All Chapters of Protecting the Billionaire’s Daughter: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

Aria’s POVThe roar of the speedboat’s engine felt like it was tearing a hole through my chest. The blonde woman—the woman I had once shared office space with, the woman who was currently holding my two tiny daughters—disappeared into the thick, grey mist of the harbor. My knees gave out, and I hit the cold, oil-slicked concrete of the pier."Damon!" I shrieked, my voice cracking under the weight of the salt air. "They’re taking them! They’re taking them!"But Damon didn’t stop to comfort me. He didn’t even look back. With a primal roar, he sprinted past the chaos of the police swarm and the thugs being wrestled to the ground. To my horror, he didn't head for a car; he headed for a jet ski tethered to a nearby pylon."Damon, no!" I screamed, but he was already gone. He sliced through the water like a jagged blade, the small craft leaping over the wake of the speedboa

A week was enough time for the house to start feeling familiar.Not comfortable — not yet — but familiar in the way you learn the creak of a stair or the exact spot where the afternoon light hits the living room floor. I had memorized the rhythm of the neighborhood too. The morning walkers who passed at the same time every day. The sound of children returning from school in the afternoon. The quiet judgment that lingered behind polite smiles.By the seventh day, people had stopped pretending they weren’t watching.I was seated at my desk when the knock came.Lyra was asleep in her crib, thumb tucked neatly beneath her chin. Elara was in her playpen beside me, quietly focused on a stuffed giraffe she’d been chewing on for days. My laptop was open, tabs layered, deadlines blinking impatiently at the corner of my screen.I almost ignored the knock.Almost.But

The twins turned one on a quiet morning.No noise. No crowd. No forced smiles or watchful eyes. Just sunlight slipping through the curtains, soft laughter, and the kind of peace I had started to believe only existed in memories.I woke up before anyone else, the house still wrapped in sleep. For a moment, I lay there listening — to the steady rhythm of Damon’s breathing beside me, to the faint hum of the baby monitor, to the calm. It felt earned. Hard-won.When I slipped out of bed and padded toward the twins’ room, my heart swelled in that painful, beautiful way it always did when I thought about how close I’d come to losing one of them.Lyra and Elara were awake, standing unsteadily in their cribs, gripping the rails and babbling to each other like they shared secrets I would never be invited into. Their smiles when they saw me were wide and toothy and innocent.“One year

Four months. It had been four months since Damon’s digital explosion in the neighborhood group chat, and the silence that followed was the sweetest music I had ever heard. The property line had become a sacred border. The trespassing stopped, the "accidental" noise vanished, and the women who used to smirk at me from their porches now developed a sudden, intense interest in their own front doors whenever I walked by.Damon had drawn a line in the sand, and for the first time since we landed in this country, we were allowed to simply be.The peace had brought a new rhythm to our lives. With the drama settled, I had finally found my "tribe." Kristen and Joyce weren't like the others. They were young moms who had watched the neighborhood circus from the sidelines and decided they wanted no part of the mean-girl antics. Kristen’s son, Leo, and Joyce’s daughter, Mia, were the same age as my twins. Our playdates had become

The silence of the house at 2:00 AM was usually my only sanctuary. It was the only time the twins weren't demanding my soul and the neighborhood wasn't breathing down my neck. Damon was dead to the world beside me, his breathing heavy and rhythmic, the deep sleep of a man who finally felt like he had protected his family.Then came the knock.It wasn't a soft, polite tap. It was a frantic, heavy pounding that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my marrow. My eyes snapped open, my heart instantly leaping into a jagged, erratic rhythm. In this life, a knock at 2:00 AM never brought good news. It brought police, it brought process servers, or it brought ghosts.I sat up, clutching the duvet to my chest. "Damon," I whispered, shaking his shoulder. "Damon, wake up."He groaned, shifting, but the pounding came again—louder this time, accompanied by the muffled sound of a woman’s sob.