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홈 / Romance / The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy / Chapter 135: If It Were Me

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Chapter 135: If It Were Me

작가: Sarah Jenkins
last update 게시일: 2026-09-10 16:30:51

Elowen's POV

The whole restaurant seemed to hold its breath at once.

The clink of silver, the low murmur of French from the waitstaff, the warm smell of bread, all of it just fell away under the weight of Killian standing in that doorway.

He didn't make a scene. His jaw didn't tighten; nothing in his face gave the men beside him anything to read. Killian never handed anyone free leverage, not even a room full of strangers.

He murmured something to the executives, who nodded and drifted toward t
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  • The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy   Chapter 179: A Crowded Room

    --- Elowen's POVI stayed frozen in my wheelchair near the glass doors, watching them.The stranger didn't give Killian a second to breathe. Her fingers wrapped around the crook of his arm with a practiced, possessive familiarity, pulling him toward the open entrance before he could even finish the sentence he had started with me. She was laughing, her voice high and musical, speaking in swift, low bursts of French that blurred into the quiet hum of the lobby air conditioning.Killian didn't push her away. He didn't tense up, and he didn't glance back over his shoulder. He simply let himself be led out into the cool night air, his tall form disappearing through the heavy glass doors into the back of a sleek dark sedan waiting at the curb.The pneumatic doors closed behind them with a soft, final sigh.The clinical escort pushed my wheelchair toward the private el

  • The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy   Chapter 178: Built From the Ruin

    --- Elowen's POVKillian didn't move. He just stood there, framed by the open terrace door, holding a small dark package tied with a clean black ribbon. His shadow spilled across the polished marble like something spilled and left to stain, cutting a dark path through the warm amber light bleeding in from the balcony lamps."Happy birthday, Elowen," he said again. His voice was low, scraped raw at the edges—the sound of a man who hadn't slept in over twenty hours and was running on nothing but will and caffeine.I stared at him from the bed, the white duvet pulled up to my waist like a shield. My hands lay motionless against the fabric, pale and useless."You said you weren't coming," I whispered. The words came out smaller than I wanted them to. Smaller than I was.Killian crossed the room. His steps were quiet against the smooth tile—deliberate, unhurried, the gait of a man who never rushed because the world waited for him. He set the small dark box on the wooden nightstand, right b

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    Elowen's POVTwo days passed in a quiet, steady blur.Post-op recovery at the Malaga clinic was nothing like Bellevue. There were no harsh fluorescent lights, no blaring alarms, and no rushed shifts.A dedicated team of caretakers managed my schedule with quiet efficiency. Every four hours, they shifted my position, inspected the surgical dressings on my spine, and guided my legs through light physical therapy to keep my joints supple.The facility sat high in the hills above the coast. White stone walls, wide open arches, and cool Mediterranean marble surrounded me. Through the open terrace doors of my suite, the ocean breeze carried the clean, salt-tinged air straight to my bed.During his morning check-in, Dr. Navarro brought me a small piece of news that felt like a major victory."Once your physical therapy moves into the second phase, w

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    Elowen's POVThe glass door slid shut behind him with a soft, airtight hiss.Killian stepped into the room.He wore a dark charcoal wool overcoat over an open-collared white dress shirt, tailored trousers, and leather dress shoes that made barely a sound against the linoleum. He looked completely out of place against the pale institutional walls, the scuffed floor tiles, and the humming plastic machinery.My breath locked tight in my chest.Beside my bed, the heart monitor began to pick up speed.Beep. Beep. Beep-beep-beep.The green line on the display spiked into frantic, jagged peaks, loud and rhythmic in the quiet room.Killian’s silver-blue eyes flickered toward the glowing screen, then drifted slowly down to my face. The faint shadow of travel fatigue sat beneath his eyes, but his expression was entirely controlled, smooth, and unbothered."Relax, Elowen," he said, his voice low, dry, and steady. "I'm not a ghost."He stopped at the foot of the bed, resting both hands in the poc

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