[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my":3,"chapter-bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-chapter-276":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1735710,2219,"Chapter 276: The confused surgeon","bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-chapter-276",276,"\u003Cp>NICK\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The approach was the most important part. I didn’t go to Charles Wolfe with a plea; I went to him with a case.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pleas are for the weak, for people like Noah who think that feeling something deeply enough makes it true.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In the world I inhabit.. the world Charles Wolfe built.. only data has weight.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I found him in the private waiting area of the hospital.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He sat there like a monument to unresolved business, his face a mask of iron.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t look like a man grieving; he looked like a man waiting for a report on a damaged asset.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"There is something worth considering,\" I said, my voice flat and clinical.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stood before him, delivering my opening like a surgeon presenting at a conference.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Patient response to familiar stimuli during unconscious states. The research is consistent, Sir. Neurological response increases measurably when the subject is exposed to familiar voices and a familiar presence.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charles listened. He didn’t move a muscle, but I knew he was processing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"His assistant,\" I continued. I made sure not to use Noah’s name. I certainly didn’t refer to him as my brother.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"He has been managing the day-to-day operations. He knows the rhythms of the office. His presence during recovery hours could serve a functional purpose. If there is even a marginal increase in recovery probability, it is a variable worth testing.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I delivered the line with a calculated indifference. It was a lie, or at least a half-truth, but I am very good at delivering things that cost me something as if they cost nothing at all.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Charles paused.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at me with that specific, piercing gaze... the look of a man too intelligent to miss what was happening underneath the framing, but also too intelligent to say it out loud in a hospital corridor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He knew I was shielding Noah. He just hadn’t decided if he cared yet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Limited access,\" Charles said finally. \"Supervised. And if he becomes a problem, he is removed permanently.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"He won’t,\" I said. I had already made that determination on Noah’s behalf.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I walked away, pushing the conversation under a drawer in my mind labeled Things I did today that I will not examine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I clocked out at 9:47 PM. It was later than usual, even for me.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The day had kept adding tasks, piling them onto my shoulders without asking for permission.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The walk to the car was lonely. The night air was sharp, and a specific kind of exhaustion started to seep through my professional armor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It wasn’t just physical; it was the fatigue of managing everything the body doesn’t manage itself.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The questions started to run through my head like a leak I couldn’t plug. Why did I soften? Why did I make that argument to Charles? Why did I let Noah into that room? Why did I bring Cyan home? Why did I cook? Why did I leave the light on?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The answers didn’t arrive. I didn’t push for them. Instead, I arranged the last twenty-four hours under a simple heading: I have not been myself. That’s all. It will pass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>To examine it further would require naming the feeling, and I was not ready to name anything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stopped at a convenience store on the way back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I needed coffee and protein... functional fuel for a functional life. But then I found myself in the cereal aisle. I stood there for longer than was strictly necessary.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Does he like sweet things? The thought was quiet but persistent. He ate the sandwiches. He must like...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stopped. I was standing in the middle of the aisle holding two boxes of cereal, one in each hand, comparing the sugar content like it was a medical chart.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was the absurd posture of someone doing something they didn’t realize they were doing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I froze. The fluorescent light hummed overhead.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The aisle was empty. I was a world-class surgeon, a man of logic and ice, standing in a corner store at ten at night holding cereal for a man I had brought home for no reason I could name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>When did I start thinking about what he likes?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I set both boxes back on the shelf with a jerk. I moved to the next aisle, walking faster.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then, I stopped again. I went back, retrieved the sweeter box, and put it in my basket without a word.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My phone rang as I reached the car. Lila.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I answered because not answering creates more administrative work later. Her voice was thin and expectant, filled with the plans we had made and the evening she had been waiting for.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"My father called,\" I lied. The lie was complete, delivered without effort because I lie the way I breathe... efficiently. \"I have to go to my parents’ house. Something has come up with the family.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lila complained. She adjusted. She suggested other options, other nights, other ways I could make it up to her.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Find someone else,\" I said. \"I have to go.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She was still talking when I ended the call. I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She’s starting to be more inconvenient than useful, I thought. I saved the realization for later. Or never. Whichever came first.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My apartment was dark when I entered, except for the flicker of the television. The blue light cast long, dancing shadows across the walls.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan was where I had left him, more or less. He was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, but the cartoons had been replaced by something quieter... a nature documentary or perhaps just a news cycle on mute.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked more alive than he had this morning. The \"zombie\" quality had receded, and his eyes were tracking the room.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He looked at me when I entered. It was the first real look he had given me since the dock.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Has he woken up?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Those were the first words out of his mouth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No hello. No thank you. No acknowledgment of the fact that I had been working fourteen hours.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stopped in the entryway. Irritation flared in my chest. I’ve been gone all day, I thought. I checked on Cassian. I argued with security. I lied to Cassian’s father. I stood in a cereal aisle like an idiot. And this is the first thing he says?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I thought of Noah on the hospital floor, and now Cyan on my couch. They were both in the same orbit, both being pulled toward the same center of gravity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What is it about Cassian Wolfe that makes people lose their minds?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No,\" I said flatly. \"He was operated on yesterday. He’s not going to wake up overnight. That’s not how bodies work.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan looked at me for a moment, then looked away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That looking away did something to my jaw. It tightened. I wanted a different response... an acknowledgment, a shift in his focus... and I had received nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I went into the kitchen to set the bags down. I began the mechanical process of putting things away, finding comfort in the order of the cupboards.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I opened the fridge. There is a specific shelf where I keep my chocolate bars. I have always kept them there.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It is the one thing I buy consistently for no logical reason. Dark chocolate. A specific, expensive brand. I always keep it stocked.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The shelf was empty.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I looked at the empty space for a long time. An immediate, territorial question and answer flared in my mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It couldn’t be. Did he find it? He definitely did. And ate everything. That was mine.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But I stopped the thought before it could form. Because to say that was mine was to admit that I cared about a triviality.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I walked back into the living room. \"The chocolate,\" I said. It wasn’t exactly a question.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan didn’t look up at first. \"They were delicious,\" he said simply. There was no apology in his voice, no performance of guilt. It was just a statement of fact.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I looked at him. The irritation ran head-first into something else... something that wasn’t anger. Cyan had eaten.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was present enough to notice flavor, to have a preference, to take what he wanted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Fine,\" I said. What I meant was: I’m glad you ate something. I didn’t say that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I showered, started a load of laundry, and began to cook. I didn’t decide to make enough for two; my hands just knew the proportions before my brain agreed to them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan came to the table slowly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His movements were deliberate and careful, his body still carrying the trauma of the day before.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I realized again, he was wearing one of my shirts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It sat differently on his shoulders than it did on mine, the collarbones visible above the fabric.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I noticed the way he moved... unhurried, like a man who had decided that rushing was a luxury he couldn’t afford.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I noticed that I was noticing. Why am I looking at him? I turned my focus back to my own plate and began to eat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The silence between us was unusually loud. I am a man who fills silences with words when they serve me, but this silence felt heavy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Are you planning to just... sit there all day?\" I asked. I didn’t mean it to be unkind, but it didn’t come out kind either. \"Until he wakes up?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan looked at me. Those purple eyes were still dim, but they were present. He said nothing.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The silence stretched again, pulling at my patience.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It had been a long day. My patience had been stretched since the hospital, since the cereal aisle. I was at my limit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I set my fork down with a controlled click. I stood up and moved closer to him... too close. I reached out and caught his chin in my hand. It was starting to feel like a habit.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I wasn’t rough, but I wasn’t gentle either. It was the grip of a man trying to control something he wasn’t sure he should be touching.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Cyan didn’t flinch. He just watched me, those purple eyes unavoidable at this distance.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I held him there. I looked at his face, at his breathing. My own breath hitched.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then, my stomach dropped. It wasn’t a soft flutter; it was a cold, hard drop. It was the recognition of something I was entirely unprepared for.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>My eyes moved before I could stop them—down to his lips.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A memory flashed in my mind... the dream I had this morning. The reach. The kiss that had woken me up in a cold sweat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I didn’t do that, I told myself. I don’t do things like that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I let go of him so fast it was like I had touched a hot stove. I stepped back, withdrawing my hand as if it had been burned. The distance was restored, but the air in the room felt different.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Eat,\" I said sharply. I looked at the plate, not at him. I couldn’t look at him anymore.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I picked up my own plate and walked into the kitchen. My movements were fast... the movements of a man leaving a room because staying in it had become dangerous.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I pushed through the door and leaned against the kitchen counter, my hands gripping the edge of the marble. I stared at the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I didn’t do that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I don’t do that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That didn’t happen.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>I stayed there in the kitchen, the door between us acting as a shield, trying to convince myself that I was still the man I had been when I woke up this morning.\u003C\u002Fp>",1948,"2026-06-06T16:23:43.455Z",1,"novelbin.me","46507cc23564af86fb9e0475bb781cf38f642e37b020e61bcc7bb8ecdebdb709","bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-chapter-277","bl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-chapter-275",307,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fbl-bound-to-my-enemy-the-billionaire-who-took-my-cover.jpg"]