New beginning: Billionaire love story novel Chapter 285

Claire pressed the doorbell again, this time with more force, as if sheer determination would magically summon the person they were looking for. Beside her, Matthew raised an eyebrow. “Do you think she is home?”

Claire gave a noncommittal shrug, her finger already hovering over the bell for a third press. Before she could press it again, there was a sound from inside—a shuffle of feet—and then the door creaked open.

A woman, who looked to be in her forties, appeared in the doorway. Claire and Matthew exchanged confused glances. This was definitely not the person they were expecting. The woman blinked at them with equal confusion. “Can I help you?”

Alexander, standing behind Claire and Matthew, narrowed his eyes, squinting at the woman like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then, suddenly, his eyes widened, and without a word, he turned on his heel and marched back to the car.

“Hey, Harris! Where are you going?” Matthew called after him, but Alexander didn’t respond. He just slid into the driver’s seat, started the car, and peeled away, leaving Matthew and Claire standing there, bewildered.

Claire, completely unfazed by Alexander’s dramatic exit, turned back to the woman. “Are you involved with three guys?” she asked, her tone direct, though she couldn’t help but sound a little confused herself. The explanation sounded weird even to her, but she didn’t have any better way to phrase it.

The woman looked completely lost, her forehead wrinkling in thought. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Claire sighed and pulled out her phone. “Look, I got a phone number from someone, and I was told it was yours. Is this your number?” She held the phone up to the woman.

The woman shook her head. “Nope, not mine. Sorry.”

Claire stared at the screen, feeling more and more uneasy. Something wasn’t adding up. She decided to call the number. Silence. No ringtone, and no sound from inside the house. The woman was telling the truth—this wasn’t her number. But if not, then whose was it?

“Alright,” Claire said, forcing a polite smile. “Sorry to bother you. Looks like I got the wrong address.”

The woman gave a small nod, still looking a bit baffled, and shut the door. Claire headed to the car, with Matthew trailing behind. They climbed in, and Matthew immediately started the engine. As they pulled away, the woman inside closed the door, but something nagged at the back of her mind.

She suddenly froze.

That woman—Claire Peterson—looked familiar. And why had Claire been at her door? She thought for a moment, then her eyes widened in realization. Could it have something to do with her daughter, Lisa?

Meanwhile, Alexander gripped the steering wheel tightly as he drove away, his mind racing. The woman at the door—it clicked.

That was Lisa’s mother.

He muttered to himself, “What the hell is going on?”

Why had Abigail’s phone number led them to Lisa’s house? He thought that Claire was seeking those three guys who harassed Abigail but why did Lisa's mother show up? His brain was a mess of confusion and unanswered questions.

He needs someone to answer all his questions, and he knows who to call.

Claire had an unmistakable pissed-off look on her face. She couldn’t believe she’d been lied to. Rafayel had told her that this was the address, and that woman was supposed to be connected to the three men harassing Abigail. But something didn’t fit. The woman seemed genuinely clueless. Why would a woman in her forties be sending a group of guys to mess with a twenty-five-year-old? It didn’t make any sense.

Matthew glanced at her from the passenger seat, clearly picking up on her mood. "So, what now?" he asked cautiously.

“We're going to see Rafayel,” Claire said, her voice cold, the words practically dripping with frustration. “I’m done being played like a puppet.”

“Can’t believe that idiot gave you the wrong number,” Matthew muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward Claire. She was sitting rigid in the passenger seat, arms crossed, her jaw clenched tightly.

Within minutes, they reached Rafayel’s apartment complex—a rundown, unkempt building that looked like it hadn’t seen a maintenance crew in decades.

Before the car even came to a complete stop, Claire threw open the door and stormed out. Matthew hurried after her, trying to keep pace.