جميع فصول : الفصل -الفصل 20

The boardroom doors sealed shut behind them with a soft, final click that echoed through the empty corridor like a judge's gavel.Amira's heels struck the marble hallway in sharp, staccato beats, each step a punctuation mark of fury. Her chest heaved beneath the tailored dress, rage coiling hot and tight in her stomach, threatening to spill over into something she couldn't control. The expensive fabric felt suffocating now, like a costume she couldn't wait to shed. She didn't look back. Didn't slow. Didn't stop until she reached the elevator and jabbed the button with enough force to crack the plastic casing, her finger leaving a small indent in the surface.The hallway seemed to stretch forever, the walls closing in with their sterile perfection. Everything about MercerTech's executive floor screamed power and control—polished marble that reflected distorted versions of herself, recessed lighting that cast no shadows, artwork that cost more than most people's homes. It was beautiful

Leon's study was dim when Amira entered, the curtains drawn against the afternoon sun. He sat behind his massive desk, fingers steepled, dark glasses reflecting the muted light from his computer screen."Close the door," he said without preamble.Amira did, the soft click somehow ominous in the silence. She remained standing, waiting."How was Vivienne?" Leon asked."Thorough.""She usually is." He gestured to the chair across from him. "Sit. We need to discuss the gala."Amira lowered herself into the leather chair, spine straight, hands folded in her lap. Everything Vivienne had drilled into her—posture, composure, control.Leon slid a folder across the desk. "Guest list. You should familiarize yourself with the key players. Who to engage, who to avoid, who requires special handling."She opened it. Page after page of names, photographs, brief bios. Politicians. CEOs. Investors. Society figures. All the people who would be watching, judging, measuring her worth."There will be repor

That night, Amira couldn't sleep She'd tried—changed into silk pajamas, turned off the lights, lay in bed staring at shadows. But her mind kept racing. The luncheon. Darren and Camila. The gala in two weeks. Everything tangled together.At midnight, she gave up. She turned on her desk lamp and pulled out her sketchbook, determined to work until exhaustion took over.She was deep into an evening gown design when she heard it.Footsteps in the hallway. Deliberate. Measured. Leon's cane tapping against marble.Amira moved silently to her door and cracked it open.Leon stood in the hallway, still dressed. But he wasn't moving like someone navigating darkness. His head turned sharply toward a sound at the far end—a door closing.Too fast. Too precise.Or am I being paranoid?He moved down the hallway confidently, his cane tapping lightly. Almost like he didn't need it.But blind people can move confidently in familiar spaces, she reminded herself.He stopped at the east wing entrance—the

Midway through the meal, Camila's voice cut through the ambient noise, bright and deliberately loud. "Amira! Darling, you look lovely!" Every head in the vicinity turned. Amira forced a smile and turned to see Camila approaching, Darren trailing reluctantly behind. "Camila. What a surprise." "Surprise? We're always at this luncheon." My family has supported this charity for years." Her smile was all teeth. "You remember, don't you? We attended together last year. When you and Darren were still..." "That was another lifetime," Amira said smoothly, every word practiced. "This is my husband, Leon Mercer," she continued, her hand tightening slightly on his arm. "Leon, Camila Eve and Darren Cole." Leon inclined his head with perfect politeness. "Miss Eve. Mr. Cole." Darren extended his hand, and Amira watched with intense focus as Leon reached out. His hand found Darren's with only the slightest hesitation—exactly the right amount of uncertainty for a blind man who'd spent years

That night, Amira sat at her desk with her notebook open, staring at her observations. Leon's explanations echoed in her mind, each one perfectly reasonable, each one impossible to refute. Maybe I am wrong, she thought. Maybe he really is blind and I'm just paranoid. But something in her gut still whispered that nothing was as it seemed. She picked up her pen and wrote one final note at the bottom of the page: Either I'm losing my mind, or he's the most skilled performer I've ever encountered. I don't know which is worse. She closed the notebook and tried to sleep. But even in her dreams, she saw Leon's face—the dark glasses that hid everything—and wondered what truth lay behind them. ... Leon's POV The lock clicked behind him — three tumblers, brass and final. Leon knew the sound as well as his own heartbeat. The hallway beyond was empty; the performance complete. Amira’s tests had come one after another — the bracelet, the glass, the luncheon column — all disman