, the line goes dead.Leaning back into the headrest, I try to still everything. Thoughts, instincts, the tension that hasn’t left my shoulders since we touched down. The inside of the car is silent except for the hum of the engine. The moment feels stretched thin, like it might snap if I breathe too loudly.Gravel crunches under the tires. I didn’t even notice Mark turning into the driveway until we were already pulling in. The house rises into view, tall and sharp against the dull afternoon light, and just like that, reality comes barreling back.She moves before the car comes to a full stop. The door swings open, and she steps out fast. Too fast. The door slams hard behind her.Right. Here we go.If I was taming a dog before Paris, I’m fighting a tiger now. And not just any tiger—one I raised with my own hands. One I fed fury and independence, and then had the audacity to expect silence from.I step out, and my eyes land o

AriaThe note sits at the bottom of the drawer like it owns the damn room.A small, folded piece of paper—simple, stupid, and ordinary. Except, it isn’t ordinary. It shouldn’t be here. No one should have touched this drawer. No one should have access to this room. And yet—here it is. Crisp edges. Smooth texture. Same paper. Same weight. Same fucking handwriting.No message this time. Just a number.19. I stare at it like it might change if I blink enough. It doesn’t. The black ink remains bold, unmoving, certain of its own mystery.What does this mean? Is it a date? A countdown? A room number? A threat? My mind runs wild, fingers clutching the note like it might disappear if I let go. Every possibility flashes through like a horror reel.And that’s the part that terrifies me most—not knowing.I slip it into the pages of a book and slide the book deep inside the drawer, then I lock the drawer with a key I didn’t think I’d need.Back in New York. Same surveillance, new format. These pe

DamonI retire back into the adjoining suite, get off my clothes, and freshen up. In no time, I sleep off, my thoughts still running wild from all that happened today.Morning comes and the light pouring in through the slits in the blinds forces me awake. The house is quiet, too quiet for everything spinning in my head. A part of me wants to stay buried under the covers, just to delay facing the shit storm that’s coming. But I can't. I get up, splash water on my face, and throw on my running gear.The run is short but feels long. The air is crisp, cold enough to sting a little, but that’s the point. Pain distracts. Pain clears.With every step pounding against the pavement, I try to outrun the image of her curled up under the duvet, the way she pulled back from me yesterday, that damn look in her eyes. Something like disappointment. Something worse.I step back into the house, towel at my neck, sweat drying fast. My feet take me automatically to the adjoining suite, and I shut the doo

AriaThe morning unfolds slowly, like it already knows the weight it carries. Light spills into the room in hazy lines, brushing over the untouched side of my bed. I glance through the slightly open adjoining door to his room. Again, he's not here.Not that I expected him to be. He’s mastered the art of disappearing before dawn, especially when things get too quiet between us. Quiet, not in the peaceful way, but the kind that fills every corner with questions and the ghosts of things left unsaid.Slipping out of bed, I pad toward the bathroom, moving slowly, almost carefully, like I might bump into another memory. The shower is quick, my mind already racing ahead, trying not to land on him—on the dresser, on the way his breath caught when our bodies met, on how fast he walked away.Everything in this house reminds me of him. Of us. Of the performance. The pretence.Downstairs, the dining room is still and clean, the scent of fresh bread and eggs warming the air. Eunice sits at the fa