All Chapters of Claimed By My Ex’s Stepbrother: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Roman sat up straighter in the hospital bed, wincing as the movement pulled at the stitches in his side. His fingers tightened around the phone until his knuckles went pale.“A long story?” he repeated, voice low and edged with ice. “Good thing I’m stuck in this bed for the next twenty-four hours. I’ve got all the time in the world.”Davin swallowed hard on the other end of the line. “Yes, sir. I’ll get to you soon.”“Get here. Now.”Roman ended the call without waiting for a reply.“Let me guess,” Grayson said as he paced the courtyard, barely hiding a smirk. “He’s pissed.”Davin forced a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sure you can find your way out now.”Grayson gave a slow nod, stepping out of the mansion. Moments later, the roar of his engine echoed as he sped away.Tessa stood just inside the living room, arms wrapped tightly around herself.She’d been watching through the half-open blinds, her heart pounding with every second Grayson lingered.She turned as Davin a

Grayson’s headlights cut into the long driveway as he pulled up to the Thorne estate.The house looked too bright and too loud.He stepped inside to find the entire family already gathered in the living room.Liam sat on the arm of a couch while his wife — Cassandra sat on the sofa.Tension felt thick in the air. Eleanor stood rigid near the fireplace—commanding as always—while Klara stood in the centre of the room, hands clasped tightly in front of her, pale and speechless.“What’s going on here?” Grayson asked, cautiously.“Well, I could ask you the same thing, Grayson.” Eleanor forced a smirk. “What is going on here?”“Look, I don’t have time for this.” He said annoyed. “I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”“Well,” Eleanor snapped as soon as he said that, “imagine my surprise when I walk into my own house and find little Mrs Blackwood sitting in my living room with her legs crossed like she owns the place.”Klara didn’t speak. She barely breathed.Grayson frowned. “I thought I t

Davin walked into Roman’s office with a force that said he had done this too many times.Roman looked up the moment the footsteps stopped.“You’re here,” he said calmly.“And you shouldn’t be here,” Davin replied bluntly. “How did Salima even let you out of the house?”Roman leaned back slightly, his jaw tight. “Well, my mother is scared as hell, and frankly, I’m getting tired too. Just tell me you have something.”Davin exhaled through his nose. “So. Klara, huh?”“Yeah,” Roman said immediately. “She looked horrified the other day and I just—I know she can be a lot, but I could tell she was telling the truth.”“Well, she definitely was,” Davin said. “I checked the surveillance at the park. And I got a face.”Roman’s head snapped up. “A face?”“Yeah.” Davin's lips turned into a thin smile as he pulled his laptop from his briefcase and placed it on the desk between them. He sat across from Roman and turned the screen toward him.Roman pressed his lips together, teeth grinding as the vid

Salima swallowed as the knock came again.She ended the call and sent a single text to Roman.“He called. I think he’s outside.”She set the phone down on the kitchen island and reached for the knife rack. Her fingers wrapped around the handle with practised calm. No shaking. No hesitation.She moved toward the door, every step measured, the blade steady in her palm.“Who is it?” she called.But no one answered.Her jaw tightened. She unlocked the door and swung it open in one sharp motion.“Victor?” She gasped.Victor stood there, his grey hair falling across his face, dressed too neatly for the hour. His smile came easy—too easy.Salima took a step forward. “What…what are you—”“Hi, Salima,” Victor said lightly. “You look… worried.”Her grip on the knife didn’t loosen, but she lowered it just enough to keep it out of sight.“Sorry,” she said coolly. “I thought you were someone else.”His eyes flicked down—then back up. He noticed the knife.Victor’s brows lifted just slightly. “I se

Salima stepped into her bedroom, the door clicking shut behind her with a soft thud.The house was silent, the kind of heavy quiet that pressed in after a long, draining night.She slipped off her earrings, setting them on the dresser, then reached for the zipper of her emerald blouse.A knock echoed through the empty hallway—three sharp knocks on the front door downstairs.She froze, hand still on the zipper. It was late. Too late for visitors.Salima pulled a scarf tight around her shoulders and walked downstairs, bare feet silent on the marble. At the door, she paused, listening.“Who is it?” she called, voice steady but edged.“It’s me,” Victor answered, low and familiar through the wood. “Victor.”She hesitated for a long second, then unlocked the door and pulled it open just enough to see him standing on the porch, coat collar turned up against the December chill.“What do you want, Victor?” she asked, her tone cool, arms folded.He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper