Chapter 12 the Pursuit
1692 Words
Damon leaned back in his office chair, fingers steeple beneath his chin as Alex spoke.
“So… let me get this straight,” Alex said slowly, watching his friend with poorly concealed amusement. “You kissed your employee. She ran away. Now she’s avoiding you. And you’re confused?”
Damon shot him a flat look. “I’m not confused.”
“You tracked her work schedule.”
“That’s called observation.”
“You asked HR about her past relationship history.”
“That was necessary information.”
Alex laughed outright. “You like her.”
The words hung in the air longer than Damon expected.
He looked away toward the window, jaw tight. “Don’t you think, I might have developed feelings for Chloe?”
Alex’s expression softened slightly, the teasing replaced with something more serious. “I think you passed ‘might’ a long time ago.”
Damon didn’t respond. But the truth had already settled in his chest. And it refused to move.
-
Three days. Three entire days without seeing her properly.
Every time Damon entered a space, Chloe found a reason to leave. Meetings were delegated. Reports were sent through email instead of presented in person. Even when their paths crossed in the hallway, she would lower her eyes and disappear within seconds.
Avoidance, intentionally, and Damon hated it. It had to be because of the kiss. The memory still burned in his mind.
That evening, as Chloe stepped out of the company building after work, exhaustion clung to her shoulders.
She just wanted to go home.
The bus station wasn’t far, and the cool evening air helped calm her thoughts. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, staring at the line of commuters waiting under the dim streetlights.
Then headlights cut across the pavement. A sleek black car pulled up directly in front of her. Her heart dropped. The window rolled down.
Damon.
“Get in,” he said.
No greeting. No explanation. Just the command.
Chloe blinked, stunned. “Sir… I—”
“Get. In.”
His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried an authority that made refusal feel impossible. People around them were already staring.
Her pride flared. “I’m going home.”
“I know,” he replied calmly. “And I’m taking you.”
Her pulse hammered. “That’s not necessary.”
Damon’s eyes locked onto hers, dark, intense, unreadable.
“It is,” he said quietly. “Because we need to talk. And you’re not running away from me again.”
The words hit deeper than she expected. Running away. Was she? Maybe. Her fingers tightened around her bag strap. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, with a small frustrated sigh, Chloe opened the car door and slid inside. The moment the door shut, the world outside disappeared. Silence filled the car. Heavy. And charged with everything they hadn’t said.
Damon pulled into traffic. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
Until finally—
“Why are you avoiding me?” he asked.
No anger. Just raw honesty. And that made it harder to answer.
Chloe stared straight ahead. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
She swallowed. “You’re my boss.”
“And?”
“And you kissed me.”
The confession hung between them like electricity. Damon’s grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
“Yes,” he said.
No apology. No denial. Just truth. Chloe’s heart pounded harder. And she suddenly realized this conversation might change everything.
“You are my boss, and I don’t want to be taken advantage of,” Chloe replied innocently.
“I understand how you feel,” Damon said, “In case you hadn’t noticed, I have a reputation. I don’t flirt with women, neither do I keep relationships. I am very straight forward. I’ve felt connected to you for a while now. Don’t think I am saying this because I want to get to your pants. I like you, and I want to see where this is headed.”
Chloe remains silent and for some unknown reason, she could hardly breathe. She held unto the pendant of her necklace, maybe that would help. Nope? Not working. It’s probably lost its magic or she is perfectly fine.
“I’ll let you be for now. But know I will revisit soon,” Damon said, stopping his vehicle.
They had reached Clara’s residence. “Thanks for the ride,” Chloe murmured while she alighted from the car.
At the time Chloe was relaxed at home, her phone rang. The sharp sound cut through the tension like a blade. Chloe frowned, glancing down at the screen. The number wasn’t saved, but something about it made her stomach twist with unease.
She answered it. “Hello?”
The voice on the other end was urgent. Whispered. Breathing hard. “Chloe… hi.”
She doesn't recognize this voice. "Who's this?"
"I am Miriam. You do not know me. But you need to meet with me, there's a lot of information about your past and heritage you don't know about, and they are very important," the caller replied.
“How did you get this number?” she asked cautiously.
“No time,” the voice said quickly. “You need to meet me. Tonight. It’s important.”
Chloe’s pulse accelerated. “What happened?”
“The only thing you need to know right now is the religious organization, Order of the Veiled Sanctum, connected to your family. I'll explain everything later tonight.”
An organization she didn’t know existed. Something was wrong.
“Where?” she asked.
“The old cathedral district. Near the abandoned prayer hall. 7pm.”
The call ended abruptly. Chloe lowered the phone slowly, her mind racing. She looked at the time, 6:23pm, she has barely 30 minutes to meet up on time.
-
Stepping out of her house in a rush, Chloe barely remembered to lock the door before hurrying down the front steps.
Her mind was fixed on one thing.
Miriam.
She had to get there fast. Turning the corner toward the driveway, she ran straight into a solid chest.
“Jesus— Christ!” she gasped, stumbling backward.
Strong hands caught her arms before she could fall.
Damon.
His brows pulled together in mild irritation. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Shock quickly turned into anger. Chloe jerked her arms free. “What the hell are you doing at my residence? Are you stalking me now?”
“I knocked,” he replied flatly. “You didn’t answer.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re just standing here like some criminal investigator!”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You look panicked. So I’ll ask again. Where are you going?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Chloe.”
Her name, low and firm, carried a warning.
She groaned in frustration, dragging a hand through her hair. “Fine. Someone called me. She sounded… bad. I think she’s in trouble.”
That was all Damon needed.
“Get in the car.”
“I didn’t say you were coming.”
“You didn’t have to.”
After a few more seconds of pointless argument, Chloe gave up and followed him to the SUV.
The drive was tense.
Damon pushed the speed limit without hesitation, his focus sharp, instincts already on alert. Chloe kept checking her phone, anxiety clawing deeper into her chest with every passing minute.
When they reached the abandoned cathedral district, the area was eerily quiet. Too quiet. They stepped out.
“No one’s here,” Damon muttered, scanning the surroundings.
As if on cue, Chloe’s phone rang.
Miriam.
Chloe answered immediately. “Miriam? Where are you?”
The voice on the other end was weak. Strained. Wet with pain.
“Ch… Chloe…” she rasped. “Across… the street…”
Chloe’s head snapped up. Across the road, near the curb, a figure lay motionless on the ground.
“Miriam!”
Chloe ran, Damon followed instantly.
By the time they reached her, it was obvious how bad it was. Blood pooled beneath Miriam’s body, soaking into the pavement. Her breathing was shallow, uneven.
Her eyes found Chloe with desperate urgency.
“They’re… coming…” Miriam whispered, her hand trembling as she grabbed Chloe’s wrist.
She forced a folded piece of paper into Chloe’s palm.
“Fourth… Avenue… Princetown…”
Chloe’s hands shook. “No, no, stay with me. Miriam, stay with me!”
Instinctively, Chloe grabbed the pendant hanging from her necklace — the small charm she had always carried — pressing it against Miriam’s chest as if willing life back into her.
“Please… please…”
But Miriam’s grip weakened. Her eyes lost focus and then, nothing.
“Miriam?” Chloe whispered.
Silence.
A hollow emptiness cracked through her chest. Then—
Gunshots.
The sharp crack split the air.
Damon reacted instantly, years of reflex taking over.
A bullet tore through his shoulder, the force jerking his body back, but he didn’t fall.
“Down!” he barked, grabbing Chloe and dragging her behind a concrete barrier as more shots rang out.
Chloe’s ears rang, panic flooding her veins.
“Sir — you’re bleeding!”
“I’m fine,” he gritted out, already scanning for the shooter. “We need to move. Now.”
Without waiting, he pulled her up and rushed toward the SUV, keeping himself between her and the direction of the shots.
Another bullet struck the pavement near them.
They reached the car. Damon shoved her inside, rounded to the driver’s seat, and started the engine in one fluid motion. The SUV roared forward, tires screeching as he sped away from the scene.
Only when they turned three corners did Chloe realize she was shaking uncontrollably. Beside her, Damon’s jaw was clenched tight, blood soaking into his sleeve, but his hands remained steady on the wheel.
In Chloe’s palm, the folded paper felt heavier than stone. On it was written, "Find Martha."
Fourth Avenue.
Princetown.
Whatever Miriam died protecting, they were now part of it. And someone was willing to kill to keep it buried.
- Writer
