I couldn't sleep that night. The image of Charles and Angel together burned behind my eyelids every time I closed them. By morning, my newly restored eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but my resolve had crystallized into something hard and unbreakable.

I found myself standing outside Old Mr. Fernandez's private study, my hand trembling as I raised it to knock. This room had always been a sanctuary of sorts—the one place in the mansion where I felt Charles's grandfather truly saw me as more than just a convenient blood bank.

"Come in," his voice called after my hesitant knock.

Old Mr. Fernandez sat behind his massive oak desk, his silver hair catching the morning light from the windows. For a moment, I simply stood there, taking in his imposing figure—the man whose family I had sacrificed everything to join.

"Nora," he said, surprise evident in his voice. "I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow. How are your eyes?"

"They work perfectly now," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected. "I can see everything clearly."

Something in my tone must have alerted him. He gestured to the leather chair across from him. "Sit down, child. What's wrong?"

I sank into the chair, my fingers automatically twisting the wedding ring I still wore. The diamond caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the mahogany desk.

"I want a divorce," I said, the words tumbling out before I could reconsider.

Old Mr. Fernandez's eyebrows rose slightly—the most surprise I'd ever seen him display. "On what grounds?"

"Infidelity," I said simply, pulling the wedding ring from my finger. It left a pale mark on my skin, a ghost of what had been. "I can't be married to someone who doesn't respect our vows."

I placed the ring on his desk, the metal making a soft clink against the wood. Old Mr. Fernandez stared at it for a long moment before looking up at me.

"Nora," he said, his voice gentler than I'd heard it in years. "I understand you're upset. But divorce is not a decision to be made lightly, especially in our position."

"Our position?" I echoed.

"The Fernandez name means something in this city. A divorce would create... complications." He leaned forward, his weathered hands clasped together. "And what about Charles's condition? Where will he find another compatible donor?"

I flinched at the reminder of my primary function in this family. "I'm sure you can find someone else with my blood type."

"Not easily," he countered. "And certainly not someone Charles trusts."

I felt tears welling up again. "I can't stay after what he did."

Old Mr. Fernandez sighed heavily. "Give it time, Nora. For the sake of the family's stability—and Charles's health." His eyes softened slightly. "You've always been the strongest person in this house. Don't let one mistake destroy everything."

His words hit me like a physical blow. One mistake? Was that what he thought this was?

Before I could respond, my phone rang—the special tone I'd set for the hospital. My heart lurched as I answered.

"Ms. Hawkins?" The doctor's voice was tense. "It's about Tommy. His condition has deteriorated rapidly overnight."

The world seemed to tilt beneath me. "What happened?"

"We need to start the experimental treatment immediately," he said. "Otherwise..."

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

"I'll be right there," I promised, ending the call.

Old Mr. Fernandez was already standing, concern etched on his face. "Your brother?"

"He needs treatment. Now." My voice sounded hollow even to my own ears.

"Then you'll need money," he said simply.

I nodded numbly, already knowing what this meant. Charles would never agree to fund Tommy's treatment without conditions—conditions I could no longer stomach.

"There's one more thing I need from you," I said quietly. "One last blood transfusion for Charles."

Old Mr. Fernandez's expression remained carefully neutral. "And after that?"

"After that," I said, my fingers curling into fists at my sides, "I'll have enough money for Tommy's treatment."

What I didn't say—what I couldn't bring myself to admit aloud—was that after this final sacrifice, nothing would keep me tied to the Fernandez family ever again.

Two hours later, I sat in the sterile hospital room, watching my blood flow through the tube into Charles's arm. He'd been reluctant to meet my eyes when I'd agreed to the transfusion, but had eagerly accepted when Old Mr. Fernandez explained it was my final gift to him.

As my blood left my body, I felt something inside me hardening—a resolve that no amount of tears or betrayal could wash away. This would be the last time Charles Fernandez took anything from me without my consent.

What neither of us knew then was that this final act of sacrifice would be the very thing that would destroy us both.

The morning light filtered through the curtains as I sat in the garden, my newly restored eyes taking in every detail of the Fernandez estate. The roses Charles had planted for me last spring bloomed in vibrant reds and pinks, their petals glistening with morning dew. I should have been enjoying this moment—my first week of truly seeing the world—but my mind was consumed with thoughts of Tommy's deteriorating condition and the divorce papers I'd requested from Old Mr. Fernandez.

A maid approached, her footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path.

"Mrs. Fernandez," she said, her voice hesitant. "Miss Carter is here to see you."

Before I could respond, Angel appeared behind her, her face a perfect mask of concern. She wore a simple white dress that emphasized her youth and innocence—a calculated choice, I realized, as I now could see the subtle manipulation in her appearance.

"Nora," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "I'm so glad I caught you alone."

I stiffened, my fingers instinctively reaching for my wedding ring—only to find bare skin. I'd removed it after seeing her with Charles in his study.

"What do you want, Angel?" I asked, my voice cooler than it had been before my surgery.

She glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I need your help," she whispered. "My grandfather is sick—very sick. He needs blood transfusions, just like Charles."

I frowned, unsure where this was leading. "I'm sorry to hear that, but—"

"Please," she interrupted, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears that seemed to appear on command. "You're the only one who might be a match. Our blood types are so rare..."

Something about her desperation felt rehearsed, but before I could respond, she pressed something cold and metallic into my palm—a small key.

"He's at our cabin in the Catskills," she said. "Please, check on him. I have to go—I can't be seen helping him right now."

Before I could ask what she meant, she was gone, leaving me clutching the key and wondering what game she was playing.

I never got the chance to find out. The next morning, the mansion was in chaos.

Police cars lined the circular driveway, their lights flashing against the morning sun. I was in the solarium when Marcus Webb, Charles's business partner, found me.

"Nora," he said, his usually composed face tight with worry. "There are police here asking for you."

"What's happened?" I asked, rising from my chair.

"Angel's grandfather is missing," he explained. "They seem to think... they seem to think you might know something about it."

My blood ran cold. "That's impossible."

But when I entered the main hall, Angel was there, her face streaked with genuine-looking tears, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Two police officers stood beside her, their expressions grim.

"Mrs. Fernandez?" the taller one said. "We need to ask you some questions about Thomas Carter."

"I don't know anything about his disappearance," I said firmly.

Angel's eyes met mine, a flash of something triumphant behind her tears before she buried her face in her hands again.

"We found these at the scene," the officer said, placing a plastic evidence bag on the table between us.

Inside were my mother's pearl earrings—the ones I'd misplaced weeks ago—and a note written in what appeared to be my handwriting: "If you want to see your grandfather alive again, stay away from Charles."

"I didn't write that," I said, my voice shaking. "Those aren't even my earrings—they went missing from my jewelry box."

"Can anyone confirm your whereabouts last night?" the officer asked.

I opened my mouth to answer, but Angel spoke first.

"She called me last night," she sobbed. "Her voice was strange—like she was trying to disguise it, but I'd know it anywhere. She said Grandfather would pay for what Charles did to her."

"That's a lie!" I exclaimed, my hands trembling. "I never called you!"

The front door burst open before anyone could respond. Charles strode in, his face thunderous as he took in the scene.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

Angel rushed to him, clinging to his arm. "She took him, Charles! She took Grandfather to get back at us!"

Charles's eyes found mine, cold and unforgiving. In that moment, I saw nothing of the man I'd married—only a stranger consumed by rage.

He crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging painfully into my flesh.

"What did you do?" he hissed, his face inches from mine. "Tell me you didn't touch him!"

"Charles, please," I begged, trying to pull away. "This is all a setup—"

"A setup?" he snarled, his grip tightening. "Like the setup you created when you married me for my money? When you used your brother's illness to manipulate me?"

I gasped at his words, the pain of his accusation worse than his physical grip.

"Tell me where he is," Charles demanded, shaking me slightly. "Or I swear to God, Nora, I'll cut off every cent for Tommy's treatment. He'll die without my help—is that what you want?"

His threat hung in the air between us, a dagger aimed straight at my heart.