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

35 Chapters

The Last Perfect Night

"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

Fractures

The night after the gala was a blur.Amira had taken off the silver gown in silence, folded it neatly on the dressing chair, and slipped into bed without removing her earrings. She hadn’t cried. Even pouring herself a drink felt exhausting.By morning, the Westwood estate felt colder, the air heavy with secrets.A sharp knock rattled her door.“Miss Amira,” the butler said when she opened it, bowing slightly. “Your father requests your presence in the study. Urgently.”Marcus never summoned her this early unless disaster was near.Amira slipped a velvet robe over her silk slip and hurried down the hall. Eli leaned against the banister, phone in hand. His eyes followed her, sharp and unreadable, but he said nothing.When she entered the study, Marcus sat rigid behind his desk, Giselle lounging on the sofa with a crystal glass in hand, already playing queen of the ruin.“Sit,” Marcus said roughly.Amira sat, heart pounding. “What’s wrong?”“It’s about the company,” Marcus said. “The Fed

Headlines

“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

The Meeting

Amira didn’t sleep that night. She sat on the floor of her childhood room, sketchbook open across her knees, the storm rattling the windows outside.Sharp shoulders. White silk. Gold lining.A gown for battle, not beauty.If Giselle thought she was a pawn, Amira would carve her way to queen.The next morning, Amira’s phone buzzed.A new photo. Darren’s hand wrapped around Camila’s waist, their smiles smug and matching.New Beginning, the caption read. Heart emoji. Champagne glass.Her vision blurred with rage. She looked at her vision board, once filled with dreams and glitter.“Mom wouldn’t have let them ruin me,” she whispered.A knock broke the silence.Softer the second time. Marcus.When she opened the door, her father stood there, exhaustion etched into his face.“I saw the photo,” he said.“I didn’t cry,” she replied.“You look like your mother when you say that.” His voice cracked.“She would’ve kicked Giselle out by now.”“She wouldn’t have let me marry her in the first place

Vows and Veils

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

Ask politely

Amira woke the next morning, her face puffy from the tears of the night before. This was her life now, the reality she had no choice but to accept. She dragged herself out of bed, splashed cold water on her eyes, and straightened her shoulders before stepping into the hallway. She stilled for a second as she walked in on Leon seated on the couch, dressed in a dark suit, his sunglasses firmly in place even indoors. “Good morning,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “I didn’t think you’d be awake this early,” she murmured, taking a seat in the chair opposite him. “I’m blind, Amira, not helpless,” he said. “And I have a business to run, in case you forgot.” he snapped. “I—I'm sorry,” she whispered, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a scoff. “We have a press conference today. I expect you to play your part perfectly, smile, nod, you're to look like the devoted wife. No mess ups, no hesitation.” “But we just got married yesterd

Love at first sight

“I assume you already got the script?” Leon asked as she slid into the car. “You didn’t tell me we were acting out a play,” she shot back, flipping through the pages as the car started. “I need to make sure everything is under control,” he said, voice even, clipped. “I didn’t build a billion-dollar business to have it run on assumptions. Everything is planned, every move, every word, every reaction.” Amira didn’t respond as she flipped through the pages, her expression unreadable, even as her fingers tightened on the script. The silence stretched, between them, until Leon’s voice cut through it again, quieter this time. “Do you understand why this matters?” She looked up briefly, meeting his dark glasses. “I understand. You want perfection.” “Not perfection,” he corrected, his tone like steel. “Control. Visibility. Influence. One mistake and everything falls apart.” Her jaw tightened as she nodded wordlessly. “We’ve arrived,” the driver announced. Amira exhaled, closing the sc

The Mirror

(Amira’s POV)From the moment I stood frozen inside the room, I knew. Then I tried the handle. It didn’t turn.I wasn’t a bride. I was a caged bird.My throat tightened. My father’s empire had collapsed, my reputation had been dragged through the mud, and now even my freedom had been signed away. The robe clinging to my body, heavy with the scent of bitterness and regret, mocked me. Everything I had been—Amira Westwood, the darling of parties and magazines—ended the moment I stepped into this house.I sank onto the bed, the sheets cool and untouched under my palms. My throat ached. My chest hurt. For a moment, I forgot to breathe.“I can’t do this,” I whispered into the empty room. “I can’t…” and the tears came before I could stop them. Not as the Westwood heiress who posed for cameras. Not as the spoiled princess everyone thought untouchable. I cried as a woman who had lost everything, as a daughter who had bartered her life to save her father.I cried until my face went numb and my

The journal

(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.

The Performance

“It’s about time to play Amira Mercer,” she whispered to her reflection, slipping into a tailored black dress that hugged her frame like armor. Her hands lingered on the mirror’s edge for one beat longer than necessary. Calm. Composed. Unbreakable.Downstairs, the dining room was quiet, sunlight pouring through tall windows. She didn’t expect Leon. He hadn’t bothered with dinner last night. But there he was, seated with effortless control, dark lenses reflecting her like a stranger.“Eat something,” he said without looking up.Amira’s fork hovered, then stilled. “You don’t ask, do you? You command.”His mouth shifted, a ghost of a smirk. “I don’t waste time with questions that only have one answer.”“And if I don’t eat?”“Then you’ll collapse before the meeting.” His tone was smooth, unhurried as he lifted his coffee. “And weakness is a luxury you cannot afford today.”Her stomach twisted. “Why don’t you care what I want?”“Wives listen to their husbands,” he replied evenly. “And you,

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