All Chapters of THE PROFESSOR'S DIRTY CLAIM : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

130 Chapters

Chapter 10: Scarred Secrets

Tuesday morning feels like walking into a trap I set myself.I wake up at 5:40 a.m. in my own bed,alone,for the first time since Friday. The sheets smell faintly of hotel detergent and my own sweat. No trace of Damian’s cologne. No bite marks fresh enough to sting under the shower. Just the dull, persistent ache between my legs and the memory of his voice in the conference room yesterday: “Keep the plug out. I want you feeling empty all day.”I obeyed. No plug today. No lingerie. Just boxers, trousers, shirt, the navy tie again,because some part of me is still waiting for his approval even when he isn’t here to give it.The office is already humming when I arrive at 7:55. I drop into my chair, open the laptop, and immediately minimize the email from yesterday with the conference-room video attachment. I haven’t watched it. I can’t. Not here. Not when every keystroke feels watched.At 8:17 my phone vibrates under the desk.Damian: My office. Now. Bring coffee. Black. No sugar.I stand.

Chapter 11: Gala Gambit

The invitation arrived at 6:47 p.m. on Wednesday, slipped under my apartment door in a cream envelope sealed with black wax stamped with the Apex Ventures logo. Inside: heavy cardstock, gold foil lettering.Apex Ventures Annual GalaTheme: Midnight MasqueradeFriday, 8:00 p.m.Eko Hotel & Suites, Grand Ballroom Black tie. Masks mandatory.RSVP required. Attendance is non-negotiable for senior staff and key analysts.A handwritten note is tucked inside, Damian’s sharp, slanted script.Wear the black velvet suit I sent last month. No shirt underneath. Collar open. The black silk mask from the box. And the thin leather collar under the shirt collar, discreet, but there. I want to feel it when I shake hands with the board.No underwear. No plug tonight. I want you aching and empty by the time we leave.Be ready at 7:15. The car will collect you.D.I stare at the note until the words blur.The gala is tomorrow. The merger announcement is scheduled for Saturday morning, press conference a

Chapter 12: Kidnap Chaos

The SUV tears across Third Mainland Bridge at speeds that make the frame rattle. Lagos night blurs past, neon signs, okada headlights, the black mirror of the lagoon below. Damian’s arm is locked around my shoulders, fingers digging into the velvet jacket like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go. My heart is still slamming from the gunfire, from the way the gala shattered in seconds.“Stay low,” the driver snaps, the first words he’s spoken. Male voice, clipped, military cadence. Not the usual chauffeur.Damian doesn’t answer him. His free hand is already on his phone, thumb flying across the screen.“Warehouse district,” he says. “ETA twelve minutes. Three hostages were confirmed inside. Two more on the perimeter. Get the secondary team in position. No police. Not yet.”He ends the call. Look at me.“They took the bait,” he says quietly. “Horizon wanted you. They got impatient.”I swallow. My mouth tastes like copper and gunpowder smoke. “They shot up a ballroom full of people for

Chapter 13: Rescue and Rage

The SUV barrels through the back roads of Apapa, headlights off, running dark. The driver, still nameless, still silent, takes corners like he’s memorized every pothole. Damian’s blood has soaked through my velvet jacket; the fabric clings wet and warm to my palm where I’m pressing it against his shoulder. His breathing is shallow but steady. Too steady. Like he’s forcing calm for my benefit.“Exit wound?” I ask, voice low.He nods once. “Clean through. Missed the artery. Hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”The driver glances in the rearview. “Two minutes to the safehouse. Secondary team’s already there. Med kit prepped.”Damian grunts acknowledgment. His good hand finds my thigh, squeezes once, hard. Not sexual. Possessive. Reassuring.“You did good back there,” he says quietly. “You didn’t freeze. You shot.”I look down at my hands. Still trembling. Still flecked with drying blood, not all his.“I killed someone.”“You saved yourself.” His thumb strokes a slow circle on my leg. “And yo

Chapter 14: Punishment Play

The safehouse bedroom smells of gun oil, antiseptic, and the faint metallic tang of Damian’s blood. The cot is too narrow for two grown men, but we make it work, his back against the wall, me half-draped across his good side, head on his uninjured shoulder. The bandage is fresh; the medic changed it twice in the last hour while the team prepped for the HiAce intercept. Outside the thin door, low voices murmur, coordinates, entry points, contingencies. Inside, it’s just us and the ticking clock.Damian’s good hand rests on the small of my back, fingers tracing idle circles over bare skin. The leather collar is still around my throat; he hasn’t told me to take it off. I haven’t asked.“You’re shaking,” he says quietly.“Adrenaline crash.”“Or guilt.”I don’t answer right away. The image of the man I shot, center mass, clean through, body crumpling like a dropped marionette, keeps replaying behind my eyelids. I’ve never killed before. Never even come close. And yet my hand didn’t hesitat

Chapter 15: Mentor's Return

The safehouse cot is still warm when I wake. Damian’s side is empty, sheets rumpled where his shoulder pressed. The bandage wrapper lies discarded on the floor, fresh blood speckled on the gauze he must have changed before leaving. The clock on the wall reads 4:47 a.m. He’s been gone for three hours.I sit up. The leather collar is still snug around my throat; I haven’t taken it off since the punishment. My wrists bear faint pink lines from the silk rope. My ass is tender, marked with handprints that bloom dark against golden skin. Inside me, the memory of him, hot, thick, claiming, lingers like a brand.Outside the thin door: muffled voices, the clack of laptop keys, the low buzz of encrypted comms. The team is still active. No one has come to wake me. That means either everything is under control… or it’s gone to hell and they’re keeping me in the dark.I pull on yesterday’s trousers, no underwear, as always now, and a plain black T-shirt someone left folded on the chair. The fabric

Chapter 16: Jealous Fury

The safehouse feels smaller when Damian returns.He steps through the door at 6:32 a.m., blood crusted on his sleeve, eyes burning with the kind of quiet rage that makes the air thicken. Two of his men follow, silent, carrying duffel bags that clink with metal. They don’t speak. Just drop the bags by the wall and leave again. The door closes behind them with a soft click that sounds final.Damian doesn’t look at me right away.He walks to the small sink in the corner, turns on the tap, washes his hands. Blood swirls pink down the drain. He scrubs until his knuckles are raw, then dries them on a towel already stained. Only then does he turn.His gaze finds me on the cot, still in the black T-shirt and trousers, collar snug around my throat, knees drawn up. I haven’t slept. Haven’t moved much since Eze left the roof.He crosses the room in three strides.Stops in front of me.“Stand.”I do.He reaches out. Fingers trace the collar, gentle at first. Then he hooks the small O-ring at the

Chapter 17: Jealous Fury

The safehouse war room smells of instant coffee, gun oil, and the faint ozone burn of overworked laptops. Damian stands at the head of the folding table, sleeves rolled to the elbows, bandage stark white against his forearm. Maps of Lagos glow on the screens behind him, red pins marking Horizon safehouses, blue dots for our assets. Three team members hover nearby, silent, waiting for orders.I sit at the far end, still collared, still aching from the chain and the paddle and the way he fucked the doubt out of me an hour ago. The USB drive Eze gave me rests on the table between us like a live grenade. Damian hasn’t touched it yet. He’s staring at me instead.“You kept this from me for almost twelve hours,” he says. Voice low. Controlled. The kind of calm that precedes violence.“I kept it so I could hand it to you,” I repeat. “I didn’t plug it in. I didn’t text him. I didn’t run.”His eyes flick to the collar around my throat. To the fresh rope marks on my wrists. To the way I’m sittin

Chapter 18: Corporate Collapse

The clock on the safehouse wall ticks past 16:47 when the first alerts hit.Damian’s phone vibrates once, sharp, insistent. He glances at the screen, jaw tightening. Then another buzz. Then three in quick succession. He swipes open the encrypted trading app Apex uses for real-time monitoring.The numbers are already bleeding red.Apex Ventures ordinary shares, down 14.2% in the last seventeen minutes. Volume spiking. Sell orders flooding in from institutional accounts that never move this fast. Whispers of “material adverse change” and “regulatory scrutiny” already leaking across Bloomberg terminals and local finance Telegram groups.He turns the screen toward me.“Horizon just pulled the trigger.”I stare at the cascading chart, green turning crimson, a slow-motion hemorrhage.“They leaked the dummy files?” I ask.“Worse.” Damian’s voice is flat steel. “They leaked real ones. Or enough fragments to make the market believe they’re real. Offshore shell companies. Inflated asset valuati

Chapter 19: Siege and Surrender

The secondary location is a penthouse in Banana Island, glass walls on three sides, Lagos lagoon glittering black below, city lights smearing gold across the water. Damian chose it for the view, the security, and the irony: the same building where Horizon’s CEO keeps a mistress. Tonight that mistress is gone. The apartment is empty except for us, two snipers on the roof across the street, and a four-man team in the lobby pretending to be maintenance.We arrive at 23:12.Damian enters first, pistol drawn, shoulder still bandaged but moving like it doesn’t hurt. I follow, Glock in a low grip, safety off. The collar is still around my throat; he didn’t tell me to remove it. I didn’t ask.Inside: marble floors, minimalist furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows that make the room feel like a fishbowl. Damian sweeps the space, bedroom, kitchen, bathrooms, then holsters his weapon.“Clear.”I lower mine. Exhale.He turns to me.“Midnight announcement in forty-eight minutes. The statement is dra

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