All Chapters of Trapped With The Blind CEO: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

"I’m trying my best here, Amira. Don’t you get it, I’m trying."Darren’s voice was tight, impatient, like she’d dragged him into a conversation he didn’t have time for. They stood in the corner of his apartment, the skyline behind them bleeding into dusk."Trying?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "You missed dinner again. You’ve been missing everything lately.""Work is insane right now. You think I want to keep cancelling on you?"She tilted her head. "I think you want the idea of me, not the reality."His jaw tensed. The air between them felt crowded. "Why does every time we see each other have to turn into this?""Because you don’t see me," she said quietly.He ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair, a move so practiced it felt staged. "This isn’t the time for this conversation. I was going to—" He stopped, glancing toward the door."Going to what?""Forget it," he muttered. He grabbed his jacket, shrugged it over his shoulders, and reached for the doorknob. "I’ll see you at

“Jesus Christ, Amira!”Her father’s roar filled the Westwood study, slamming against the wood-paneled walls. He stood by the window, his phone clutched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.That night, the world had already decided who Amira Westwood was.WESTWOOD HEIRESS STORMS OUT OF BRUNCHBILLIONAIRE’S DAUGHTER MELTDOWN AMID INVESTIGATIONTROUBLE IN PARADISE? AMIRA WESTWOOD & DARREN COLE DRAMA EXPLODESThe headlines glared back at her from her phone screen, every angle captured — her storming through the rooftop doors, Darren’s hand reaching after her, Camila’s shocked face in the background. Paparazzi had feasted, stitching images together with lies they didn’t need proof for.“Do you realize what you’ve done?!” Marcus Westwood bellowed. “The company is bleeding, the Feds are circling, and now you hand them a spectacle to drag us through the mud?”Amira stood stiff near the desk, hands balled into fists. “I I didn’t plan for—”“You didn’t think!” Marcus cut her off, pac

Two Weeks Later...The bells tolled like a warning as Amira stood frozen at the foot of the cathedral steps.Her bouquet shook in her hands, thorns biting into her palms. The sharp sting was the only thing keeping her upright while the world screamed around her. “Amira! Over here!”“Miss Westwood, smile for the cameras!”“Is it true this marriage is a business deal?”Flashes exploded like lightning, searing her eyes, her skin, her very soul.They didn’t see a bride.They saw a headline. A scandal wrapped in white silk.Beside her, Giselle’s hand slid over her arm, light and deceptively tender.“Chin up, darling,” she whispered through a flawless smile. “Remember—this isn’t about love. It’s about power.”Amira forced her lips into a curve, even as nausea churned in her stomach. She climbed the marble steps with Giselle at her back, feeling like a lamb being led to the slaughter.The cathedral doors opened. The crowd turned as one. Gasps rippled like wind through leaves.And at the alt

In her room, the air felt colder. She peeled herself out of the gown, each button stiff against her trembling fingers, and slipped into a silk robe. The fabric slid across her skin like a whisper, a small mercy against the weight of the day. On the vanity, her sketchbook waited. Her gaze lingered on it before she pulled it into her lap.Her fingers brushed the pencil, and the pencil moved swiftly, the first lines hesitant, then bolder. A neckline here, a cascade of fabric there. Ruffles, hems, folds—each stroke pulling her deeper into a world of her own making. For the first time since stepping into the Mercer mansion, she could breathe. She spoke softly as she worked, the words spilling into the silence. “They’ll expect me to be a perfect wife, to smile for cameras, to nod and play along. But they won’t see this. They won’t see me.” Her hand trembled. She pressed harder, darkening the lines. “I won’t disappear.” The knock came suddenly, sharp and decisive, rattling the doo

(Leon’s POV)The house is silent now. Too silent.I heard her tears tonight. The walls of Mercer House don’t lie. They carry the sound of weakness the way fire carries smoke. She thought herself alone, but solitude is a luxury she can’t afford. Not here. Not with me.I left her to eat alone. Isolation sharpens edges. Some break beneath it, others adapt. She did both. The crying told me one truth.She has more fight in her than I expected. That will make her useful. Or dangerous. Perhaps both.She doesn’t yet understand what she has walked into. To her, this is a cage. To me, it is a board. Every marriage is a contract, every contract a transaction, every transaction a move. And she is my most visible piece.A man with no sight is underestimated, pitied, dismissed. That is power in its purest form — to see while unseen. They watch my cane and feel superior; they see the sunglasses and sigh in a way that loosens tongues. They speak into the void and give themselves away. So I let them.