Claimed By The Billionaire CEO

Ransom and Reckoning

The glow of the phone screen illuminated the raw rage hardening Damian’s features. Ivy stared at the grainy photograph, the air completely rushed out of her lungs. Her father—looking pale, frail, and terrified—was being forced into the back of an unmarked vehicle.

"They have him," Ivy whispered, the silk sheet slipping from her chest as she scrambled to grab the phone. Her hands shook violently, the lingering afterglow of their intimacy replaced by ice-cold terror. "Damian, they're going to kill him!"

"They won't," Damian said, his voice deadly quiet as he stood up from the bed. He unhooked his black silk robe from the chair, throwing it around her shoulders before pulling on a fresh pair of dark trousers. "Whoever sent this doesn't want your father dead, Ivy. They want me to forfeit my seat at the board meeting tonight. Killing him loses their leverage."

"We can't take that risk!" Ivy snapped, swinging her legs off the bed, her voice rising in panic. "Call the police, call your security team—"

"No police," Damian growled, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "Arthur has half the precinct on his payroll. If we go to the authorities, the story leaks, the stock plunges, and your father becomes expendable."

Damian’s encrypted phone buzzed again in his palm. A timer had been attached to the image: 17:59:59.

Eighteen hours until the shareholder vote. Eighteen hours before her father was silenced permanently.

Ivy forced her breathing to slow down, her sharp mind fighting through the panic. "This isn't just Arthur. Arthur wouldn't risk a kidnapping charge himself—he’s too calculated. He's using an outsider."

"Julian," Damian said, his eyes narrowing into slits.

Julian processed the original debt transfer," Ivy realized, the pieces locking into place instantly. "He was the only person outside of us who knew the exact location of my father's safehouse!"

"Which means Julian just signed his own death warrant," Damian said coldly.

He walked over to his heavy mahogany desk, pulling a concealed leather holster and a sleek 9mm pistol from a hidden compartment beneath the frame. He checked the magazine with a mechanical click, sliding it into the small of his back.

He turned to look at Ivy, his storm-gray eyes sweeping over her bare neck, marked by his touch, and her fiery, resolute expression.

"You stay here," Damian commanded. "My security team will lock down the estate. I’m going to extract Julian."

"Like hell I am," Ivy said, throwing off the robe and pulling a clean silk shirt and trousers from the wardrobe. "Julian knows me. He thinks I'm a desperate victim trapped in your contract. If you walk in there with a gun, he shoots my father. If I walk in, he thinks I'm delivering my surrender."

Damian took three long strides toward her, grabbing her chin tightly, his thumb pressing into her jawline. "You listen to me, sweetheart. I don't risk my assets, and right now, you are the most valuable thing in this war. You stay in this house."

"I am not your asset, Damian!" Ivy yelled, leaning directly into his hand, her chest pressed against his chest. "That is my father! You need me to pull this off, and you know it!"

Damian stared down at her, the possessive fire in his eyes clashing with her unyielding defiance. A dark smirk tugged at his mouth.

"You really are a dangerous woman, Ivy," he growled.

Thirty minutes later, the sleek black sports car tore down the rain-soaked highway toward an abandoned shipping warehouse near the docks.

Inside the darkened vehicle, the tension was thick enough to suffocate. Damian reached across the center console, his massive hand sliding up Ivy’s thigh beneath her trousers, his thick fingers squeezing her inner leg aggressively.

"What are you doing?" Ivy gasped, her body flashing warm despite the freezing rain outside.

"Keeping you focused," Damian murmured, his thumb rubbing small circles near her core, making her breath hitch. "When we walk into that room, Julian needs to see a woman who has been completely broken and possessed by me. I need him convinced you’ve surrendered."

He pulled the car to a halt behind a row of rusted shipping containers, switching off the lights. He unbuckled his seatbelt, turning to face her completely in the dark interior.

"Get on your knees," Damian commanded, his voice dropping into a thick, absolute order.

Ivy glared at him, but the dark, consuming authority in his eyes left no room for debate. She unbuckled her belt and slid down into the tight footwell between his legs.

Damian unzipped his trousers, pulling out his heavy, throbbing d**k. He grabbed her hair, tilting her head back, and shoved his thick head past her lips.

Ivy let out a soft moan against his shaft as he began slowly pushing into her mouth, filling her throat completely. He didn't force her, but his heavy hand remained locked in her hair, guiding her rhythm as she wrapped her lips tight around him, sucking his d**k with a warm, wet intensity that made Damian groan out loud.

"Fuck... yes, Ivy," Damian growled, his hips lifting slightly as she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft, sucking him deeper into her throat. He reached down, aggressively grabbing her t**s through her shirt, thumbing her erect n*****s hard while she worked her mouth over him.

The sound of her wet sucking and his deep, ragged breathing filled the luxury car. Damian’s grip in her hair tightened as he neared the edge, his hips thrusting up twice into her warm mouth before he pulled out just in time, spurting his thick, hot c*m directly across her chest and neck.

Ivy panted, looking up at him through her lashes, wiping a stray drop of c*m from her collarbone.

"Now," Damian whispered, his eyes dark with raw satisfaction as he handed her a silk handkerchief. "You look appropriately undone."

They stepped out into the freezing rain, moving silently toward the side door of the warehouse.

Damian kicked the rusted metal door open with a deafening crash, drawing his weapon in one fluid motion.

Inside, tied to an iron chair under a single dangling lightbulb, was Ivy’s father. Standing over him with a raised silenced pistol was Julian Vance—and standing right beside Julian, holding a glass of scotch, was Arthur Sterling.

Arthur didn't panic. He slowly took a sip of his drink, a sinister smile spreading across his face.

"You're too late, Damian," Arthur said smoothly, signaling to three armed guards stepping out from the shadows behind them, their rifles raised directly at Ivy's chest. "Drop the gun, or the girl dies first."