All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Desire: Owned By Him : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Zara began her morning with a surprise from a band. Drummer boys rolled into her room dressed in their band uniforms—red, with caps crowned by feathers. She was torn from her sleep’s reverie, stretching and yawning, her eyes heavy with confusion as she stared at them. Nat was nowhere in sight, only three strangers making noise. It charged her nerves; they were disturbing her peace, her quiet, blissful peace. Yet, she felt something was about to happen, but she couldn’t quite grasp or point her fingers around it. It wasn’t until the trumpeter stepped in, playing a solemn rhythm—Happy Birthday to You—that she realized it was, indeed, a surprise.She laughed, pressing her hands to her mouth. A trio of girls followed, carrying baskets of gifts, and one of them placed a balloon over the bed.Zara laughed harder, because her life had become a movie—a cinematic one, where only the remarkable and the splendid ever happened.Nat entered then, holding a box wrapped in silk. “Happy birthday da

Zara fell—slow, heavy, almost dreamlike.For a second, no one moved. The crowd stood frozen in utter shock, their eyes darting from the television screen to Nat, who looked completely dumbfounded. Then the murmurs began. A few women wailed softly at the sight of Zara on the floor.Nat snapped out of it.He rushed forward, scooped her into his arms, and carried her upstairs. Jean and John followed closely behind.Her birthday had been destroyed.“Take your filthy hands off her!” Jean snapped, her voice thick with hate and contempt.Nat didn’t argue. He looked helpless, guilt written all over his face. Slowly, he stepped aside and let Jean take over.Jean placed ice blocks gently on Zara’s face, splashed cool water against her skin, and gave her anxiety medication to calm her once she woke. John stood by the window, arms folded and unfolding, disbelief still etched on his face.For the first three minutes after waking, Zara stared blankly ahead. Her brief disorientation made her forget

Zara lay in turmoil.Jean and John had stopped by earlier—soft knocks on the door, gentle voices telling her to be strong, to eat something, to at least sit up and breathe. She allowed them inside. Allowed them to talk.But she refused to leave her bed.She refused to eat.Breakfast sat cold on the tray Jean had placed by her bedside. Untouched.Zara curled herself into a tiny ball beneath the sheets, weeping until her throat burned. Her phone lay inches away, buzzing relentlessly with Nat’s calls.She ignored every single one.This was love—to be crushed by emotions so vicious you couldn’t breathe.To be stripped bare.To be undone like winter does to trees, leaving you standing, but frosted and pale. By evening, she forced herself out of bed only to open a box of chocolate bars and devour them one after another. She didn’t care about the sugar. The heaviness. The nausea creeping up her throat.She wanted something to fill the emptiness.Nat had sent flowers.So many flowers.Jean

Zara finally opened the door for Nat.“Hey… how are you?” he asked softly.His voice was gentle, almost fragile. He took in the sight of her and felt a sharp twist in his chest. The situation had changed her. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face wrinkled from endless tears, her hair scattered wildly around her shoulders. She looked nothing like the radiant woman he knew. She looked broken.Zara barely glanced at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the étagère by the door, her expression cold, detached.“Anyway,” he continued awkwardly, “I just came to check on you. To be honest, I know you have every reason to be mad at me. But… again, I’m sorry.”Zara nodded once. “Apology accepted.”Nat blinked. “Are you joking?”“Yes,” she said flatly. “And don’t ever speak to me again. Don’t ever think I’m coming back to you.”His heart sank.“You keep going back and forth, Nat. In cycles. I always knew you were sneaking around with her—and possibly other women—but I gave you the benefit of the dou

In the office, the shareholders gave him accusatory glances, as if he had committed some heinous crime or was the kingpin of a massive scandal. The attention made him uncomfortable; goosebumps prickled his skin, a cringe-worthy shiver running down his spine.Nat straightened his posture, deciding to adopt a firmer, stricter tone. He needed control, authority radiating in every word, every glance.They greeted him. Only Cynthia Rourke had been absent at his party, and for that, he silently thanked God. The rest, Clay, Bennet, Janet, Petra were all there.“Good morning,” they murmured, clearing their throats. Their voices carried suspicion, distrust, and a faint edge of disdain. Janet’s face twisted into a frown.Nat didn’t return their greetings.“Can I have the reports?” he asked, sharp and direct.The file was handed over, a plastic cover, a neat label reading: SHARES & STOCKS REPORTS FOR THE YEAR. It detailed the accumulation of trades for the fiscal year, ending in December.He ski