All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Blood Debt: Ruined by My Enemy: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

--- Elowen's POVThe morning sun came through the sheer white curtains and laid pale shapes across the marble floor. Three days had passed since Leo and I first opened the digitized municipal archives on my laptop, leaning over the screen like two people digging up a map from another life. Three days of coming back to that one line of text—a legal entry proving that a piece of my mother's heritage still existed in the heart of Paris, untouched by the debt and greed that had taken our family apart back home.And still, my body refused to cooperate."Breathe smoothly, Elowen. Chin steady. Don't let your shoulders curl." Elena's hands were firm against my lower back as I sat upright on the edge of the rehabilitation mat, trying to hold my balance without the raised backrest.My arms shook under my own weight. Every muscle from my upper back down to my lumbar spine screamed at the pull of gravity. The titanium rods and screws fused along my vertebrae felt heavy and stiff, like a metal cor

--- Elowen's POVTwo weeks passed in a blur of physical strain and small victories.My mother stayed in Málaga for four days before flying back to her home outside Lyons. We didn't try to cram years of lost time into ninety-six hours. We couldn't. But we exchanged numbers, talked on the terrace every morning over tea, and promised each other that Paris wouldn't be the end of our reconnected lives. It would be the start.By the time Dr. Navarro signed my travel clearance, I could move from my wheelchair to a standing frame with only light assistance from Elena. My back still burned after twenty minutes upright, but the sharp, terrifying spasms had settled into a dull ache I could manage.The flight to France was fast and quiet. Leo sat beside me in the executive cabin, pointing out the window like a kid on his first vacation, while I kept my hand wrapped around the brass key in my pocket.When the car turned off the main avenue onto Rue de l'Université, the noise of afternoon traffic f

--- Elowen's POV The sound of a zipper pulling shut on heavy canvas echoed down the high-ceilinged hallway upstairs. I sat near the dining room table, watching the pale autumn sunlight filter through the tall windows onto the polished oak floor. Beside my wheelchair stood two folded cardboard boxes filled with old vinyl records Leo and I had spent the previous evening sorting through—classical movements, French folk tunes, and early jazz pressings that had once belonged to our mother. Leo came down the stairs carrying a worn duffel bag over his shoulder and a small leather suitcase in his right hand. He looked tired, but the restless tension that usually hung around his shoulders seemed noticeably absent. "Flights to Lisbon leave on time if the rain holds off," Leo said, setting his bags near the front door. He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around the entry hall. "Fee

--- Elowen's POV The remaining distance between us didn't vanish in a hurry. It dissolved slowly, measured out in the quiet cadence of the rain drumming against the curved glass overhead. Killian didn't rush. He never rushed when he felt he held all the cards. His lips brushed mine—a soft, feather-light contact so faint it was almost soundless. It wasn't a fierce press or a demand for ownership; it was a ghost of a gesture, a deliberate tease that sent a sharp, electric jolt running straight down my spine to the tips of my toes. My eyes drifted shut for a fraction of a second, purely against my will. When I opened them again, he was still right there, his dark gaze holding mine with an unhurried, razor-sharp focus. Beneath my palm, which was still pinned flat against his wool sweater, his heart maintained that steady, heavy thud—a sharp contrast to th

--- Elowen's POV For a long moment, I didn't say anything. I sat in my chair with my arms folded over my chest, staring across the rosewood board at Killian. He looked completely relaxed, leaning back into the soft leather of his armchair with one hand resting casually on his knee. He was waiting for my answer as if he had just asked to bet a cup of tea instead of a kiss under one of the most famous monuments in the world. I paused, studying his face, trying to work out where all this confidence was coming from. Killian spent his days buried in work, traveling between cities, and dealing with lawyers and business partners. When on earth did a man like him find time to play chess deeply enough to stand a chance against me? I had spent years of my youth sitting in quiet tournament halls. I knew pawn structures, openings, and endgame tactics. My online rating was st