All Chapters of Claimed By The Billionaire: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Damon“What? Talk to me.”“I’d rather you come see for yourself, man,” Kingsley says, and right away, I know this is bad.“No. Don’t do that. Just talk to me, Kay. Give me a damn idea at least.”“Okay, but it’s just a clue, not the full—”“Just freaking spit it out, please.”I barely get the words out before another voice slices through the line.“Everything okay there?”I freeze.Father.My spine straightens as my thumb snaps the phone shut. If there’s one person who can’t get even a whiff of what Kingsley’s talking about, it’s him. The last thing I need is my father sniffing around unfinished business. He doesn’t ask questions out of concern. He digs until he owns the mess.I turn, smoothing out my expression before facing him. “Yes—yes, Father. Just a work thing. I should’ve shut the phone off. It’s my wedding day, after all.”“You should have,” he says, frowning. “But… beautiful ceremony you’ve put together, son.”His tone is flat. Praise from him always sounds like a report card.

AriaThe room feels too small. Too still. Damon’s face doesn’t move, but I feel the uncomfortable shift in him. Kingsley’s talking, but it’s all background noise. My pulse is too loud. I lean in toward the screen, half-hoping I misread the message. But no. It’s still there. My name. Again. Not Damon’s. Mine. And that’s when it hits—this wasn’t about rattling us. It was about me. Someone made damn sure I saw it, and they wanted me to feel it. This is personal. I glance at Damon. He’s frozen in front of the screen, eyes scanning it like he can peel the truth out of the pixels. Jaw locked, shoulders stiff, completely unreadable. He doesn't say a word. Just gives Kingsley a tight nod like that’s his way of saying keep going.“Damon,” I say quietly.Nothing.“Damon,” louder this time.His eyes finally meet mine. No warmth. No surprise. Just that same detached focus, like I’m a problem to manage.“Get yourself together, dammit,” he says. “Don’t make me regret bringing you along.”Then

DamonFor the rest of the flight, I switch off. Not in a dramatic way—just quietly shut the lights in my head. There’s no solving anything at thirty thousand feet. No need to rehearse the same questions I’ve already asked myself a dozen different ways. The silence is a welcome kind of dull. The hum of the jet fills whatever space she and I don’t.When we land, I stand, stretch, and make my way to the back. She’s still out cold, curled up on her side, one leg tucked under the other like she’s trying to disappear into the mattress. Her hair’s a mess, the oversized shirt clinging to one shoulder. There’s something small and strange about how she sleeps—like her body is constantly bracing for something. Even in rest, she’s not fully here.I catch the eye of the guard closest to the door and nod. He understands.“Carry her,” I say, not loud, just firm.He picks her up gently. She doesn’t even stir.Our cars are waiting by the edge of the runway. I take the one in the back. The guards begin

AriaShopping with Damon feels like walking through a movie set where the lead actors don’t speak to each other. Not out of tension, but because the script doesn’t require it.We’re in and out of stores within an hour. Fast. Clean. Efficient. The kind of shopping only someone like Damon could pull off without once looking up from his phone. Not even to see what I’m picking. Not even when I pause a little too long at a rack or glance toward the exit like it might suddenly open up into freedom. Not the countless times I looked over my shoulder in fear, or by instinct. And even when our guards glance back, he doesn’t. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t catch me looking. Doesn’t care.He moves like a man who’s figured out the world owes him nothing—and still manages to get everything. That quiet self-assurance used to be just annoying. Now it’s unnerving. And... fine, a little impressive. In that unsettling, dangerous way.He holds all the power and wields it without blinking.And I hate that I noti

DamonThe evening drags. I step out onto the balcony just to get away from the walls. Not that the Paris air helps—it's not some kind of cure. But inside, everything feels tight. Off. Too still.Down below, the city keeps going. Laughter. A scooter. Someone is yelling in French. People are living their lives without missing a beat. Meanwhile, in here, it feels like everything’s stuck in place.I lean on the railing, but my head’s somewhere else. Back in that moment. Her in his arms. That laugh. That look on her face. I haven’t seen that version of her in weeks—maybe not at all since she came crashing back into my world. And then he shows up, and she’s suddenly glowing like she’s finally breathing again.I glance inside through the glass.She’s on the couch. Phone in her lap, but she’s not looking at it. Just sitting. Quiet. And smiling. Not the kind of smile she puts on for people. This one’s small. Honest. The kind you don’t even realise you’re doing.It pisses me off more than I’d l