All Chapters of He Never Claimed Me: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The private line rang twice before Julian picked up. He didn’t say hello, and Lydia didn't expect him to. The clock on her dashboard said just after four o'clock. The main city roads were already choked with afternoon traffic, but inside the back of her car, the heavy windows kept everything completely quiet. "Lydia," Julian said. His voice was thin and flat over the speaker. "Noah moved four of the terminal guards under Miller's contract on Sunday night," Lydia said. She didn't look out at the gray buildings sliding past. She kept her eyes on the small silver latch of her handbag, tracing her thumb over the cold metal. "They aren't logged at the office, and nobody has seen them at the estate. Find out where they are." "I'll get the logs from the agency," Julian said. "Don't go through the agency," Lydia told him. Her voice went down to that low, quiet tone that always made her people freeze. "The agency leaves a paper trail, and Noah is watching his back right now. Check the

Lydia didn’t come from wealth. She hadn't grown up with silk sheets, private drivers, or a name that made people clear the room. She had come from nothing—a girl from a cold, grey neighborhood who knew exactly what it felt like to have an empty stomach and no coat in December. When she had first stepped into this family forty years ago, a young woman surrounded by hard, suspicious men who looked at her like she was temporary, she had survived on pure instinct. She didn't have a family backing her up. She didn't have money to buy people's loyalty. She only had her own eyes and her ability to stay quiet when everyone else was screaming. Nikolai Volkov still held the real authority over the family name, even now from his house upstate. Back then, the old man had made sure she knew exactly how worthless she was to them until she proved otherwise. He used to test her by leaving her in rooms with men who wanted her gone, just to see if she would break. She still remembered nights

The surveillance photos on Lydia’s desk were clear. "The salon is called Ava’s Glam," Julian said over the line. His voice was completely steady. "She runs it with Tessa Clarke. The building belongs to a commercial group, but the apartment upstairs is leased under a different company name. That's where Noah's car sits." Lydia didn't open the folder yet. "What about her family?" "Marcus Hayes works the docks. The younger brother, Leo, is back home recovering after an attack," Julian said. "Noah hasn't gone near their house. But he clears his schedule by eight every Tuesday and Thursday." Lydia looked at the clock on her wall. It was almost nine. "Get the financial records for the salon. Every supplier bill, every lease payment. If they missed a deadline or paid late even once, I want the paperwork on my desk tomorrow morning." "I'll get it." "And Julian," Lydia added, looking down at the photo of Ava Hayes. "Move the car tracking to a private line. If Nikolai's security tea

“This chapter contains mature themes.” The afternoon rush at the salon was in full swing. The air was thick with the scent of sprays, the steady hum of blow dryers, and the blur of client conversations. Ava focused entirely on her work, her hands moving with steady precision. On the counter behind her, her phone lit up. Noah. Ava glanced at the name. She didn't move. She kept her eyes on the mirror, pinning a stray lock of hair into place, and watched the screen flash until it finally went dark. She turned her attention back to the client in her chair, making sure the style was perfect. She handed over the mirror, waited for the nod of approval, and checked her out at the register. Only when the front door chimed shut did Ava walk over and pick up the phone. The screen was already lighting up again with the same name. She answered before the ringing could stop. "I'm at work," Ava said, her voice quiet. There was a distinct pause on the other end. The silence from his

Ava’s POV I don’t remember the exact moment it started. That’s the strange part. People talk about love like it’s obvious, like it happens all at once, like there’s a moment you can point to and say that’s when everything changed. With him, it wasn’t like that. It was quieter. The first time I saw him, he didn’t belong there. I remember that clearly. He walked into the salon dripping rainwater onto my clean floors, dressed like he had somewhere much more important to be. Expensive suit. Expensive watch. The kind of man who expected people to move without asking. I wasn’t in the mood for that. “We’re fully booked,” I told him. “If you need somewhere to wait out the rain, there’s a café two doors down.” Most men would have left. He didn’t. He answered like he wasn’t used to being told no. Calm. Direct. It annoyed me. So I looked at him properly. Not because I was impressed. Because I needed to be. And something about the way he stood there—still, controlled, watching everythin