All Chapters of Claimed by the billionaire : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

ELIZABETH POV “That’s the thing about loving devils…” His mouth curled into a cruel smile. “…before you know it, you and him will be killing people together.” My blood ran cold. Killing people? What the hell did he mean by that? Did Christian—no. No, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. I forced the thought away before it could root itself in my mind. “Christian is not you,” I snapped, the words tearing out of me before fear could strangle them. “He’s different.” “Exactly!” His voice cracked like a whip, loud enough to rattle the air. He shot up so fast his chair screeched against the floor, the bang of his fist slamming the table making me flinch. His finger jabbed the air at me, sharp and accusing. “He’s supposed to be like me—but you…” His face twisted, spit at the corner of his lips. “…you came in and ruined EVERYTHING!” Panic hit like cold water. I stood too, legs wobbling. “You can’t blame me,” I said, voice thin. My hands trembled at my sides. He grabbed my shoulders so

Christian POV The moment the scent hit me, I knew. Not just any cigarette—it was his. A custom blend, rolled for Paul alone, the same bitter smoke I’d grown up breathing in every hallway, every car ride, every time he leaned too close. He’s smoked it for decades. I could pick it out blindfolded, even in a crowded city. And now Elizabeth reeked of it. I didn’t need her to tell me. I didn’t need details. That stench on her clothes, in her hair, was enough. My father had been with her. My father had touched her space. “Do you want to tell me what he did?” I asked carefully, my voice sharp but quiet, because she was still in my arms, shaking, her tears soaking through my shirt. She only shook her head, whispering, “No. Not now.” Her grip on me tightened, like she was afraid I’d leave. I clenched my jaw so hard it ached. God knows I wanted to storm out, find him, make him pay. But I couldn’t—not when Red was falling apart in my arms. Not when she needed me to stay more than s

Christian POV By the time we got to the penthouse, it was late. The elevator doors slid open, and two of my guards were already waiting in the hallway. They gave me a sharp nod, eyes darting to Elizabeth clinging to me and Hope asleep in my arms, but they didn’t ask questions. They knew better. Inside, the place was quiet except for the faint clinking of dishes. Nana was in the living room with a napkin in her hand, probably wrapping up dinner. She looked up the second we walked in. Her face hardened like she was ready to scold me for not being around, but then she saw Hope in my arms, and Elizabeth peeking from behind me with this tired, watery smile. “Oh my God.” The napkin hit the floor as she rushed over. She pulled Elizabeth in so tight, I thought she might squeeze the air out of her. “Elizabeth,” she whispered against her hair, voice trembling. Elizabeth’s face crumpled. “I’ve missed you so much, Nana.” When Nana finally let her go, she turned straight to Hope. I

ELIZABETH POV Trauma’s a funny thing. I’d been through hell before, scraped by, bruised by my own father but nothing hit like Paul, Christian’s bastard of a father. Calling him Hope’s grandfather made my skin crawl, especially after what he almost did to me. A week later, I was still clawing my way out of that dark, flashbacks sneaking up like cheap jump scares. I curled up in Christian’s room, book in my lap, trying to drown it all out. The New York skyline stabbed through the window, all sharp and cold, but the pages weren’t helping. The door creaked open, and there he was—Christian, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His black t-shirt clung to him, black pants sharp as his gaze. He looked like trouble, the kind that could burn the world down and walk away smirking. But There’s something about Christian people don’t see. They see the scowl, the sharp edges, the darkness he doesn’t bother hiding. But me? I see the quiet peace underneath it. I’ve seen it si

Christian pov When I got home, the night was heavy, late enough that I figured Elizabeth would be asleep. But when I pushed open the bedroom door, the sight on the bed hit me like a punch, stripping the day’s weight from my shoulders. Elizabeth lay sprawled across my sheets, wearing nothing but a red thong, a thin strip barely covering her pussy, her breasts bare and full, calling for my hands. This woman was my damnation. I hadn’t expected this, not after what my father did, his shadow still clinging to her. Her eyes burned with a hunger that could unravel me, bold yet fragile, like she was daring herself as much as me. “What are you doing, Red?” I asked, voice rough, low, as I stepped into the room. She rose, hips swaying with a slow, lethal grace that set my blood on fire. “You’re back,” she purred, voice a soft tease, closing the distance. Her hands slid onto my chest, warm against my shirt, and she tilted her head, catching the whiskey on my breath. “Been drinking?