Betrayed By The Billionaire

271

Chloe Bishop wasted no more words. She pulled on a pair of sterile latex gloves, her movements clinical and steady. She picked up the surgical forceps, dipped them in disinfectant, and positioned her hand at the jagged edge of the wound.

Without the obstruction of his shirt, the injury was stark. The glass shard sat deep in the muscle, reflecting the harsh vanity lights of the bedroom. It appeared to be a single, solid piece, but appearances in trauma were often deceptive.

She didn't give Xavier Grayson a warning. She clamped the forceps onto the glass and yanked it out in one swift, vertical motion.

A fountain of fresh, hot blood immediately saturated the surrounding skin. Chloe glanced at Xavier’s face; his brow merely twitched, his jaw locking so hard the muscles stood out like iron cables.

She immediately pressed a thick pad of gauze against the opening, applying firm, rhythmic pressure. "Can you feel any grit? Any sharp points inside?" she asked.

In the world of the Bishops, pain was a diagnostic tool. If fragments remained, the pressure would cause an agonizing, localized sting—the sensation of a thousand needles waking up at once.

Xavier shook his head slowly, his breath hitching. "Nothing."

Chloe sprinkled hemostatic powder over the laceration until the bleeding slowed to a sluggish crawl. Then, she reached for the medical alcohol. "This will sting. Hold on."

As the clear liquid hit the raw tissue, Xavier’s entire physique revolted. His muscles surged, turning his torso into a landscape of rigid stone. Chloe watched his knuckles turn white as he squeezed his fists, fine beads of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. Yet, not a single groan escaped his lips.

She used clean gauze to dab away the excess, exposing the vivid, red flesh. "I’m going in for the fragments now," she said, her voice dropping to a focused murmur. "If it hurts too much, scream."

Xavier didn't scream. Instead, he stared at her face. He watched her lips move—red and plush—and his mind involuntarily flickered back to the kiss they had shared the day before.

Chloe didn't stop. As her sentence trailed off, she slid her gloved finger directly into the cavity of the wound, meticulously probing the muscle fibers for any hidden shrapnel.

The color drained from Xavier’s face instantly. He turned ashen, sweat pouring down his neck like rain. In an explosive surge of redirected agony, he reached out, cupping the back of Chloe’s head, and crashed his lips onto hers with precise, desperate violence.

Chloe stiffened for a heartbeat, but she didn't pull away. She treated the kiss as a distraction—his way of managing a pain that would have unmade a lesser man. She kept her focus on her fingertip, navigating the slick interior of the wound until she felt the tell-tale scratch of glass. One piece. Two. She extracted them both.

The kiss lasted for an eternity. Chloe remained a ghost in the encounter—a detached observer of his greedy, frantic looting of her mouth. She offered no resistance, but she gave no response. She was a statue of flesh and bone.

Finally, Xavier pulled back, his breathing ragged.

Chloe’s eyes were clear, as if nothing had happened. She looked down and resumed bandaging the wound, but a sudden chill raced down her spine. Even without looking up, she could feel the murderous aura radiating from the man above her.

She didn't feel shame. She didn't feel anger. Her heart was a still pond.

Once the dressing was secured, she began packing the medical kit. As she stood up, Xavier’s hand shot out, seizing her wrist and jerking her back with such force that the world blurred.

In a flash of motion, Chloe was pinned against the chaise longue.

Xavier hovered over her, his face a mask of apocalyptic fury. "Aren't you going to ask me why I kissed you?"

Chloe complied with a hollow, effortless grace. "Why?"

"Because," Xavier hissed, his voice trembling with a toxic blend of rage and resentment, "you look exactly like my ex-girlfriend from America."

The Shadow of the Predecessor

An ex-girlfriend?

Between the mysterious first wife, the presence of Yvonne Blue, and now this ghost from the States, Xavier Grayson’s romantic history was becoming a crowded room. Chloe wondered who had started the rumor that the "Demon CEO" was indifferent to women.

Her heart remained cold, unaffected by the intended insult. "Is that so? I suppose I should consider that an honor."

Xavier loathed her indifference. He hated the way she looked at him as if he were a business transaction rather than a man who had just bled for her. He leaned closer, his voice a venomous rasp. "Indeed. Though, I must say, your 'flavor' is nowhere near as good as hers."

Chloe didn't flinch. She looked up at him, her voice flat and bored. "Then it is truly my sin for failing to satisfy you. If you miss her that much, you are welcome to find her. I certainly won't interfere."

Xavier has attempted to use his past to wound Chloe, but her "heart of water" remains unpierced. As the sounds of the feast continue below, will Xavier's frustration lead to a further escalation, or will the arrival of a servant to call them to dinner force them back into their roles as the "Golden Couple" of Haicheng?