CLAIMED FOR THE CEO'S DEBT

Hunting the Ghost

Chapter 8: Hunting the Ghost

The underground parking garage of the Manhattan Medical Trust was a concrete labyrinth of shadows, echoing with the distant hum of ventilation fans and the steady drip of rainwater filtering through the street grates above.

Damien burst through the heavy stairwell door, his chest heaving under his unbuttoned dress shirt. His eyes, completely black with an uncontrollable, protective fury, scanned the rows of parked vehicles.

> **00:58.**

> **00:57.**

>

Fifty-seven seconds remained on the killer's timer up in Room 412.

Damien ripped his phone out, keeping the line open to his tech unit. "Marcus, give me the exact sector. Now!"

"The signal booster is pulling power from a vehicle in Row G, Mr. King! A dark sedan—"

Damien didn't wait for the technician to finish. He threw his body into a dead sprint, cutting across the slick concrete lanes. His long strides carried him past rows of luxury SUVs and medical staff vehicles until his gaze locked onto a black sedan parked in the dimmest corner of Row G.

Inside the vehicle, the glow of a laptop screen illuminated a familiar, sharp face.

It wasn't Harold Vance. It was Marcus Vance—Harold's thirty-year-old nephew and the deputy head of King International's internal security network. He was the one who had access to the mansion's main firewalls. He was the one who had taken the photographs.

Marcus was staring intensely at the progress bar on his screen, his finger hovering over the final manual override key to ensure the lethal dose discharged immediately when the timer hit zero.

"Vance!" Damien roared.

Marcus’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in pure terror as he saw the towering silhouette of Damien King charging toward his vehicle like a demon unleashed from the dark. In a panic, Marcus slammed the car into reverse, the tires screeching violently against the concrete as he attempted to back out of the space.

Damien didn't flinch. He calculated the vehicle's trajectory in a split second, diving forward and grabbing a heavy, metallic maintenance cart parked near the pillars. With a grunt of raw, adrenaline-fueled strength, he launched the heavy cart directly into the path of the reversing sedan.

*CRASH.*

The cart jammed beneath the rear axle, lifting the wheels just enough to strip the vehicle of its traction. The engine revved uselessly, the tires spinning against the wet floor.

Before Marcus could shift into drive, Damien was at the driver's side window. He raised his elbow, striking the reinforced glass with shattering force. The window exploded inward in a shower of glittering shards.

Damien reached through the broken frame, his large hand clamping around Marcus’s collar like an iron vice. He dragged the younger man out through the shattered window, slamming him face-first onto the hood of the car.

"Shut it down!" Damien growled, his voice a guttural, terrifying vibration that rattled the concrete walls. He pressed Marcus’s face harder against the hot metal, his other hand instantly snatching the laptop from the front seat.

"I can't! It's automated!" Marcus choked out, blood dripping from a small cut on his cheek. "The code is encrypted into the hospital server! If you don't sign the resignation papers, she dies, Damien! Your father's empire belongs to us!"

> **00:15.**

> **00:14.**

>

Damien looked at the laptop screen. The digital interface showed the countdown synchronization with Room 412.

Fourteen seconds.

"You think I care about the empire?" Damien whispered, his voice dropping to a pitch of absolute, chilling obsession. He leaned close to Marcus’s ear, his grip tightening until the younger man gasped for air. "I will burn King International to ashes before I let you take her away from me."

Damien didn't waste time looking for a password. He looked at the peripheral connections on the laptop and spotted a small, external USB drive emitting a steady blue light—the manual hardware override.

With a brutal jerk of his arm, Damien ripped the USB drive out of the port and slammed the entire laptop onto the concrete floor, stomping his heavy boot directly through the motherboard.

The screen shattered, the power indicator light dying instantly.

Upstairs in Room 412, the silence was broken only by the frantic breathing of Zara Hart.

Her eyes were wide, fixed entirely on the bright red numbers flashing on the syringe pump.

**00:03.**

**00:02.**

**00:01.**

Zara closed her eyes, bracing her body over her mother’s sleeping form, preparing for the worst.

*Beep.*

The machine let out a long, flat tone. But instead of the high-velocity whirring of the automated plunger, the digital display suddenly flickered, the red numbers vanishing, replaced by a single, green word: **SYSTEM OFFLINE.**

The glass cylinder remained completely still. The clear fluid hadn't moved a millimeter.

Zara’s breath hitched in her throat. She fell against the guardrails of the bed, her entire body shaking as a sob of pure, overwhelming relief broke from her chest. "Mom... you're safe. Oh my God, you're safe."

The shattered door of the room was pushed open wider.

Damien stepped inside. His shirt was torn at the shoulder, his knuckles split and bleeding, but his eyes were completely, entirely focused on Zara. The moment he saw her standing, unharmed, the tension in his rigid shoulders snapped.

Zara didn't think. She didn't care about the board, the contract, or the security guards watching from the hallway. She ran across the room and threw herself directly into his arms.

Damien caught her effortlessly, lifting her off her feet and pulling her flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around her waist with an intense, possessive desperation, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he held her like she was the only valuable asset left in the world.

"I told you," Damien murmured, his voice rough and thick with a dark, consuming devotion. "No one touches what belongs to me."

"It was Marcus Vance," Zara whispered against his skin, her hands gripping his torn shirt.

"He's handled," Damien said coldly, his eyes turning to black ice as he looked over her shoulder at the medical machinery. "My team has already turned him over to the federal authorities for corporate espionage and attempted murder. His uncle will be removed from the board by midnight."

He pulled back just enough to look down into her amber eyes, his large, blood-stained thumb gently lifting her chin. The obsession in his gaze was no longer a hidden threat; it was an absolute, unyielding truth.

"The war is over, Zara," Damien whispered, his lips brushing against hers in a slow, deep, dominating kiss that tasted of metallic rain and survival. "The board belongs to us now. The empire belongs to us. And you... you are never leaving this mansion."

Zara looked back at her mother, then up at the ruthless billionaire who had gone from her greatest enemy to her ultimate protector. She nodded slowly, a small, confident smile playing on her lips.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mr. King," she whispered.

The lion's den had tried to tear her apart, but instead, she had conquered the beast. And as Damien pulled her back into his embrace, locking the world outside, Zara knew that the heiress they never wanted had finally found exactly where she belonged.