All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

Elowen's POV The envelope was heavier than it looked, thick paper folded in on itself more than once, the kind of stock you'd use for something meant to survive being carried a long way before it was opened. I broke the seal slowly, aware of both men watching me, Marcus with careful professional distance, Killian with something else entirely, something that had stopped pretending to be patience the moment the paper touched my hands. Somewhere below us, two floors down, a team of strangers was combing through years of hidden transactions looking for exactly the kind of truth I was about to hold in my own hand first. Up here, the wind pressed faintly against the glass, the only sound besides my own pulse in my ears. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded once, nothing else. I read it. It was four lines, in the same careful, dark ink as my name on the envelope.

Elowen's POV The boardroom smelled of stale coffee and cold morning air when we walked in at twenty to nine. Nobody was sitting down yet. Eight directors stood in small, uneasy groups near the floor-to-ceiling glass, their voices low and fast, the kind of tight, hurried whispering that happens when people know a fight is coming and aren't sure which side they want to be caught on when it lands. Chairman Koch sat at the head of the table, her silver hair perfectly in place, her hands resting flat on an unopened folder. She looked tired, the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that comes from forty years of watching men in expensive suits try to destroy each other in front of her. Beside her, Laurence Croft was already standing, unbuttoning his jacket, pulling a stack of freshly printed pages from his folder. He hadn't slept. The skin under his eyes was dull and dark, his collar slightly too

Elowen's POV The car pulled into the garage at twenty past one. Marcus didn't say anything when he opened my door, but the silence between us on the ride up felt different than it had two hours earlier, careful in a new way, like he already knew something I hadn't told him yet. I spent the rest of the afternoon at my desk pretending to read shipping schedules I couldn't focus on. Kateryna's voice kept cutting through every line. *You're too afraid to ask him yourself.* The sting hadn't faded by the time Killian stepped out of his office at five with his coat over his arm, and if anything, sitting three feet from his door all afternoon had only sharpened it. "We're heading home," he said. I didn't argue. The ride uptown was quiet, Killian's phone dark in his lap, the sky going a bruised purple over the park. The quiet held until we walked into the penthouse. I wen

Elowen's POV For the first time since I'd signed the marriage papers, the penthouse stayed quiet all weekend. No emergency briefings at dawn. No Marcus standing by the study doors with folders or updates from Europe. The noise of the city fell away beneath the glass, leaving just the heavy stillness of an apartment that didn't need to brace for a storm anymore. By Sunday evening, Manhattan was wrapped in a slow, dark drizzle that turned the streetlights into blurred smears of gold against the wet stone. "Wear something you can move in," Killian had said that morning, which was the only warning I got before Marcus drove us across town to a converted warehouse on the far West Side, its brick face unmarked except for a single brass plaque and a line of black cars idling at the curb. Inside, the space opened into something I hadn't expected, a private showroom two st

Elowen's POV I woke before six, before the sky had made up its mind about the day, and went straight to the east wing without bothering to change out of the clothes I'd fallen asleep in. Leo was awake when I got there, propped up slightly against the pillows, a nurse adjusting something at the side of the bed. He looked thinner in the morning light than he had the night before, the shock of everything wearing off into something closer to exhaustion, but his eyes tracked me across the room clearly this time, no fog left in them at all. Outside the window behind him, the sky was still working out whether it wanted to rain again, gray clouds moving low and slow over the rooftops. "Hey," he said, his voice still rough, but steadier. "Hey yourself," I said, pulling the chair close and taking his hand the way I had every night for eight months, except this time his fingers actually closed