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Bound To The Demon King

Name: Bound To The Demon King
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

kim Sapphirr

Romance | Ongoing

5.0

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Fighting a serious illness and burdened by crushing debt, Leila Reynolds feels like her chaotic life is about to drown her. Then, Damon Knight appears – a breathtakingly wealthy and enigmatic man offering a lifeline in the form of a marriage contract. Desperate for stability, Leila accepts, unaware that Damon is a powerful hybrid demon with a hidden agenda: he needs an heir. Beneath his opulent facade lie dangerous secrets and lies that could shatter Leila's fragile hope. As the lines between truth and deception blur, an undeniable and consuming connection ignites between them. But can Leila trust the dark allure of the demon she married, or will his secrets and the challenges they face destroy her entirely?

R18+ Fantasy Revenge Mafia Contract marriage Lust/Erotica Arrogant/Dominant Billionaires

Chapter 6 The stranger's gaze

05-01 22:35

Chapter 1 Broken Dreams

Leila's POV

Veridia never slept-but it had no use for dreamers.

The city groaned and breathed around her as Leila Reynolds sat curled up on the cracked windowsill of her studio-slash-home, legs tucked beneath her oversized sweater, her breath fogging up the glass. Outside, neon lights blinked through the mist like dying stars. Inside, silence smothered everything-except for the dull rattle in her lungs and the sharp, stabbing pain behind her ribs.

The dark circles underneath her eyes, a permanent fixtures in these days. Her body wracked with pain from the debilitating illness that had stolen her dreams.

At just 25 years old, she felt like her life was slipping away quicker than she could grasp it. What use had all her talents as an artist been when the medical bills had drained her of all her savings to the last penny? The money she's managed to save from dead-end jobs is barely enough to cover her painkillers, not to mention a roof over her head. She'd skipped her antibiotics again. Third day in a row.

Not by choice.

She'd had to trade the last dose for food. A bruised apple. Half a loaf of stale bread.

Her sketchbook lay open beside her, smeared with charcoal and blood from a coughing fit she hadn't noticed until after the damage was done. On the page, the drawing stared back at her: a man cloaked in shadows, his eyes like glowing coals. She didn't remember sketching him. But he kept showing up. In her dreams. In her hands. On every page.

She didn't know his name.

But every time she drew him, she felt less alone.

Thunder cracked overhead, echoing through the warped walls. Rain followed, harsh and unrelenting-slamming against the leaky roof, dripping onto the floor where buckets and bowls waited like open mouths.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her stomach growled, sharp and empty. Her chest felt like it was being crushed from the inside. She coughed again, muffling it into her sleeve, and tasted iron.

Leila pressed a shaking hand against her chest.

It's getting worse.

A knock at the door made her leap. It was Mrs. Romano, the kindly landlady, peering in with heavy eyes.

"I hate to do this, dear," the elderly woman said, her voice laced with pity. "But your rent was due three months ago. You're going to have to find another place to stay." Tears stung Leila's eyes. She pulled herself off the windowsill, limbs aching, and shuffled toward the door.

"Please, just give me a few more days," she pleaded, hating how desperate she sounded. "I'll get the money, I promise!."

But they both knew that was a lie. With no circle of relatives and friends to turn to, nobody was left to help pay for her mounting medical fees; she was out of options. As understanding as Mrs. Romano had been, her hands were tied.

Pushing back the wave of despair, Leila straightened her shoulders. "Okay, I understand," she said, looking to inject some energy into her trembling voice.

Mrs. Romano gave her one last look of sympathy before closing the door, leaving Leila on her own with her grief. Where would she move to after being evicted? She had nowhere to go and no loved ones to take her in. There is no one but herself to count on.

Just den a soft clink interrupted her thoughts. The mail slot had flapped open. Odd-there hadn't been any deliveries in weeks.

An envelope dropped.

Black.

No stamp. No name.

She picked it up and opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a single business card-sleek, matte, and inky black. Embossed on it was a silver symbol she didn't recognize. Some kind of crest. A name printed in a language she didn't know. But the number at the bottom?

Local.

She flipped it over. One sentence glinted in silver ink:

"He only waits until midnight."

Her pulse quickened. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 11:02 PM.

What kind of joke is this?

But something stirred inside her. A whisper.

You're dying anyway.

What if this was a way out?

Or deeper in?

She looked around the room-bare walls, cracked paint, a mattress on the floor, broken heater. Her art supplies were nearly gone. Her body was failing. Her dreams, her future, her life-they'd all been swallowed by Veridia's cruelty.

She was nobody. Forgotten. Dying in a city that didn't even care enough to spit on her grave.

She picked up the card again.

And this time, the shadows in the corner of the room seemed to lean closer.

Watching.

Waiting.

Little did Leila know that her life was about to be irrevocably altered by a hazardous encounter-one that would lead her right into a dark and dangerous world of obsession, falling somewhere between riches and ruin. And on the harsh city streets, one man's excessive efforts to keep her safe would change their lives forever.