A frantic hum filled Nicole's head as she hurriedly clutched the gun.

Even though she had attempted to win Connor over—and borrow his influence to counter her uncle's family—the whole relationship felt less like a marriage and more like a back-alley deal sealed in silence. Because she'd feared for her own safety, she'd armed herself with a defensive tool, yet the secret unraveled far earlier than she'd ever imagined.

At least there was one consolation: Connor was confined to a wheelchair and, according to rumor, completely blind. Testing the truth, Nicole ventured carefully, "You really can't see anything?"

Connor answered flatly, "Yes."

Relief loosened her chest even as her fingers curled tighter around the gun, the muzzle subtly angling toward him out of sheer instinct.

Connor sneered inwardly. An almost amused impulse surfaced—he nearly pointed out that the price tag was still dangling from her toy gun. Yet, her obvious innocence felt oddly convenient, sparing him the trouble of digging any deeper.

Without any interest in engaging with her, Connor pressed the control on his wheelchair and turned around. "It's late," he said coolly. "Do whatever you want—just don't touch me or interfere with my space."

Confusion washed over Nicole. Wasn't he supposed to verify whether she was still a virgin? Why had he abruptly decided to drop the matter? Did that casual dismissal mean he had acknowledged their marriage in some way?

Questions crowded her throat, but she swallowed them all. Everyone said Connor's temper was volatile, that one wrong word could provoke him into snapping her neck without warning. In the end, she convinced herself that silence was safer—after all, the less she said, the better her odds of staying alive.

Carefully, she eased herself off the mattress and spoke in a low, cautious voice. "You can't move around easily. Take the bed. I'll make do on the floor with some blankets."

"That won't be necessary." With that, Connor shut his eyes again, his expression closing off like a locked door.

Her gaze drifted around the room. Despite its lavish decor, the place felt abandoned, all surface-level luxury with none of the comforts of a lived-in home, not even proper heating to chase away the chill.

Pulling a blanket tightly around her shoulders, Nicole settled beside the bed, forcing herself to stay awake and vigilant. As the hours dragged on, the cold crept deeper into her bones. Her eyes slid back to Connor's still figure on the wheelchair, and a pang of concern stirred—given his condition, he was probably far worse off than she was.

After a moment's hesitation, she rose quietly and laid the blanket over him with careful hands.

That was when Connor's eyes flew open.

Caught off guard, Nicole froze under his stare, only then noticing how unusual his eyes were—deep brown tinged faintly with blue, clear yet unfathomable, carrying a quiet authority that pressed down without effort.

Her breath caught for a split second before she fumbled out, voice low and stiff. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just thought you might be cold."

Years of ruthless training had taught Connor how to tune out discomfort, including the biting cold. "If I scared you that much, why don't you just leave?"

If she walked away the way the others had before her, the marriage agreement would collapse on the spot.

Nicole forced down her nerves and pressed carefully. "How did you know I was scared?"

Doubt flickered across her face despite herself. With eyes that striking and unmistakably normal, how could he possibly be blind?

Connor barely reacted, his voice steady as he pointed it out. "Your hands are shaking."

Caught off guard, Nicole stiffened and dropped her gaze, only then noticing how her fingers quivered against his palm, twitching helplessly like a nervous reflex she couldn't control. Heat flooded her cheeks as she jerked her hand away and then pressed her lips together in quiet mortification.

"My parents are both gone," she said in a low voice. "There's no one left to defend me. If I hadn't married you, I would've been pushed into some other marriage arrangement anyway. I don't really care who I end up with. You don't either. So there's no point in considering anyone else."

Connor didn't buy a word of it, though he didn't bother calling her out. To him, in a world already this messy, switching partners was indeed pointless. Settling on that conclusion, he shut his eyes once more, cutting the exchange off with unmistakable finality.

Nicole couldn't read him at all, yet a quiet instinct whispered that she had somehow passed his test. After a brief hesitation, she leaned closer, lifting her hand and waving it cautiously in front of his face. Was it possible he truly couldn't see?

Summoning her nerve, Nicole drew back her fist and threw a fake punch toward him.

Not even a flicker crossed Connor's expression.

A slow breath left her lungs as tension drained away, though a trace of sympathy crept in despite herself. Blessed with a face like that, had he not been disabled, his life might have unfolded in a far kinder way.

...

Morning came for Nicole without anything out of the ordinary. Contrary to the scandalous whispers surrounding him, Connor proved far less frightening in person, and the marriage itself felt quietly finalized. Having already stepped onto this road, she resolved not to hesitate, shaking off her unease before heading downstairs to take in the house properly.

Dust clung to every corner, the furniture aged and neglected, with much of it barely fit for use. Inside the refrigerator sat stacks of pre-packaged meals and bargain semi-prepared food, the kind Connor must have relied on day after day.

A soft sigh slipped from her lips. If the Reed family despised their illegitimate son so fiercely, why had they stopped short of finishing the job? Rather than ending things cleanly, they had left Connor marooned here, condemned to a life that offered neither comfort nor release, only relentless, grinding misery.

Sorting patiently through the supplies, she chose what remained unspoiled and set about making breakfast.

Upstairs, hidden behind screens, Connor watched her every movement through the surveillance cameras.

Samuel Adams, Connor's assistant, approached him from behind and placed a slim dossier about Nicole into his hand, the faint rustle of paper breaking the silence.

With a detached flick of his fingers, Connor skimmed the contents, his expression barely shifting as he turned each page. The file painted a thin, unremarkable life, devoid of privilege or polish, leaving little to hold his attention.

"So she barely knows how the world works," Connor said aloofly. "Where did she summon the nerve to marry me?" After a brief pause, his tone sharpened. "What had she gone through before this marriage?"

Samuel had anticipated the question and answered without hesitation, "Her mother passed away."

Connor's brows knit slightly. "And that's all?"

Samuel continued, "Her father died years ago, and her mother had been chronically ill ever since. Her former boyfriend, Jerald Nash, was her mother's attending physician." He hesitated, rubbing the bridge of his nose before adding, "A few days ago, her mother died because treatment was delayed. At the time, there were rumors Jerald was in bed with her cousin instead of rushing to the hospital—and that he chose not to answer the emergency call."

One corner of Connor's mouth lifted, a low, amused sound escaping him.

Sensing Connor's interest in Nicole—pitiful as her situation was—Samuel couldn't help asking, "Mr. Reed, do you plan to keep her around?"

A detached composure settled over Connor's tone. "Keeping her is safer than letting the Reed family's eyes track me every hour. Besides, it's not as if she's particularly sharp."

Samuel's gaze slid to the gun resting on the table, his brow tightening. "You call that not particularly sharp? Who brings a gun the first time they meet someone?"

Lifting his eyes, Connor studied Samuel for a beat before changing the subject. "You look worn out. Didn't sleep at all last night?"

With rigid seriousness, Samuel answered, "My job is to keep you safe—every minute of the day."

Connor waved it off with lazy indifference. "Go take a break and have a smoke. I'd hate it if you work yourself into an early grave." As he spoke, he extended a cigarette toward Samuel.

Samuel wavered, temptation flickering across his face. Working at Connor's side was no different from serving time—rules everywhere, and smoking was practically forbidden. With the chance placed directly in his hand, he finally gave in and took it.

Connor lifted the toy gun, thumbed it once, and with a crisp click, sparked Samuel's cigarette to life.

For a heartbeat, Samuel stared, stunned into silence. Damn it! This supposed gun was nothing more than a lighter? It had fooled him completely!

Samuel drew in a slow breath of smoke and then let it drift out with a crooked laugh when Connor queried flatly, "Enjoying it?"

"Quite a lot."

"Congratulations. You just burned your year-end bonus."

Samuel hastily crushed the cigarette against the ashtray, his voice tight with protest. "Mr. Reed, you were the one who handed it to me!"

Connor's expression barely shifted as he replied, "I never said there wouldn't be consequences."

Grumbling in silence, Samuel accepted the familiar sting of regret. Once again, he'd walked straight into Connor's trap, getting played day after day without ever learning his lesson.

By the time Nicole arrived with breakfast, Samuel had already slipped out, taking with him the lingering stench of smoke Connor couldn't tolerate.

Pausing beside the table, Nicole said in a low voice, "I didn't know your preferences, and there wasn't much to work with, so I made this." She set the tray down with quiet deference. "Try it and see if it suits your taste."

While she spoke, she carefully arranged the utensils within his reach.

Connor's gaze drifted downward, catching on her hands—reddened, slightly chapped, far too rough for a young woman her age. For all the Perry family's glossy reputation and publicly traded empire, the way she'd been treated at home was written plainly in those scars.

Without shifting an inch, he remarked, "You didn't need to do this. I don't usually bother with breakfast."

A quiet stubbornness settled into Nicole's expression as she replied, "Skipping meals ruins your stomach. Those processed things you eat aren't food. I'll cook something proper for you."

She took the seat opposite him and sampled her own portion. She added after a beat, "Since we're married now, taking care of you is part of the deal."

In a world obsessed with status and appearances, most people wrapped their weaknesses in layers of caution, terrified of being looked down on. Nicole, however, seemed oddly untouched by that instinct, her straightforward sincerity standing out like something out of place.

Connor, regrettably, felt no warmth from it. Before she could continue, his voice cut in coolly, "Consider the price before you put any effort into this—don't expect gratitude from me."

A flicker of quiet pity crossed Nicole's gaze as she looked at him. The thought struck her unbidden—this man couldn't even accept kindness without bracing for a trap, and whatever he'd endured must have been brutal.

Noting her expression and reading her mind, Connor's lips twitched slightly, but he said nothing.

Nicole finished her meal and noticed Connor hadn't touched his. She asked cautiously, "Is it not to your taste?"

Taking food from her felt like a risk he refused to take lightly. With practiced nonchalance, he replied, "I've never had anything this good before. I'm not used to it."

A dull ache tightened in Nicole's chest, and she said gently, "Then I'll make it for you every day, if that's okay."

Meeting her open, earnest gaze, Connor felt something inside him stir, as if he was a helpless stray who finally received a warm hand.

Keeping his voice steady, Connor warned Nicole, "Join the Reed family, and you'd better brace yourself to bleed. As my wife, you should equip yourself with a strong mind and the right skills to withstand what's coming. Think about it carefully."

A subtle, unhurried smile curved Nicole's lips as she answered, "If you doubt me, you can release the promised money to my family in ten separate installments. Once you feel I've proven myself, you can settle the remaining balance at your own pace."

Despite the ease in her voice, every word had been weighed and rehearsed the night before, polished until nothing sounded forced. Her opening move against her uncle required leverage she could keep firmly in hand, and the substantial sum promised by the Reed family for this marriage was the most effective bait she had.

Unaware that Connor merely pretended blindness, she believed she had everything mapped out, yet the unease flickering in her eyes and the tight strain around her mouth had already been seen—every last detail caught by him.

Remembering the years she had survived under her uncle's roof, Connor immediately saw through the careful phrasing of her offer and let out a low, mocking laugh.

Misreading the sound entirely, Nicole assumed he was ridiculing her—as though she truly were nothing more than a negotiable asset—and her chin dipped with quiet humiliation.

Without lifting his gaze, he regarded the untouched breakfast, clearly unwilling to be indebted to her kindness, and replied in an even voice, "That arrangement makes sense."

Not long after, Samuel stepped inside and delivered a five-million-dollar check into Nicole's hands. "Ms. Perry, this represents one-tenth of the settlement," he said in a controlled, professional tone. "Please keep it secure."

Nicole had always been aware of just how deep the Reed family's pockets ran, yet the sight of the check still left her momentarily stunned. She folded it away with deliberate care and, before stepping out, turned back to offer Connor a solemn goodbye, slipping him her number and telling him to reach out anytime he needed her.

Once the door closed behind her, Connor pushed himself up from the wheelchair and walked to the window, his tall frame still as he watched her full figure shrink into the distance.

Samuel stood by his side and spoke quietly, curiosity edging his voice. "Five million isn't pocket change for someone like her. Do you really think she'll show up again?"

Connor gave no answer, his expression unreadable.

...

Laughter and celebration filled the Perry residence. Phillip Perry, Nicole's uncle, had ordered the housekeeper to lay out an extravagant feast, openly toasting the fact that Nicole had been sold at a handsome price.

Across the table, his wife, Martha Perry, beamed at their daughter. "Erika, sweetheart, you can finally relax now, can't you? With that money, you can bankroll Jerald's startup, make sure his heart stays firmly with you, and you've cleared away an annoyance at the same time. All that's left is for you and Jerald to hurry up, get married, and give me a couple of grandchildren to spoil."

Nicole's cousin, Erika Perry, lifted her glass and asked casually, "Has the Reed family transferred the money yet?"

Chuckling, Phillip waved it off. "It'll arrive any moment. The Reeds value their name—they won't go back on their word."

A genuine glow spread across Erika's face. For years, Nicole had eclipsed her in everything, stealing attention without even trying. Now that Nicole had nothing, Erika felt an itch of triumph she could no longer contain.

"That pathetic girl," Erika huffed with a curl of her lips, her tone sharp with malice. "If she ever found out her father was literally driven to his death by rage, I wonder how she'd react. Do you think she'd be so broken that she'd jump off a building as well?"

Phillip's face hardened instantly as he snapped, "Why did you drag that up again?"

With a petulant shrug, Erika muttered, "What's there to panic over? I never said who caused it."

These three assumed Nicole was clueless, yet every ugly truth had long since settled in her mind.

At that moment, the door swung open, and Nicole stepped inside, cutting straight through their laughter and celebration.

Standing there, Nicole looked as plain and harmless as ever, yet a glacial detachment lingered in her eyes as she spoke in a steady tone. "I'm back."

Martha made no effort to mask the contempt curling her lips as she sneered, "Why did you come back?"

A thin, almost lazy smile touched Nicole's mouth. "I came to hand over the money. Or is that suddenly not something you want?"

The room stiffened at once, faces shifting in quick succession. So the money was handed over by Nicole? But how the Reed family handled things was their prerogative.

Martha let out a huff and barked impatiently, "Then what are you just standing there for? Hurry up and give us the money!"

Ignoring Martha and Erika altogether, Nicole walked over and settled into the chair across from Phillip. "Uncle Phillip," she said coolly, folding her hands. "You promised my mother a proper burial—something respectful, something dignified. Once that's been carried out, and after you and your family personally pay your respects at her grave, I'll give you the money."

The intensity of Nicole's stare made Erika shift uneasily in her chair. How had Nicole become this frightening just because her mother was gone? That gaze felt sharp and deeply unsettling.

Erika smirked. "Your mother was nothing but trash, and you expect us to pay respects?" Her irritation spilled over as she added harshly, "Do you honestly think she's worthy of that?"

At that, Nicole's gaze hardened, the last trace of softness vanishing without warning. In the next heartbeat, her hand flashed out, landing a crisp slap across Erika's face with ruthless precision.