Bound by the Devil's Cure

Chapter 11 Everything Broke

Mrs Wilson rarely failed when she set her mind on something.

It had taken only a few carefully placed calls, a private dinner invitation, and subtle reminders of long-standing connections between the families. By the end of the week, she and her husband were seated across from the Carters in their lavish sitting room, crystal glasses untouched as the real negotiation unfolded beneath polite smiles.

“A union between our families would be beneficial for everyone,” Mrs Wilson said smoothly. “Clara has always admired Richard. They grew up together. There’s already familiarity.”

Mrs Carter exchanged a glance with her husband.

“It would certainly strengthen our ties,” Mr Carter admitted.

Mr Wilson cleared his throat. “We’re not forcing anything. Only proposing. If the children agree, we move forward.”

Mrs Carter nodded slowly. “We support the idea.”

The words sealed something far bigger than anyone acknowledged aloud. But no one had asked Richard.

—

The news reached him two days later. An arranged marriage to Clara.

At first, he thought it was a joke. Then he saw his mother’s expression, firm, expectant and realization hit him like a punch to the chest.

“You will at least consider it,” she said. “Clara is suitable. Stable. From a good family.”

“I love Chloe,” he replied, voice low but shaking with restrained anger.

His father’s tone turned sharp. “Love is not always the priority. Responsibility is.”

That was when Richard snapped. “I’m not marrying someone I don’t love.”

But the argument continued, pressure mounting from every direction until the walls of his own home felt suffocating. By evening, there was only one thought in his mind.

Chloe.

If she would give him even the smallest chance, he would fight everything.

—

Richard drove to Clara’s apartment faster than he should have, adrenaline overriding reason. He barely remembered parking before he was already at her door, knocking urgently.

The door opened. Clara stood there. For a split second, disappointment flashed across his face before he masked it.

“Clara,” he said. “Is Chloe here?”

Her heart sank but she stepped aside anyway. “She’ll be back soon.”

Richard entered, pacing once before turning to her, words spilling out.

“I came to talk to her. I… I’m ready to do things differently. I don’t care what anyone says anymore. If she wants time, space, whatever — I’ll accept it. Even if it means an open relationship for now. I just… I need her to know I’m serious.”

Each sentence felt like a blade sliding into Clara’s chest.

She forced a small smile, trying to hold herself together. “Richard… you don’t have to do that. I’m here. I’ve always been here for you.”

He shook his head immediately. “You’re important to me, Clara. You always will be. But not like that. I don’t want to lie to you. I can’t love you the way I love Chloe.”

The honesty was gentle but devastating. For a moment, Clara couldn’t breathe. Years of hope, fantasies, silent longing — all collapsing in seconds.

Then she noticed movement near the door behind him. A shadow.

Chloe. Clara’s heart pounded wildly. Instinct — desperate and reckless — took over. Before Richard could react, she grabbed his shirt, pulled him down, and pressed her lips against his.

He froze. Completely stunned, the door opened fully. Chloe stepped inside. For one suspended moment, the world seemed to stop. Richard’s eyes widened as he saw her over Clara’s shoulder. He immediately pulled back, shock and panic crashing through him.

“Chloe—”

But she was already smiling. Calm and Polite. As if she had walked into nothing unusual.

“Oh… sorry,” she said lightly. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Her eyes moved between them — unreadable. Clara’s chest tightened. She couldn’t tell what Chloe was thinking. That frightened her more than anger would have.

Richard stepped forward urgently. “It’s not what you think—”

But Chloe shook her head gently. “No explanation needed,” she replied. “You’re both adults.”

She picked up her bag from the table, her composure flawless.

“I just came to grab something. I’ll give you two privacy.”

Then she walked out the door. Gone. The silence that followed felt heavier than any argument. Richard stood there, heart racing, dread creeping in.

Because Chloe hadn’t looked hurt. She hadn’t looked jealous. She hadn’t looked anything at all. And somehow, that was worse. Clara slowly released the breath she’d been holding. For the first time, she realized what she might have just done.

Not secured Richard, but pushed him even further away.

The apartment felt unnaturally quiet after Richard left.

Clara stood alone in the living room for several minutes, her lips still tingling from the impulsive kiss, her chest tight with regret. The moment replayed over and over in her mind — Richard’s shock, Chloe’s calm smile, the absence of any visible pain.

That absence disturbed her most. She sank slowly onto the couch, guilt creeping in like a slow poison. “What have I done?” she whispered.

—

By 10:33 p.m., Chloe still hadn’t returned.

Clara had checked her phone countless times, pacing between the living room and the window. The city lights blinked outside, cars passing occasionally, but every sound that resembled footsteps made her heart jump.

What if Chloe was hurt? What if she had been pretending earlier? What if she never came back? The guilt grew heavier with every passing minute.

When the door finally opened, Clara rushed up immediately. Chloe stepped inside, shoulders slightly slumped, her face pale with exhaustion. She looked genuinely tired — not emotionally shattered, just drained from the day.

Relief flooded Clara. “Chloe…” she said softly. “You’re back.”

Chloe nodded, slipping off her shoes. “Yeah. Long day.”

Clara hesitated only a second before speaking quickly, words tumbling over each other.

“I’m so sorry about earlier. The kiss… it wasn’t planned. I just—I don’t even know why I did that. I shouldn’t have—”

Chloe waved her hand dismissively, already walking toward the kitchen. “Its fine, Clara. Really. It doesn’t matter.”

Clara blinked, surprised. “It… doesn’t?”

Chloe opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. “No. You don’t need to explain. Whatever is going on between you and Richard is your business.”

Her tone wasn’t bitter, it was distant. That somehow hurt Clara more.

“I was actually at work,” Chloe continued casually. “We closed late, then the team went for dinner. I just got back.”

Clara nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Then Chloe added, almost as an afterthought, “Richard has been trying to reach me. Calls, messages… I blocked him.”

Clara’s heart skipped. Blocked. A small, secret wave of relief spread through her chest — one she hated herself for feeling.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

There was a brief silence between them.

Clara stared at Chloe’s face, searching for cracks in her composure, but Chloe remained calm, almost detached. That was when Clara realized she couldn’t keep the other secret any longer.

“Chloe… there’s something else,” she said cautiously.

Chloe glanced at her. “What?”

Clara swallowed. “Our parents met with the Carters.”

Chloe froze slightly. Clara continued, her voice softer now. “They discussed… an arranged marriage. Between me and Richard.”

The words hung heavy in the air. For the first time that night, Chloe’s expression changed. The calm mask slipped. Her eyes widened slightly, and something fragile flickered across her face, shock, pain, disbelief, all colliding at once. She looked down quickly, gripping the water bottle tighter.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

That single word carried more emotion than anything else she had said all evening. Clara’s chest tightened. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I wasn’t hiding it… I just—”

“It’s okay,” Chloe interrupted gently. She forced a small smile, though her eyes had lost their brightness.

“I’m happy for you,” she said.

The kindness in her voice made Clara feel worse. Because she could see it now. Chloe was sad. Not dramatic. Not angry. Just… deeply hurt.

Chloe took a slow breath, steadying herself.

“I think I’m just tired,” she added softly. “I’m going to sleep.”

She walked past Clara toward her room, steps slower than usual. Clara stood there, watching her go, guilt settling heavily in her chest. For the first time since childhood, getting what she wanted didn’t feel like victory. It felt like loss.

The second presentation exceeded every expectation.

What Chloe had originally proposed as an improvement had now evolved into something far more refined — a scalable system with measurable psychological impact metrics, safety compliance layers, and long-term market expansion potential. By the time she finished speaking, the room of executives was silent for a full three seconds before applause broke out.

Even Damon rarely saw that level of unanimous approval.

“She’s done it again,” one board member murmured to another.

Damon remained seated at the head of the table, his expression composed, but his gaze stayed on Chloe longer than necessary. Pride was there — unmistakable — but beneath it, something far more complicated stirred.

He stood. “Excellent work,” he said simply. “All of you.”

Then, after a brief pause, he added, “You’re invited to my residence tonight. Consider it recognition for your efforts.”

The team erupted in excitement. But Damon’s eyes only flickered toward Chloe.

—

His home was exactly what everyone expected — expansive, modern, intimidating in its elegance. Floor-to-ceiling glass, polished stone surfaces, subtle lighting, and quiet luxury that spoke of power rather than wealth.

The team arrived gradually, laughter and conversation filling the space. Damon greeted them with practiced ease, but internally his focus kept drifting.

Chloe.

Since the day she had nearly stood exposed in front of him — vulnerable, unaware, breathtaking — the memory had refused to leave him. It invaded his thoughts at inconvenient moments. During meetings. Late at night. Even while working.

He remembered the curve of her shoulders. He imagined the softness of her lips. The imagined warmth of her breath against his skin. He found himself wondering how she would taste or sound if he touched her, how her body would respond, whether she would tremble or lean closer.

The thoughts were intrusive. Uncharacteristic. Damon was not a man ruled by desire. Or so he had always believed.

“Chloe,” he said calmly when he approached her. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”

She followed him down a quieter hallway into his private study. The room was darker, more personal — shelves lined with research files, architectural models, and confidential project folders.

“I’m developing something new,” he explained, handing her a document. “A mental health initiative. Targeting depression linked to substance dependency.”

Chloe’s eyes lit with immediate professional interest. “That’s… actually very needed right now. Especially with long-term prescription exposure cases.”

They discussed frameworks, implementation possibilities, and clinical safeguards. For several minutes, the conversation remained purely intellectual.

Yet Damon was acutely aware of her proximity. Too aware.

“I’ll be back,” he said abruptly. “I need the restroom.”

Chloe nodded, still scanning the documents.

When he left, the room fell quiet. That was when she noticed the box.

It sat near the edge of his desk — small, elegant, almost decorative. Something about it tugged at her attention. Not curiosity alone… something deeper. A strange sense of recognition she couldn’t explain.

Without thinking much, she picked it up. The lid was smooth beneath her fingers.

The moment she lifted it slightly— “How dare you?”

The sharp voice made her flinch violently. Damon stood in the doorway, his expression dark, controlled anger flashing in his eyes.

Chloe’s heart pounded. “I—I’m sorry. I saw it on the table. I wasn’t trying to—”

“Put it down,” he said coldly.

She immediately obeyed, placing it back.

The atmosphere shifted instantly — tension thick, uncomfortable.

“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy,” she said quietly.

Damon didn’t respond. After a moment, he dismissed her with a slight motion of his hand. “You can go.”

The words stung more than she expected.

Chloe turned, embarrassed and unsettled, heading toward the door. Then she heard it.

Click.

She stopped. Slowly, she turned back. Damon had opened the box.

Inside, resting against dark velvet… A delicate necklace.

Her necklace, the one she had lost three years ago. Her breath caught. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

“My necklace…”

The words escaped before she could stop them. Damon’s head snapped toward her. Silence crashed into the room.

Recognition.

Damon walked closer to Chloe, holding the necklace very closely to her face, “You just said, this necklace is yours. How true is that? Why should I believe you?”

“Why do I always have to explain myself to you,” Chloe remarked. “You are the one in possession of my dear inheritance which I thought I had lost three years ago.”

“Three years ago...”

Chloe raised her finger, pointing at him, “It was you, wasn’t it? The dying poisoned man?”

“Oh my God!” Damon exclaimed, and in no time, he drew Chloe closed, hugging her tight. The moment he gave her some space, he drew her back the second time, and jammed his lips with hers. Kissing her with so much want.

At first, Chloe was stunned. But then, she could feel desire. Lost in Damon’s mouth, she returned the kiss.

For a moment, the world outside Damon’s study ceased to exist. The past and present collided in a single heartbeat, memories long buried suddenly rising to the surface with undeniable clarity.

Damon pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, his breath uneven for the first time in years

“It was you,” he murmured, almost in disbelief.

Emotion tightened Chloe’s chest. “You disappeared,” She whispered.

His hands tightened around her, as if afraid she might vanish again. “You disappeared. I search for you,” he admitted quietly, “No trace, no record.”

“I was hospitalised. I had a minor accident.”

Neither of them noticed how close they still were. Neither of them cared.

-

The bond between Chloe and Clara, though shaken, was not completely broken.

The next few days settled into something almost normal. They still shared meals, still talked about work, still laughed occasionally at small things. Whatever cracks had formed between them remained unspoken, quietly buried beneath years of familiarity and habit.

That evening, when Chloe returned home, Clara immediately noticed something different about her. There was excitement in her eyes.

Curiosity sparked in Clara’s chest. “What happened?” she asked.

Instead of answering immediately, Chloe reached into her bag and carefully pulled out the necklace.

Clara frowned slightly. “Isn’t that the one you lost years ago?”

Chloe nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Then she began telling her everything.

Damon’s house.

The study.

The box.

His anger.

The moment he opened it.

The recognition.

The memories from three years ago — the poisoned man she had helped, the night that had changed everything without her realizing who he truly was.

Every single detail.

“He kissed me. And I was so shameless that I kissed him back.” She acknowledged, almost burying her head on the bed with shame. “The closeness of his body. He hugged me so tight that I almost couldn’t breathe. But I still shamelessly kissed him. I won’t be able to work properly. I want to resign,” she laments, Clara laughed.

By the time she finished, Clara was staring at her in stunned silence.

“A CEO, a powerful billionaire, and he was the man you saved?” she whispered, disbelief written all over her face. “Chloe, that sounds like something out of a movie.”

Chloe laughed nervously. “I know. It feels unreal to me too.”

Clara reached out, touching the necklace gently, her mind racing. Shock was the first emotion. But beneath it, something else. Opportunity. If Chloe and Damon truly had a connection — a past, a bond — then Chloe’s future might change completely. Wealth. Status. Security. Everything Clara herself had always been taught to value.

And strangely, that thought made her feel relieved. Because if Chloe moved into Damon’s world, then Richard would finally belong to her without competition.

Clara smiled warmly, squeezing Chloe’s hand. “Maybe this is fate,” she said softly. “You deserve something good after everything you’ve been through. I really hope, he becomes someone important in your life.”

Chloe looked down at the necklace, fingers tracing the familiar metal, her heart quietly unsettled.

“No,” Chloe scoffs. “Nothing can happen between us. We belong to two separate world. He commands wealth and power, I’m just a nobody.”

“A nobody with unique gift of healing. Chloe, you are the biggest blessing in a person’s life.”

-

That same night. Sleep didn’t come easily to Damon. It rarely did. But tonight was worse.

He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom, the city lights stretching endlessly below, and a glass of untouched whiskey resting in his hand. His mind wasn’t on the company, the upcoming negotiations, or the endless responsibilities that usually occupied his thoughts.

It was on her. Chloe.

The moment she had looked at him and said, “It was you, wasn’t it? The dying poisoned man?” kept replaying over and over in his head.

Three years ago. He had been weak. Helpless. Fading. And she had been there. Not knowing who he was. Not expecting anything. Just, saving him.

His fingers tightened slightly around the glass. Then his thoughts betrayed him — drifting somewhere far more dangerous.

The kiss, her warmth. The softness of her skin. The curve of her body. The way her breath had quickened.

Tonight, his imagination went further than before. He could almost feel her lips under his. His hands on her waist. Her body leaning into him. The quiet sounds she might make if he touched her the way he wanted to.

Damon shut his eyes sharply, jaw tightening. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t a man ruled by desire. He didn’t chase women. Relationships were distractions. Weaknesses. Vulnerabilities enemies could exploit.

At least, that was what he had always believed. But Chloe Pierce was dismantling that certainty piece by piece.

He exhaled slowly, setting the whiskey glass aside untouched. For the first time in years, Damon felt something dangerously close to anticipation. Not for a business deal. Not for power.

For a woman. And that realization unsettled him more than any enemy ever had.

Across the city, Chloe was probably sleeping peacefully, unaware that the most controlled man she had ever met was standing awake in the dark…

Thinking about her, wanting her. And for the first time in his life, Damon wasn’t sure he wanted to resist.