Broken Bond: Claimed by My Ex-Husband's Alpha Billionaire Uncle-Chapter 101: Taking Care of Damon

Charlotte gently wiped the dried blood off Damon’s cheek. It had already crusted over, so she had to press a little harder to clean it properly.

"I’m fine," Damon said, taking her hand in his and pressing a soft kiss to her fingers. "This isn’t my blood."

"Liar," she murmured, narrowing her eyes. "I can tell by the scent. It’s yours."

She’d grown familiar with his scent over time, his unique pheromones were something her body recognized instinctively. There was no mistaking it. She could always tell his blood from anyone else’s.

Damon let out a small chuckle and finally gave in. "Alright, fine. It’s mine. But all the wounds are healed now. It’s nothing to worry about."

"Of course it’s something to worry about," Charlotte said, her voice soft but firm. "I just want to know your pain."

Since she couldn’t be with him during the fight, the least she could do was understand what he’d been through. She couldn’t protect him on the battlefield, but she could be there afterward.

To care for his wounds.

To hold him when the adrenaline faded.

To be the warmth he came home to.

"I might not be a fighter," she added quietly, "but I still want to share the pain with you."

Damon looked at her for a long moment. Then, wordlessly, he pulled her into his arms and held her close because in that moment, her presence alone was enough to make him feel better.

"Alright, let’s talk inside," said Damon.

Charlotte nodded, then held her arms as they walked inside the manor.

Carmen had gone to see Priscilla, while Mona immediately dashed toward him. "You’re not dying, aren’t you?"

Damon laughed softly. "Mom, I’ll not die that fast."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Good. Do you need anything? Maybe food, a bandage, or anything else?"

"I’m fine," Damon replied. "I just want to rest for a while, so I’ll head back to my room. We can talk about everything later."

At least until Louis finished tending to Priscilla and made sure she was truly okay.

Until then, Damon just wanted to spend time with his mate.

Mona could tell that Damon preferred Charlotte to be the one by his side right now, so she gave them some space.

"Alright. Just let me know if you need anything," she said. "I’ll go check on Carmen."

Damon nodded, then quietly headed back to the bedroom.

Even though there were no visible wounds left on his body—thanks to his fast healing—Charlotte could easily imagine how brutal the fight had been just by looking at the rips and bloodstains on his clothes.

The fabric was torn in several places, dirt clinging to the seams, and the faint scent of blood still lingered around him.

"Do you want to clean yourself first?" Charlotte asked gently. "I’ll get you a change of clothes."

"Thank you, sweetheart," Damon replied with a tired smile.

He reached up to unbutton his shirt, but his fingers trembled slightly.

Charlotte immediately stepped closer, noticing it right away.

It wasn’t just exhaustion. The poison gas from the tunnel and the intense fight had taken a toll on him, more than he wanted to admit.

"Here," she said softly, gently brushing his hand aside. "Let me help you."

Damon didn’t protest. He simply stood still as she gently unfastened the buttons of his shirt.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, lowering his head, his voice filled with frustration. He looked like he didn’t want to admit just how drained he really was. "I don’t understand why my hands are trembling like this."

"It’s okay," Charlotte said softly. "You’re just exhausted."

She guided him to sit on the edge of the bed and carefully helped him out of his shirt, revealing the faint marks and blood still clinging to his skin. freёweɓnovel.com

"You’ve been taking care of me all this time," she said, brushing his hair away from his face. "Now let me do the same for you."

Damon was about to argue. He still believed he was fine, strong enough to handle it on his own. But when he looked into her eyes and saw the determination and care behind them, he couldn’t bring himself to say no.

"Alright," he finally said with a tired smile. "I’m in your hands now, sweetheart."

Charlotte returned his smile, kissed his forehead, then walked to the bathroom to prepare warm water for his bath. Steam soon filled the room as the tub filled, and she laid out a clean towel and clothes nearby.

While Damon stepped into the water to wash the blood and dirt from his skin, Charlotte knelt behind him and gently helped wash his hair.

Her fingers moved slowly through his damp strands, massaging his scalp with delicate care.

Neither of them spoke.

But the silence felt warm, filled with unspoken care, quiet trust, and a kind of love that didn’t need to be said out loud.

Charlotte gently leaned his head back against the edge of the bathtub and rinsed the shampoo from his hair.

Damon closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as the warm water trickled down his scalp. His breathing had steadied, his body finally starting to relax after everything he’d been through.

Charlotte couldn’t help but take in the sight before her—His sharp jawline, his high, straight nose, and the way water glistened on his skin under the soft bathroom lights.

Oh, how could someone look this handsome, even while completely exhausted?

His damp hair clung slightly to his forehead, his lashes casting soft shadows over his cheekbones. His skin was flushed from the warm water, and there was a peacefulness in his expression that made Charlotte’s heart ache a little.

She had to stop herself from leaning in and planting gentle kisses all over his tired, beautiful face.

"Charlotte."

As his deep voice echoed through the bathroom, she shook her head to dispel all of the lewd thoughts in her mind.

"Yes?" she said softly.

"When I got to the hideout, Priscilla was in really bad shape," Damon began, finally speaking about the nightmare he had witnessed just hours ago.

"She was being held in the basement, and it looked like she was barely being fed." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Honestly, I never thought Julian was truly capable of doing something like that."

Charlotte’s hands stilled for a moment in his hair. She could hear his voice was filled with disbelief, anger, and underneath it all, a hint of sadness.

"What else did you see?" she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper.

Damon leaned his head back against the tub, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "The room she was in ... it was cold. Damp. There were no windows. Just concrete walls and a locked metal door. It looked more like a cell than a basement."

He clenched his fists under the water. "She could barely move. Her wrists were bruised, probably from being tied up at some point. And when she saw me. .." he swallowed hard. "She didn’t even recognize me at first. It felt like her mind had shattered from that nightmare."

Charlotte’s chest tightened. She had her own history with Priscilla, and it was complicated. But hearing this, It made her feel sick.

No one deserved to be treated like that, especially not by their own son.

Not even someone who had once made her life miserable.

Damon’s voice dropped lower. "And there’s something else ..."

Charlotte listened to him quietly.

"When I entered the room," Damon continued, "I accidentally saw a watch lying near the wall. It looked broken with a cracked face, the strap nearly torn."

He paused, eyes darkening at the memory. "Maybe Priscilla was the one who pulled it off his wrist. Maybe she threw it during a struggle."

Charlotte’s heart beat faster. "His wrist?" she echoed softly.

Damon nodded. "Yeah. It wasn’t just dropped. There were scratch marks on the wall near it. Like there was a fight. Like she fought back."

Damon finally turned around to see Charlotte’s face. "That watch ... I’ve seen it before, Charlotte." He gritted his teeth. "Her husband wears it."

Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat.

She stared at Damon, his words settling deep in her chest. Her mind raced, pulling up every vague memory she had of Priscilla’s husband—the way he spoke, the way Priscilla seemed to shrink around him.

Sometimes, she acted exactly like Charlotte would act whenever she was around Julian.

"Are you sure?" she asked, though part of her already knew the answer.

Damon’s expression didn’t waver. "I’m sure. It was the same model, same leather strap, even had that faint scratch on the metal clasp. I noticed it once when he shook my hand."

He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched. "At first I thought maybe it was just a coincidence. But, Charlotte, I don’t believe in coincidence."

"So he knew," she whispered. "He knew what Julian was doing. Maybe he even helped."

The idea made her stomach churn.

Priscilla had done terrible things, yes, but this? Being locked away. Starved. Beaten. Forgotten.

By her own family?

Damon placed a hand on her knee. "This might not count as solid evidence yet, but ... I’m sure it’s something."