All Chapters of OWNED AT 18, CLAIMED BY 28: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

POV: VinicioTen years.They said time was a healer, but they were lying. Time wasn't a healer; it was a sculptor. It took your agony and chipped away at it until it became a cold, sharp statue you had to carry around in your chest every single day.I stood in the study of the new estate, the glass of scotch in my hand trembling just enough to make the ice click against the crystal. The house was too big, too silent, and too damn pristine. I had built it from the ground up, an empire of steel and concrete designed to keep the world out, but all it really did was trap the memories inside."Vinicio?"The voice was soft, melodic, and entirely empty.I didn't turn around. I knew the silhouette in the doorway. Vanessa. She had been in my life for four of those long, hollow years. She was beautiful, she was kind, and she was the perfect anchor for a man who had lost his moorings. She filled the silences with chatter about art galleries and gala invitations. She filled the bed at night with

POV: LaurabethThe hospital room in Zurich felt like a cage made of glass and fluorescent light. Thomas was fading. Every beep of the heart monitor was a drumbeat marching us toward an ending I refused to accept. The lead surgeon, a man with tired eyes and a grim mouth, had just left. He had told me, with the clinical detachment of a man who saw death every day, that the surgery Thomas needed, a complex, experimental repair, wasn't just expensive. It was a specialty practice.The only clinic in the world capable of performing it, the only team with the success rate to save him, was in the heart of the city I had spent ten years fleeing.It was under the jurisdiction of the Rossini Medical Trust.I stood in the sterile hallway, my bank account empty, my identity a carefully constructed lie that would crumble the moment I walked into a high-end hospital. I had nothing. No empire, no security detail, no leverage. I was a ghost with a dying son.I reached into my bag and pulled out the sm

POV: VinicioThe weight of him in my arms was the only thing tethering me to the earth.Thomas.My son.He was thinner than he should have been, his breath a hitching, jagged rasp that tore through my chest like a dull blade. I held him against my heart, trying to press my own strength into his failing body, but he was barely there. He was a flickering candle in a hurricane.I stood beneath the harsh, buzzing security lights of the estate, my boots planted firmly on the concrete as though I could anchor the entire world from drifting away. The silence of the night was deafening, broken only by the steady drum of rain striking the metal roof of the gatehouse."Alex!" I roared.The sound was feral, a command that vibrated against the iron gates.My head of security was at my side within seconds, his weapon drawn, his eyes scanning the tree line with professional, lethal focus. He stopped when he saw the bundle in my arms. He stopped when he saw my face."Get the car," I commanded, my vo

POV: LaurabethThe name on my badge was "Dr. Elena Voss." It was a clean name—sharp, cold, and utterly anonymous. It fit the life I had been forced to carve out in the margins of the world. After a decade in Zurich, I thought I was ready for anything, but nothing could have prepared me for the suffocating, sterile air of this hospital. It smelled like copper, bleach, and the kind of high-stakes trauma I had spent ten years running from.I walked toward the Pediatric Cardiac Unit, my heels clicking a steady rhythm on the polished linoleum. My hands were stuffed into the pockets of my lab coat, my fingers brushing against the cold metal of my pen. I was there for one reason: the Rossini contract. It was a massive, industry-changing donation to the facility, tied to a single, high-priority case. A child with a congenital defect so rare, so dangerous, that the hospital board had cleared the floor for me specifically."Dr. Voss?" The charge nurse, a woman named Sarah with a harried express

POV: VinicioI stood in the center of the sterile hospital room, the air so heavy it felt like breathing underwater. My heart slammed against my ribs with bruising force. Across from me, the doctor stood tall and composed, her dark hair pulled back into a tight, professional knot. The white coat looked like armor on her slender frame. Those eyes. The way she held her chin when she was trying to hide nerves. I knew them. I knew her.It was Laurabeth.My mind screamed that it was impossible. I had watched her die in that fire ten years ago. I had seen the bodies, identified what little remained, and buried the ashes with my own hands. Yet here she was, standing only feet away, looking like a mirror reflection of the woman I had lost. A few new lines etched near her eyes, a quiet hardness in her posture. She looked older, yes—but more dangerous. More unbreakable.“Mr. Rossini,” she said, her voice cool and steady, betraying nothing. “I am Dr. Voss. I have reviewed the scans for your son.