All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy: Chapter 151 - Chapter 155

Elowen's POVThe diner on Eleventh Avenue smelled of burnt grease, dish soap, and wet cardboard.Through the smudged front window, late-afternoon traffic crawled toward the Lincoln Tunnel under a sky that had turned the flat, bruised gray of dirty ice. A green canvas duffel bag sat on the scuffed linoleum between Leo’s worn work boots, zipped tight, its nylon strap frayed white at the buckle.He had a thick ceramic mug of black coffee in front of him, cooling untouched next to a greasy paper napkin. His face still had that pale, hollowed-out look from forty-eight hours in an intake cell downtown, but his eyes were sharp again—sharp with a restless, erratic energy that wouldn't let his boots sit still against the floor."Lisbon," I said, looking at the bent boarding pass sticking out of his canvas jacket pocket. "You don't know anyone in Portugal, Leo.""I know one guy," he said, turning the mug in a slow, scraping circle over the Formica. "An old logistics broker Dad used before the c

Elowen's POVThe silence in the penthouse had become too heavy to sit in.By noon, the rain had settled over the city, turning the river into a dull sheet of slate. The apartment felt hollowed out—a vast, immaculate expanse of glass and stone where I had nothing left to do except listen to the hum of the heating vents.I put on my coat, took the elevator down to the street, and caught a cab south.Tribeca was washed in gray. The cab tires hissed against the wet asphalt as we turned down the narrow, cobblestone side street, leaving the sharp, vertical towers of Midtown behind for low-slung brick warehouses and cast-iron fire escapes.The heavy iron door of the building clicked open with my key. Inside, the old freight elevator shuddered into motion, groaning behind the scissor gate as it hauled me up to the fourth floor.When the gate slid back, the smell of the loft hit me like a familiar pulse: dry cedar shavings, warm beeswax, roasted coffee, and the chalky dust of old plaster. Tall

Elowen's POVThe penthouse was empty by seven.Killian’s side of the bed had been smoothed flat with that familiar, mechanical precision, the sheets cold to the touch. In the kitchen, the espresso machine was wiped down, the breakfast bar pristine, and his car keys gone from the marble tray. He had vanished into the gray morning without leaving a note, without a word to the staff, and without knocking on my door.He hadn't thrown a tantrum. He hadn't demanded an explanation for the way I had gone rigid in his arms the night before. He had simply closed himself off behind that terrifying wall of silence, treating me with the distant, untouchable courtesy he reserved for strangers.I dressed in a dark wool coat, black trousers, and low boots—practical, invisible clothes meant for blending into the pavement. I left my engagement ring in the velvet tray on the vanity, but I kept the simple platinum wedding band on my left finger. In public, for now, the facade had to remain intact.I didn