All Chapters of Becoming Mom To The Billionaire Daughter.: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

RENNIE'S POV “Guys, enough—we don’t have all day. We need to get moving,” Dana snapped, cutting in sharply as she turned the key, the engine coming alive beneath us.Shawn exhaled hard and twisted in his seat. “Rennie, Diane—take off those ridiculous disguises and come to the middle. Leave the back section clear.” He removed the tinted glasses and tossed them aside, dropping the walking stick onto the floor with a tired sigh.I quickly unwrapped the shawl from Diane and straightened my blouse. Diane reached into her pocket, quietly pulling out the apple she’d saved from yesterday, biting into it with the hunger of someone who hadn’t eaten in days.Shawn’s head jerked toward her. “Diane… sweetheart, what are you eating?” Concern thickening in his voice immediately.She lifted the apple innocently. “I got a shock yesterday… and I’ve been thirsty, so I’m eating an apple.”Shawn frowned deeply. “What do you mean—shock?”Diane paused mid-chew, hugging the apple to her chest.I rubbed her

SHAWN’S POVDarlington’s grin spread wider, stretching into something almost inhuman, because he looked too pleased, too hungry, as though he had been waiting for this exact moment from the day he first learned my name.“Ahhh, perfect. Perfect!” he crooned loudly while stepping back. He clapped slowly, and the first sharp clap landed across my face, followed immediately by another. The sound echoed like gunshots throughout the concrete room. “Now, Shawn,” he said, pointing at me with amusement, “the fun begins. Every scream you make, every single whimper—they will see it, they will hear it. And you… you will beg.”His boots clicked across the floor as he leaned closer. He leaned so close that his forehead almost touched mine, and his cold breath crawled across my skin.“You’ll scream until they believe you are broken,” he whispered into my ear. “And when she runs—when your wife or your daughter tries to save you—” his voice dropped to a deeper threat, “I will take all three of you at

RENNIE'S POV The hospital smelled faintly of antiseptic and quiet urgency. I followed Shawn’s stretcher down the corridor, my steps uneven as my chest tightened with every sharp rattle of the wheels. Even unconscious, he felt like a storm restrained — fear, rage, relief, all coiling inside him as the paramedics pushed him forward.They turned sharply into a private emergency room and shut the door immediately.A red light blinked above it, sealing him away from me.I stood there for a moment, frozen, my palm pressed against the cool glass window. Through it, I watched as they cut his shirt open and placed oxygen tubes, the nurses moving around him with quick, practiced precision. My throat burned. My eyes stung. Before the heaviness could choke me, a nurse approached and touched my shoulder gently.“Miss Rennie? We need to check your injuries too. Your wrist and head need immediate care.”I swallowed hard and nodded. “Alright.”She guided me into a smaller, quieter examination room.

The jet touched down with a smooth glide, the soft bump of the wheels finally bringing the world back beneath us. I blinked awake against Shawn’s chest, his arm tightening instinctively around my waist as if he already sensed we’d landed. “We’re home,” Shawn murmured, voice low and warm. Dana stepped forward. “Rennie, we’re cleared to disembark. Sam already called—he’s waiting at the gate.” Shawn nodded, helping me up gently. My legs felt wobbly but steady in his hold. We went to the main lounge and found Diane watching cartoons on Dana's tab. What I found odd was Dana’s tone; she had been angry before, but now she was smiling and happy, visibly relaxed as she gave Diane the tab, which Shawn himself wasn’t allowed to touch. “Come on, princess, let's go,” Dana said softly to Diane. Diane clutched Dana’s shoulder as we all went down the stairs. The tarmac breeze hit my face as the jet door opened, carrying the faint scent of the city I had missed so dearly. Los Angeles. I

FIVE YEARS LATER — RENNIE’S KITCHEN The clatter of pots, sizzling pans, and the rhythmic chopping of knives filled every corner of my restaurant, Rennie’s Kitchen. Heat from the ovens wrapped around me like a familiar blanket, and the scent of roasted meats, fresh herbs, and baked bread filled my nostrils, making my pulse quicken. I darted from station to station, clipboard in hand, shouting orders with precision and authority, my voice ensuring perfection. “Use that serving tray, yes—the rose gold! Make sure it contains fifty packets of our mashed potatoes, ham balls, and the extra herbs we promised the clients!” I spun to check the sizzling pies coming out of the oven, my eyes scanning every detail. A line of cooks stumbled slightly under the weight of a tray, and I clapped my hands sharply. “Careful! This is not amateur hour! Eyes open, everyone! Timing is everything!” I moved to the pasta station next, hands flying as I checked sauces, colors, and textures. My hair was pull