Blind Billionaire Novels & Stories

"I know. I know, and I'm sorry. But Crystal, listen, this changes everything. You don't need Amir's money. You have your own. You're rich, probably richer than the Al-Fayads. You don't have to stay in that contract." Crystal sank back down onto the blanket, her legs suddenly unable to hold her. "I'm rich." "Yes." Crystal started laughing. It started as a giggle, then grew into something bigger, wilder, edged with hysteria. Ahmad knelt beside her, concerned. "Crystal?" "It's just….it's so absurd. All of this. The contract, the baby, you and me. And underneath it all, I'm secretly a billionaire heiress." She laughed harder, tears streaming down her face. "It's like a bad soap opera."

But there was something in the way he carried himself tonight, a subtle hint of wariness that mirrored my own unease. The reason for our unease was none other than Adrian Chase, the powerful rival billionaire who had set his sights on me. He was a man known for his ruthless ambition, his hunger for power matched only by his insatiable desire for conquest. And tonight, he had made it abundantly clear that I was his next target.

Still no movements that gave me a hint. I slammed the laptop shut, rubbing my hands over my face. The walls were closing in. I had lost billions of dollars from the vault. Aria was slowly tightening a noose around my neck at work and now, the woman I shared a bed with was carrying a ticking time bomb in her stomach. I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down at the crawling headlights of the city traffic. I was a blind man walking through a minefield. "Who are you?" I whispered to the glass, thinking of the man who had touched my wife. "Where are you hiding?"

David spoke seriously, wanting to eliminate the guilt inside him. "Do I look like a beggar to you, David? I'm not asking for anything from you, not even money, let alone taking responsibility for that night. Besides, no matter how much money you offer, it won't change anything. Let's consider that night as a mistake, so you don't need to take responsibility or intend to compensate. It only makes me feel even more guilty about myself," Chelsea expressed, wishing to erase the memory of that unfortunate night.

I once believed meeting Charles was the final ray of comfort in my life. A sightless man and a terminally ill woman, leaning on each other to find warmth in the dark. I gave up chemotherapy, pushing through cancer pain to work, all just to leave behind every cent I had for my "blind" boyfriend and our unborn baby. I even signed an organ donor form, hoping that after my death, my eyes could finally bring him light. That belief shattered when I saw a photo in the hospital director's office. There he was, surfing under the bright sun. His eyes shone, with an arm wrapped around an heiress dripping in multi-million-dollar jewels. It turns out our whole love story was nothing more than a rich

“Did you see anything in the room at least, that could help you Identify him? I hesitated, the watch flashing in my mind. “I know he's rich, like filthy rich. He had a Patek Philippe Grandmaster chime on the nightstand.” Laura blinked, “I've heard that name before,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Isn't that Scott's dream watch?” She asked. I nodded, my chest tightening. “ It is.” “Oh Linda, I'm so sorry for bringing him up.” She apologized. “It's fine,” I said softly.

He looks hurt. But it’s the truth. Ever since the accident, ever since the blindness, he’s spoken for me, and I let it happen. Across the room, his mother scoffs. His father looks blank, like always. Dustin scowls. Daisy shoots me the ugliest look imaginable, rubbing her belly like she’s trying to shove it in my face. Fucking bitch. I remain stoic. Unbothered. Finally, the last of the shareholders arrive. The doors close, and Zade stands.

Otherwise, all my efforts would have been in vain. “You,” the man said as he pointed at me. I felt a huge sense of relief because I had been chosen. It felt like a golden moment. All ten of us who had been chosen were blindfolded and put in a van. The billionaire in question was elusive. He was rarely ever seen in public, and he didn’t like interacting with people. He had to have women delivered to his home because he couldn’t come out and choose them for himself. If that wasn’t dystopian, I didn’t know what was.

"I was devastated. Humiliated. But I took the money, because I needed it. Because I was homeless and hungry and afraid, thinking my foster mother would find me and collect the money." "When did you find out who he was?" "When I moved to New York. I was sitting in a coffee shop, trying to figure out my next move, when I saw his face on the cover of a business magazine. Damien Knight, billionaire. The Phantom of Wall Street. Known for his ruthless business practices and his ability to destroy anyone who got in his way." I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Do you know what they call him in certain circles? The Devil's Accountant. Because he can make anyone disappear—financially, professio

The sarcasm and irritation in his voice were clear, amusing, but clear. “May I help?” I offered. He paused, then slid the tablet across the desk to me. “Go on.” I turned the screen towards myself. My stomach curled as I read the first few words I saw on the screen. The headline painted across the screen in bold font: “THE BLIND AND THE SKANK: The Truth Behind the Blind Billionaire’s Bride.” It was followed by a photo of Davina, who was looking far too glamorous for the scandal that followed. What the actual heck?