The Billionaire Who Thought I Was Blind의 모든 챕터: 챕터 11 - 챕터 20

The door’s soft click behind me sounded too loud.For a second, I stood there, back against the wood, fingers still curled around the handle like I could reverse this if I decided I’d made a mistake.His gaze slid down to my hand. Then back up.“You came,” he said. “That’s progress.”His voice was deeper in person, less distorted than through an elevator speaker or a glitching feed. It filled the room the way Alexander’s voice filled an interview—effortlessly—but without polish. Rough edges intact.“I got… lost,” I said.One corner of his mouth lifted.“Try again, solnishko.”The nickname scraped something raw inside me.“Don’t call me that,” I said.His smile didn’t fade.“What should I call you?” he asked. “Clara? C‑01? Catherine Bright?”My pulse spiked.“You’ve been in his files,” I said.He snorted softly. “I was in his systems before you ever walked into his lab. I got there first.”He took his boots off the table and sat forward, forearms resting on his thighs, glass dangling l

I woke to an empty bed and a full‑body ache.For a second, in the fog between sleep and awareness, I let myself pretend it was from good sex and a good night.Then memory slammed back in.Hands on my throat. Hands between my thighs. My body arching against someone I no longer trusted.And the cold, unblinking eye of a camera feed somewhere, recording my absence for exactly twelve minutes.I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling.My head throbbed, a dull pulse behind my eyes. Not just from the surgery. From too much light, too many faces, too many lies.The sound of low voices filtered up from the living area.“…full neuro workup. No, I don’t care if the machines are booked—bump someone. She’s a priority. Schedule it today.”Alexander.Always scheduling me.I sat up slowly, wincing as my muscles protested.The door opened a crack.“Clara?” Elara’s voice, soft and tentative. “Are you awake?”I swallowed down the instinctive flash of rage.“Yes,” I said. “Come in.”She slipped insi

Black House pressed in as I stepped back into the main room.The bass thrummed through my bones; lights strobed over faces that blurred into a collective, anonymous hunger. After the quiet intensity of Lucien’s suite, it felt like being dropped into a predator tank.I should leave.I should walk out the door, find Dante’s car, and get as far away from this nest of snakes as possible before Alexander’s paranoia decided to follow my scent downtown.Instead, I paused at the edge of the crowd, letting my eyes adjust to the swirl of movement and shadow.Three men, three corners:Alexander, pacing penthouse floors and staring at feeds.Lucien, sipping whiskey in a high‑walled box above the city he helped wire.Niko, somewhere in this building’s circuitry or its shadows.And me, standing in the middle, pretending I had more control than I did.A hand brushed my arm lightly.“Careful, solnishko,” a voice murmured near my ear. “You look like prey when you stand still too long.”I didn’t jump.

The night air hit me like a slap.Outside Black House, the city felt almost too real—wet pavement reflecting neon, the smell of rain and exhaust cutting through the club’s curated incense and liquor.Dante’s car was still idling half a block down, tucked into the shadow of a loading zone.He leaned over and popped the back door open before I reached it.“Still alive,” he said, sounding mildly impressed. “No blood, no cuffs. I’d call that a win.”I slid into the back seat, and my heart was still going too fast.“Drive,” I said. “And don’t ask questions.”“Questions are extra anyway,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “Where to, princess? Same alley?”“Same alley,” I confirmed.We rode in silence for a few blocks.Then he glanced at me in the rearview mirror.“You know he’ll be looking harder after tonight,” he said. “Alexander. Men like that don’t like discovering they’re not the only ones with keys.”“I’m counting on it,” I said.“That’s one way to live,” he muttered.He dropped me

“Okay,” past‑me said on the screen, leaning closer. “If I’m recording this, it means I’ve finally admitted to myself that my husband is not the hero of this story.”My throat went dry.I watched myself push a hand through my hair, knocking my glasses askew.LOG_01_EARLY_DOUBTS“The thing about Alexander,” past‑me went on, “is that he’s very good at sounding right. Even when you know he’s wrong. He wraps his ego in language about ‘access’ and ‘healing’ and ‘national security’ until you start to wonder if you’re just… too emotional to understand the genius.”She snorted.“Except I *am* the genius in this arrangement,” she said. “I built half the architecture he’s selling. I know what it can do. And I know exactly how many lives it could ruin if the wrong person gets the keys. Spoiler: The wrong person might be the man I married.”Present‑me let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.Past‑me glanced toward the office door on her screen, listening.“Anyway,” she said, voice dropp