Claimed by one billionaire saved by another

CHAPTER NINE

KAEL'S POV

The drive to my estate was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the ragged rhythm of Sylvie’s breathing. She sat pressed against the passenger door, as far away from me as the leather interior would allow.

My suit jacket swallowed her whole, making her look even smaller than she was in the alley.There was a strange, dull ache in my chest. Looking at her now broken, hollow, and covered in filth scraped against something I thought I had buried.

It was impossible not to see the ghost of the girl who used to chase me through these gardens when we were ten years old. She had been my only friend, the only person who knew the boy I was before the world turned me into Kael Voss.

But that girl had grown up to betray me.

My jaw tightened as I steered the car through the iron gates. I was saving her, yes. I was bringing her to the safety of my home. But a darker part of me knew this wasn't just a rescue.

It was a reclamation.

I needed her alive. Whole. Not only because of our shared past, but because I needed her to remember. I wanted her to know exactly what she had done to me. To feel the full weight of it when the memories returned. My retribution required her awareness.

I killed the engine and stepped out. I walked around to her side and opened the door. She didn't move. She was staring at the massive limestone pillars of the house with pure terror.

“We are here,” I said, my voice like flint. “Come.”

She looked at me, her blue eyes swimming with tears. “Is this... where I live?”

“It is where you will stay,” I replied.

I reached for her hand. For a second, she hesitated, then her fingers curled around mine with a desperate, bone-deep grip. I led her inside and up to the East Wing. Since her parents had passed away years ago, she had no one else to claim her. No family to interfere. She was entirely mine to deal with.

I took her to a suite filled with soft silks and cream-colored furniture. It was a room designed for a woman of her status, but she stood in the center of it like a ghost.

“There is a bathroom through those doors,” I told her. “There are clothes in the closet. Clean yourself. I have a doctor coming.”

She didn't look at the room. She only looked at me. “Please don't leave,” she whispered.

My chest tightened, a phantom ache I thought I’d killed years ago. “I'll be right outside the door, Sylvie,” I said evenly. “You’re safe here.”

She nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. I stepped out into the hallway, where John was waiting.

“Mr. Morris is downstairs,” John said, his voice low. “Kael, bringing her here is a risk. If the press finds out you’re hiding her instead of taking her to a clinic...”

“I am not hiding her,” I snapped. “I am keeping her where I can see her. She has no family left to look after her, John. It falls to me.”

John stepped closer. “You’re being too emotional because of what she did to you in the past. That’s dangerous.”

I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Emotional? No. I’m being practical. She owes me, John. She disappeared right when our lives were finally aligning, leaving a trail of questions that nearly burned my reputation. I want her healthy because I want her to explain herself. I want her to remember so she can finally face the consequences of what she did.”

John sighed. “And if she never remembers?”

“Then she stays in this house until I decide she’s suffered enough,” I said.

A moment later, Mr. Morris, my private physician, walked up the stairs. He was a man of few morals and even fewer words, which was perfect for my needs. I stood by the window with my arms crossed as he entered the room to examine her.

I listened to the soft murmur of his voice and the shaky, one-word answers Sylvie gave from behind the door. Every time she gasped, my shoulders tensed. It was an instinctive reaction I hated.

Finally, Mr. Morris stepped out into the hallway.

“Physically? She’s exhausted and malnourished,” Morris said. “There are… marks. Someone wasn’t kind to her, not one bit. But the amnesia? It’s dissociative. A trauma response. Her mind has completely shut down her personal memories, her identity, her name and large portions of her past to protect her. Right now, she has no access to who she was. She’s a blank slate, Mr. Kael.”

“How do we bring the memories back?” I asked.

“Triggers, familiar objects, even people but be very careful,” Morris warned, “Forcing it could break her completely.”

I thanked him and watched him leave. I walked back into the room. Sylvie was sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in a thick white robe. She was staring at her hands, her damp hair clinging to her cheeks.

“The doctor says you need to rest so your wounds can heal with time,” I said.

She looked up, her expression lost. “He called me Sylvie. Is that really my name?”

I sat in the chair across from her, my heart hardening. “Yes. That is your name. You are Sylvie Carter.”

“And you?” she asked. “Who are you to me?”

I looked at her, seeing the girl from the garden and the woman who had betrayed me. “I’m the only person you have left,” I said.

I stood up to leave, and she watched me until I reached the door.

“Sleep,” I commanded. “We will talk in the morning.”

As I closed the door, I felt a grim satisfaction. She was back in

my world, under my roof. She didn't remember me yet, but she would. And when she did, the debt would be settled.