Todos los capítulos de Contract of Desire: The Billionaire's Blind Wife : Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 17

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW The door made a soft click as it swung open no creak, just the quiet sound of metal against wood. Sera froze, her breath catching in her throat. Not a stitch of fabric covered her body; her hands were pressed tight against her chest and hips, fingers curling into her own skin. For days she'd put off tending to the fine, dark curls that grew between her legs, and now the thought of anyone seeing them made her stomach clench. "Who's there?" she called, her voice sharper than she'd intended. When silence answered, she tried again, softer this time: "H Hello? L Lucian? Is that you?" The air in the room felt still, heavy. I can't stay like this forever, she muttered, letting her shoulders sag. Maybe it was just the wind she'd felt drafts before, pushing at doors and curtains. Lucian had left earlier, and no one else would dare walk into her room unannounced. Lola Cathy would have called out the mo

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW Steam curled from the pot in Lucian's hands, carrying the rich scent of tomatoes, garlic, and beef caldereta, slow-cooked since dawn. He stepped out of the kitchen to find Sera standing by the table, her head tilted slightly as if she'd tracked the sound of his footsteps. Her voice was thick with sleep. "What's that?" He raised an eyebrow, his grip tightening on the pot's handles. How had she found her way here without a hand to guide her? "How did you even get to" "Good morning, best friend!" The words cut through his question, bright and loud. Kidd emerged from behind the door, where he'd clearly been hiding, grinning as he clapped Lucian on the shoulder. He'd been staying at the house for nearly a week now. "Ah… right." Lucian muttered, setting the pot down with a soft thud on the wood. "Caldereta. T

WARNING: This chapter contains sensitive content. Please read at your own risk. THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW "Calm down, Sera. You're not gonna die." Her hands trembled where they wrapped around the bowl of ice cream, the spoon clinking against ceramic as she tried to steady herself. She sat on the edge of the bed, the sheets cool under her thighs, waiting for the shift in air that meant Lucian was near. Ten minutes had passed since he'd helped her bathe and pull on a soft cotton shirt—then he'd been gone, muttering something about supplies and rushing out before she could ask why. Now the ice cream was melting down her wrist, sweet and sticky, and she kept drawing slow breaths to push back the knot in her stomach. Why go out at all? A blade's all you need to shave. That's what I used before—I just can't trust my hands to be steady enough now. She pressed her palm to