All Chapters of The Lost Billionaire’s Lover : Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

LENA'S POV My fingers clutched the leather strap of my purse as I handed the cashier my card. Clara was behind me, still chatting about some outfit she found tucked away in a corner rack, her voice distant through the hum of my thoughts. I was still playing out the words I needed to say to Kian.“I’m sorry, Kian. I wasn’t trying to control you. I was just scared.”That would be my opening.I glanced at my phone, half expecting a message from him. Nothing. Just the usual notifications. Until I swiped down.And my heart stopped.BREAKING NEWS: BUSINESS ASSOCIATE KIAN DAVENPORT REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHTCLUB MEETING.The words screamed louder than any voice ever could.I screamed. Loud. Uncontrolled. It shattered the calm in the boutique like glass under pressure. My phone slipped from my hands and clattered to the floor, screen still glowing.Clara spun around, startled. “Lena? What the hell—?”But I was already moving.The cashier called after me, confused, and a few shoppers gasped

LENA'S POV The rusted metal bars did nothing to mute the sounds of footsteps—heels clacking down the corridor, voices murmuring in passing. I leaned back against the concrete wall of the cell, eyes half-lidded, clutching the last bite of my now-cold shawarma. Clara had left, her scent still lingering faintly in the air like lavender and courage. Then I heard it. Two officers in the hallway. Talking low. But not low enough. "...confirmed it was Clementine. And Ryder too. Both of them. The GPS triangulated the van near the old docks. Davenport’s prints were on the inside." The second officer cursed under his breath. “You think she knows?” I was already on my feet before the thought registered. My fingers gripped the bars like iron could bleed. “What did you just say?” I hissed. The officers froze. “Miss Whitmore, you need to calm down—” “What did you say about my grandfather?” I barked. “And Harlin?” Their silence was answer enough. “Tell me he’s alive!” My voice cracked,

KIAN'S POV The cold chain around my wrist rattled as I shifted on the floor, my back pressed against the rusted frame of what used to be a mechanic's workbench. My breath came hard and shallow. The ache in my ribs had worsened, but it was nothing compared to what throbbed inside my head.Not pain.Memories.They came crashing back like a dam had split open. The ocean. The wind. The crash. The betrayal.Lena’s face at the gala. My office on the fiftieth floor. My last board meeting. The wedding ring.My name.Kian Davenport.I remembered it all.I remembered the night they came for me. The goons. The car. The injection. Being dragged through corridors like a ghost already dead.Now, I stared up at one of the men leaning against a metal pillar, bored and chewing gum."You boys do this for fun or just because you're too dumb to hold real jobs?"He didn’t respond.Another one, closer to me, glanced down. "Still got jokes, huh? After all that beating?""I'm not here for jokes," I said, fo

The salt-heavy air of the beach drifted over the row of old wooden huts lining the shore. Mr. Alcante stood at the center of a group of fishermen and former dockworkers, his face grim, voice low with urgency."She doesn't deserve to be locked up like that," he said, pacing slowly across the sand. "And you all know damn well that girl risked more than her reputation for this town. For us."The small crowd shifted uneasily.Lena's arrest had rattled everyone, but it wasn't their business. Not on the surface. Not when the threat came from high above—power, politics, and the kind of people who never got their hands dirty.One of the younger fishermen, Mateo, crossed his arms. "Why should we risk jail time? We aren't soldiers."Another older man nodded. "It doesn't benefit us. The police are looking for scapegoats. If we interfere..."Mr. Alcante's eyes flashed with fire."Then you let a woman suffer who stood by Kian when no one else did. The same man who paid for your son's school fees,

LENA'S POV The gates to the hidden underground villa slid open with a metallic hush, revealing a polished concrete driveway that descended into darkness. The car’s headlights sliced through the dimness as I gripped the steering wheel tightly, the tension in my body refusing to fade even though we were finally away from danger—for now. The silence in the vehicle was thick. Mr. Alcante sat beside me, his shirt stained with streaks of dried blood—not his own, thankfully—but the remnants of the chaos we’d just escaped. Behind us, his trusted acquaintances sat, breathing heavily, some of them injured, yet holding their heads high. Brave, stubborn, and loyal. They didn’t owe me anything, but they did it—for him. For Kian. The moment we stopped in the brightly lit underground garage, no one waited for instructions. Doors flung open. They spilled out of the van like shadows scattering into light. I barely managed to hit the brake before flinging my own door open. “Lena—” Mr. Alcante cal