Twice Claimed: Bound by the Billionaire

Chapter Ten

Sienna

Morning light seeps into the room like an uninvited guest - pale gold sunlight pushing through the drapes, and glinting off the crystal canister on the nightstand. Damien’s side of the bed is already cold, the sheets smooth and empty, as though he’s never been there at all. For a moment, I wonder if I’d only dreamed the night before: the hunger, the control, the way he’s said another man’s name while he was still inside of me.

My body aches in ways I can’t name. My heart too.

Pulling the blanket more tightly around me, I sit in silence and listen. Somewhere, the faint sound of distant footsteps and the low drone of a vacuum. It’s a house alive with people - but no one’s knocking on my door.

I slip out of bed and find my robe folded neatly over a chair - Damien’s doing, I’m sure. Even the smallest things about my husband are meticulous, precise, intentional. Even in his absence, the room still feels like him: sharp edges and shadows, every thing in its place.

The suite itself is massive, with doors leading to rooms I didn’t notice the night before. I catch sight of myself in the mirror as I pass - hair tousled, lips bruised, eyes uncertain. Mrs. Hunter, I think, testing the words. They taste bitter on my tongue.

I open the curtains wider, allowing the sunlight to flood in, spilling across the sleek black floors and muted art. Bel Air is spread out below - sprawling and green and perfect. It should feel like safety. Instead, it feels like a cage.

Still barefoot, I pad to the hallway. Somewhere below, the faint clink of dishes drifts up from the kitchen. Voices hush as I approach the staircase - polite, but distant. The help, most likely - already aware of who I am and who I’m not.

A woman appears at the base of the stairs before I reach the bottom. She’s tall, with silver hair swept into a bun so tight it looks like it can cut diamonds.

“Good morning. Ms. Vale,” she says, her voice cautious and neutral. “Mr Hunter mentioned that you might be joining us for breakfast. I’m Evelyn Cleary.”

Her ‘might’ does a lot of heavy lifting.

“Good morning,” I reply softly. “I wasn’t sure of where I should go.”

Mrs Cleary’s lips press into a cold imitation of a smile. “You’ll find breakfast in the solarium. Chef has prepared the usual spread. If there’s anything you require, let me know.”

The pause that follows makes it clear that she hopes I don’t require anything at all.

I hesitate, glancing toward the gleaming hallway that stretches behind her. “Thank you. I’ll - find my way.”

As I walk past her, I can feel her eyes follow me. Not curious - evaluating.

The solarium is a room of glass and sunlight, far too bright for how uncertain I feel. On the large table, there’s a pot of coffee, croissants, and an assortment of fruit arranged with surgical precision. I pour myself a cup and try to ignore the fact that I don’t belong here, and that everyone in the house seems to know it.

I take a sip of coffee and nearly jump when I notice it - a photograph, tucked neatly into a silver frame in the credenza. Damian, younger but unmistakable, standing beside a young man. Blond hair, smiling with the kind of grin that makes you feel seen. Noah.

My breath catches. His face looks softer here, unguarded. I reach out before I can stop myself, tracing both their faces with my index finger.

Behind me, footsteps.

“Ms. Vale?” Mrs Cleary again, her voice clipped. “There’s been a change in schedule. Mr Hunter asked me to let you know that he’ll be in meetings today.”

She doesn’t have to tell me the rest - I’ll be alone here for hours.

I nod, hoping to mask my unease with a polite smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Cleary.” Then I turn back to the photo.