The Claim

Damien Vale

She ran.

Of course, she did.

Damien stood behind tinted glass, far above the chaos below, sipping slowly from a crystal tumbler. The bitter fire of whiskey didn't soothe the sharp ache threading his spine—but he didn't care. The press swarmed. Elena had vanished into Christopher's arms like a wounded bird seeking sanctuary.

He let her go.

But only for now.

He'd expected tears, maybe fury—but the kiss? With Christopher?

That was the final straw.

It was never about ownership.

It was about truth.

He had watched her choose delusion. Denial. Dreams stitched from safety.

But she was not safe.

Not from the world.

Not from him.

And certainly not from herself.

"She needed to know who she belonged to," he muttered aloud, his voice steel.

The media would spin. The world would whisper. But the message was loud, clear, and surgical.

Mine.

His child pulsed like a drumbeat behind his ribs.

Not even she could take that away.

He pulled up the surveillance feed again—an image of Elena curled against Christopher in the car, her expression unreadable. Damien stared, a quiet thunder building behind his eyes.

Let Christopher play hero. Let her believe in safety.

He was done waiting in the dark.

Damien turned to his assistant. "Schedule a press dinner. Invite every shareholder. And make sure Ms. Rivers is invited."

The assistant hesitated. "But, sir… will she come?"

"She will." His voice dropped.

"She doesn't get to run anymore."

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