THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW

Sera stirred awake to cool air pricking her skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth beneath the covers, the sheets soft and crisp against her arms, a luxury she'd never experienced before. She pushed herself up, a sharp sound-a gasp, a groan-slipping out before she could stop it, betraying her lingering pain.

"Shit-why is it so dark... oh." She pressed a hand to her forehead, fingers tracing the ridge of her brow, a familiar gesture of self-soothing, as a bitter smile touched her lips, a fleeting expression of resignation. "Right. I'm blind."

She opened her mouth to speak again when a laugh rang out, a melodic sound that filled the room-warm, with a hint of mischief that made her purse her lips, her defenses rising instinctively.

"W-Who are you? Where am I? The man who brought me here-what happened to him?"

"Calm down, my dear, one question at a time." The woman cut in, her voice soothing, her laughter settling into gentle warmth, a comforting presence. "Can't you recognize my voice, remember who you're with?"

Sera furrowed her brow, her expression strained, confusion knotting in her chest, a feeling of disorientation washing over her. How would I know her voice when I've only heard it once, in the chaos of that day, amidst the fear and violence?

"I-I'm sorry. I can't see you, so... I don't recognize you." She spoke carefully, choosing her words with deliberate precision, fingers twisting in the sheets-cool cotton, smoother than anything she'd ever owned, another reminder of her unfamiliar surroundings.

"Oh... of course. That was thoughtless of me, insensitive of me to assume you'd remember."

Sera focused on the room around her, relying on her other senses to paint a picture: faint movement to her left, the soft rustle of fabric indicating someone nearby, a scent like lavender and old books, a comforting aroma that hinted at age and wisdom. Then warm hands closed around hers-firm but gentle, palms rough with calluses from work or age, a testament to a life lived fully. She flinched, her body tensing instinctively, trying to pull back, her trust fragile.

"W-What are you-"

"My dear... I owe you more than I can ever say, a debt I can never truly repay." The woman squeezed her hands, her grip steady, reassuring. "If not for you, I wouldn't be here now, I might not be alive."

The words hit Sera hard, sending a jolt through her shoulders, a wave of emotion washing over her. Recognition flooded her mind, piecing together the fragments of memory, and her eyes widened behind closed lids-even though all she saw was black, her inner vision clear.

"You're the woman from the van. The one they took, the one I tried to save." She gasped, her voice filled with relief, and the older woman chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through the room, a sound of genuine gratitude.

Relief lit up Sera's face, banishing the shadows of fear, and she squeezed the woman's hands back, her fingers finding the ridges of scars on the back of the older woman's knuckles, a tangible reminder of the violence she had endured.

"Are you okay? How's your side-did the wound heal properly? Did they catch the ones who did it, bring them to justice?" Questions tumbled out one after another, a torrent of concern, and the grandmother's expression softened, her heart swelling with affection-though Sera couldn't see it, her empathy was palpable.

She really is something, the grandmother thought, her gaze lingering on Sera's earnest face, admiration filling her. After everything she's been through, after losing her sight, she asks about me first, selfless and unwavering.

Her eyes drifted to the doorway, where her grandson leaned against the frame, his posture casual but alert-one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, a silent observer. She could feel the weight of his stare, cold as winter, even as he pulled out his vape and took a slow hit, his detachment a familiar shield. She tilted her head slightly, a silent Told you so passing between them, a knowing exchange. He exhaled a thin cloud of mint-scented smoke, the fragrance filling the air, his eyes never leaving Sera, studying her with an intensity that bordered on obsession.

"Grandma? Why aren't you answering, what's going on in there? Are you hurt again, have they harmed you?"

The grandmother turned back, giving Sera's hands another squeeze, her touch lingering.

"I'm perfectly fine, Lucian, all thanks to you, to this brave young woman." She reached up to cup Sera's cheek, her touch light as a feather, her affection genuine. "But because of what happened to me, because of your selfless act, you lost one of the most precious things a person can have, your ability to see the world."

Sera shook her head, her voice steady and clear, rejecting the self-pity. "No-never say that, don't blame yourself. I chose to help you, it was my decision. You didn't do anything wrong, you were the victim."

A wide, genuine smile spread across her face, illuminating her features, and even in the dim light, it lit up the room, a beacon of hope.

"I'm really okay, I swear, I'm adjusting. The doctors said my sight will come back-eventually, it's just a matter of time."

"Even so, I know how hard this must be, how much your life has changed." The grandmother's voice grew quiet, filled with compassion. "When, my dear? How long will you have to live like this, shrouded in darkness?"

Sera fell silent, her inner turmoil growing. The question landed deep in her chest, igniting a wave of uncertainty, a painful reminder of her unknown future-she had no answer, no timeline to hold onto, no certainty.

"I-I should go home." She spoke carefully, her voice barely audible, her fingers still twisted in the sheets, her anxiety growing. "If you want to pay me, to thank me... please don't waste money on me, don't spend it foolishly. Everything's so expensive now, life is hard enough-even a piece of candy costs more than it used to." Her words were earnest, devoid of greed, her intentions pure. She'd acted out of kindness, not for reward, she hadn't the faintest idea if this woman was rich or poor, powerful or powerless.

The grandmother opened her mouth to respond, to offer comfort and reassurance, when her grandson stepped forward, his presence filling the doorway, his voice sharp as broken glass, shattering the fragile peace.

"Go home? And what then, what awaits you there? Have you already forgotten your family sold you to that governor, traded you for money?"

Sera froze, her body going rigid, her muscles tensing, as if bracing for a blow. The memory crashed over her, a wave of pain and humiliation-her mother's slap, the callous disregard, the sound of cash counting, reducing her worth to a monetary value, the governor's oily hands on her arm, his touch repulsive.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, the metallic tang of blood a familiar sensation, dropping her head in shame, her thoughts spinning into chaos, overwhelmed by the resurfacing trauma.

"And you bought me from them, rescued me from that fate." Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with a rising fear, her hope dwindling. "So aren't you going to do the same thing, treat me the same way? Like you said in the car, am I just your possession now?" It felt like nothing had changed, despite the opulence of her surroundings-she was just property traded from one stranger to another, her agency stripped away.

Before panic could take hold, the grandmother pulled her into a tight embrace, enveloping her in a comforting warmth, holding her close as if to shield her from the harsh realities of the world. "Don't be scared, Seraphina, you have nothing to fear. We will never hurt you-never let you suffer here, not while we have breath in our bodies."

"H-Huh?" Sera pulled back slightly, bewildered, her senses reeling. How does she know my full name? We've only just met, how can she be so familiar?

The grandmother stroked her back, her touch soothing, her voice soft as silk, a gentle reassurance. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear, trust in us. My grandson and I will take care of every single one of your troubles, alleviate every burden. Until your sight returns, he'll look after you, guide you through the darkness-make things easier however he can, anticipate your needs."

"I still don't understand-why are you doing this for me, what do you expect in return?"

"This is the only way I can truly thank you, Sera, to express the depth of my gratitude." The grandmother cut her off gently, preventing further protest. "I won't give you money, I won't insult you with charity-you've made it clear you don't want that. Instead, I'm offering you a chance to build something better, to create a life free from fear and hardship. And you need to accept it, for your own sake-this is your only real choice, the only path forward."

Sera was speechless, her mind struggling to process the information, staring into the dark as her thoughts raced, colliding and conflicting. Should I say yes, accept their offer? Something feels off, too good to be true-why would this man, this stranger, care for her, invest in her future? What did he want in return, what was the hidden price?

She bit down on her lip, hard, her anxiety growing, drawing blood. The grandmother was right-her family had cast her aside like trash, discarded her without a second thought. This might be her only shot at stability, her only hope for a better future. But trusting strangers, especially wealthy and powerful ones, felt like walking off a cliff with her eyes closed, a terrifying leap of faith.

"C-Can I think about it first, have some time to consider your offer?"

The words were barely out when a loud CRASH echoed through the room, startling them both-Lucian had slammed his fist on the side table, his frustration overflowing, sending a glass of water rattling precariously, threatening to spill.

"What the hell is wrong with you, what are you even considering? Don't tell me you're actually thinking of going back to those leeches, crawling back to the people who abused you!" His voice boomed, raw anger lacing every word, his control slipping.

He couldn't make sense of his own frustration, the intensity of his reaction surprising even him-watching her hesitate, knowing she might choose to return to the people who'd used her their whole lives, who saw her as nothing more than a burden. She was so gentle, so willing to forgive, so blind to their cruelty... it made him want to shake some sense into her, force her to see the truth.

"Lucian, brat! Enough of that, mind your manners!" The grandmother snapped, her brow furrowed, her displeasure evident.

But Lucian didn't care, ignoring her reprimand. He needed to cut through her kindness, shatter her illusions, make her see the reality of her situation.

"You're too damn nice for your own good, Sera, too trusting. They've been using you all along, manipulating you, and you let them! Are you really that naive, that blind to their selfishness? Maybe losing your sight was the only way to make you see how they truly treat you, how little they value you. For fuck's sake-how can you be so-"

A pillow flew across the room and smacked him square in the face, interrupting his tirade, silencing him with a soft, but firm impact.

He stood frozen, his anger momentarily forgotten, staring at the spot where Sera sat-shocked silent, unable to process what had just happened. Did she just throw a pillow at me, dare to strike me?

"Why are you shouting, why are you raising your voice?! I'm not deaf, I can hear you perfectly well!" Her voice cracked with irritation, her own temper flaring. "You're yelling like you're speaking through a megaphone, and I'm just trying to talk, trying to have a reasonable conversation!"

Both Lucian and his grandmother stared at her, stunned into silence, their expectations completely subverted. Then the grandmother burst into peals of laughter, a hearty, unrestrained sound that filled the room, echoing off the walls.

"Oh my God-you're perfect, you're exactly what he needs!" She cackled, wiping tears from her eyes, her amusement genuine.

Sera flushed, embarrassment warring with anger, her cheeks burning. She'd thought the older woman would be upset, offended by her outburst-but instead, she sounded delighted, as if she'd just passed some sort of test.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful,"

The grandmother quieted, looking at her with warmth in her eyes, a silent reassurance passing between them. She didn't speak, but Lucian knew exactly what she wanted, understood her intentions implicitly-don't tell her yet, not the full truth.

"Enough of this." Lucian waved a hand toward the door, a dismissive gesture, where a man stepped inside, his presence radiating authority, the thick folder under his arm rustling with every deliberate step. He set it on the table with a quiet thud, the paper crisp and heavy, and took a seat across from them, his movements precise and controlled.

Sera tensed, sensing the new presence, her heightened senses on alert-the faint smell of ink and cologne, a sophisticated and expensive scent, the sound of his breathing, steady and calm, projecting an air of composure. Who is this, what role does he play in all of this?

"Ms. Mortez. I'm Attorney Chavez, legal counsel for the Vitale family." The man's voice was smooth and professional, projecting confidence and competence. "First-do you truly intend to return to your family, despite everything that has transpired?"

Sera's breath hitched, her anxiety growing, the question a direct challenge. An attorney? Why is there a lawyer here, what legal machinations are at play?

"I-I don't know, I'm still trying to figure everything out."

The three of them exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. "This is a chance you won't get again, a unique opportunity," the attorney continued, his tone persuasive. "Are you really going to turn it down, reject the possibility of a better life? Would you rather struggle, alone and vulnerable, while the people who sold you live off the money they got for you, profiting from your suffering?"

The question twisted in her chest, igniting a wave of anger and resentment, her thoughts a tangled mess, pulling her in different directions. She couldn't see the faces around her, couldn't gauge their expressions, couldn't tell if they were being honest, genuinely concerned for her welfare-all she had were their words, their voices, the weight of their presence in the room, a confusing and unreliable set of cues.

She stayed quiet, lost in thought, her mind grappling with the complex situation, until the grandmother placed her hand over hers on the table, a comforting gesture of support. Sera felt the stiff texture of paper beneath her fingertips, pressing against her skin-official, important, final.

"This is a contract, Seraphina," Lucian said, his voice low and serious, devoid of emotion. "It outlines how we'll protect and support you, provide for your needs, as repayment for what you did for my grandmother, ensuring your safety and well-being."

"A contract? Do we really need that, is that really necessary?" Sera whispered, confusion clouding her mind, a sense of unease growing. "What for, what purpose does it serve?"

The attorney cleared his throat, preparing to elaborate, and began to explain-the terms, the care they'd provide, the luxurious life they were offering while she lived under their roof, a life of comfort and security. But what Sera didn't know, what they deliberately concealed from her, was that the words on the page held a secret she never could have imagined, a hidden agenda that would irrevocably change her life.

This wasn't just about repayment, about expressing gratitude for her selfless act. The contract bound her to be Lucian's wife, a legal obligation that went far beyond mere friendship or gratitude-in name, at first, a marriage of convenience, but with a condition neither of them would speak aloud, a deeper and more complex motivation: he needed an heir, a legitimate successor to his power and wealth.

From the start, fate had conspired against her, keeping her in the dark, both literally and figuratively-her blindness leaving her unaware of everything around her, dependent on the goodwill of strangers. But even if she could see, even if she possessed perfect vision, she never would have guessed the truth, never could have imagined the extent of their deception: the man who'd bought her freedom wasn't just a wealthy businessman, a powerful philanthropist.

Lucian Vitale was a high-ranking member of the Bratva-the most powerful mafia organization in Russia, a world of violence and intrigue, a dangerous web from which there was no escape.

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW

"Let me help you with that-"

The slap landed hard across Lucian's face, a stinging rebuke that silenced him in one swift motion. Nothing like this had ever happened to him, a man accustomed to deference, to unquestioning obedience-not from a woman, and certainly not one smaller than him, her frame delicate but held rigid with defiance, an unexpected challenge to his authority.

He clicked his tongue, a low sound of annoyance, his gaze sweeping over her again, assessing her. Her right hand braced against the cold tile of the wall for balance, her knuckles white with tension, her left hung frozen in the air, still trembling with the force of her strike. Defenseless, yes, stripped of her sight, vulnerable. Weak? Not by a long shot. One wrong move from him, one act of aggression, would send her crumpling to the floor, defenseless against his superior strength-and yet she'd found the nerve to fight back, to defy him. A rare breed, indeed, a fascinating paradox.

"You're a prideful little thing, aren't you, Seraphina?" He ran his teeth over his lower lip, a predatory gesture, his eyes tracking from her flushed cheeks down to her bare feet on the cool tile, lingering on her exposed skin. "I offer you help, a simple act of kindness, and you have the gall to slap me for it, to repay generosity with violence."

A smirk played at his lips, a flicker of amusement, as he leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed but watchful, crossing his arms over his broad chest, displaying his power. He couldn't look away, captivated by her defiance-not from the way soft light, filtered through the sheer curtains, caught the curve of her shoulder, highlighting her vulnerability, not from the fire in her stance, burning bright despite her fear, even as she trembled. She was beautiful in a raw, unpolished way, a natural beauty that stirred something primal within him, that made his blood run warm.

"I can undress myself. I'm blind, not paralyzed, I haven't lost the use of my limbs... sir." The steel in her voice, the unwavering resolve, hit him square in the chest, a verbal slap that mirrored her physical one, and something like admiration flickered through him, a grudging respect for her strength. Her fighting spirit shone through even as she tried to wrap it in polite words, to maintain a semblance of civility.

"Oh? Is that right, are you certain?" He tilted his head, his tone laced with challenge, testing her limits. "Then prove it. Walk into the bathroom, navigate the space. Show me you don't need me for a single thing, that you're as capable as you claim."

Sera straightened her spine, her chin high, refusing to back down. "And if I do, if I succeed, what then?"

"Then I'll never offer to help you with something like this again, I'll respect your independence, keep my distance." His voice was light, teasing, laced with a hint of something else, something he couldn't quite define-but his eyes tracked every shift in her posture, every small adjustment as she found her bearings, assessing her, anticipating her next move.

Everything had gone according to plan until moments ago, the pieces falling into place with ruthless precision. As expected, Sera had signed the contract, believing it was just a legal document outlining their agreement for shelter and care while her sight recovered, a temporary arrangement. But the Vitale family never played fair, never adhered to conventional rules; deception ran in their blood, a tool to be wielded without conscience. That document was more than an agreement, more than a simple exchange of services-it was a marriage license, binding her to him legally with no ceremony, no fanfare, a transaction disguised as kindness. Buried in the fine print, hidden amidst the legal jargon, was another clause, a condition that would irrevocably alter her life: she would bear his heir, secure his legacy. His grandmother's doing, of course, her manipulative hand guiding events from behind the scenes.

Lucian had never taken women seriously, viewing them as mere diversions, fleeting distractions, background noise while he built his empire, amassed his wealth. Love, marriage, domesticity-none of it mattered to him, none of it held any allure. He had more money than he could spend in a lifetime, businesses thriving across the globe, a network of power and influence that spanned continents. That should have been enough, the ultimate measure of success.

But for his grandmother, it was never enough, she craved something more, something that transcended mere material wealth. So here they were: him, staring down a woman who had no idea what she'd signed up for, what her future held, and her, about to prove just how stubborn she could be, how fiercely she clung to her independence.

His focus snapped back as Sera began to move, her actions deliberate, her determination evident, her fingers brushing along the wall as she found her way into the bathroom, navigating the unfamiliar space. He followed, drawn in against his will, his gaze fixed on every careful step, his body tense with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

She needed to bathe, to cleanse herself-his grandmother had ordered him to see to her comfort, to ensure her well-being, a task he found both irritating and strangely compelling. But they'd gotten stuck on the simple matter of undressing, a seemingly innocuous act that had become a battle of wills.

It was obvious she was still adjusting to her condition, struggling to adapt to her new reality. Not born blind, forced into darkness overnight, her world transformed in an instant-he could only imagine the disorientation, the frustration, the struggle to map a space she couldn't see, to navigate a world that had suddenly become hostile. Most people, in her situation, would have given in, surrendered to their limitations, asked for help without hesitation. Not her, she refused to relinquish control.

He watched as she lowered herself to the floor, her movements slow and deliberate, her hands moving cautiously over her clothes, feeling for buttons and seams, her brow furrowed in concentration. His breath caught in his throat, a visceral response to her vulnerability, to her quiet determination. He couldn't look away, mesmerized by her struggle.

Her skin was warm brown, glowing under the soft light, a natural radiance-neither pale nor dark, but truly and fully her, unique and captivating. Chestnut hair fell past her shoulders, framing her face, softening her features. Her body was neither too full nor too thin; every curve, every line felt right, perfectly proportioned, a natural harmony.

A low whistle escaped him as she pulled her shirt over her head, revealing the delicate curve of her spine. Even seated, her shape was impossible to miss, her inherent sensuality undeniable-but she was too thin, her ribs just visible beneath her skin, a stark reminder of her hardship. Abuse from her family, neglect and deprivation, he suspected, his anger simmering. She'd need filling out, nourishing, restoring to her full vitality.

Her top half was bare now, save for her bra, a flimsy barrier that offered little concealment. Next came her pants. She stood slowly, her movements deliberate, and he noticed her hands were shaking, betraying her inner turmoil. Good, a dark part of him thought, relishing her struggle, wanting to see her break, to witness her vulnerability. Let her struggle, let her falter, let her reach the end of her rope and ask for me, surrender to my strength.

He watched like a predator tracking its prey, his senses heightened, his control slipping, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin, memorizing every curve and line. Her body was incredible, a work of art-soft and curved and his, whether she knew it yet or not, bound to him by contract, by fate. He waited for the moment she'd crack, for her resolve to crumble, for her pride to give way. But it never came, she defied his expectations.

She didn't ask for help, she didn't falter, she persevered. Why? Pride, a fierce determination to maintain her independence? Or something deeper, something more complex, something he couldn't quite name, something that intrigued and challenged him?

SERAPHINA'S POINT OF VIEW

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed in my ears, as I worked at the button of my pants, my fingers trembling from cold and nerves, clumsy and uncoordinated. I couldn't see him, couldn't discern his expression, but I felt his stare-heavy, hot, pressing down on me like a physical weight, a suffocating blanket I couldn't shake off. I knew I shouldn't let him watch me like this, expose myself so vulnerably, but what choice did I have, what options were available to me? We'd be living under the same roof, bound together by circumstance, and the contract said he was supposed to help me adjust to being blind, to ease my transition into this new reality.

I must have lost my mind when I signed that paper, surrendered my autonomy so willingly, I thought, regret washing over me. Help from him? A man I could barely stand to be in the same room with, whose presence made my skin crawl? It wasn't right, it felt inherently wrong for a stranger to touch me, to help with something as intimate as undressing, to witness my vulnerability. And why had his grandmother insisted he be the one to care for me, why had she entrusted me to his protection?

Finally, the zipper slid down, the sound echoing in the silence, a small victory. I pushed my pants off without hesitation, casting them aside, even as awareness of him burned at the back of my neck, a constant reminder of his presence. I couldn't see him, couldn't chase him away, couldn't shield myself from his gaze-so I'd just have to endure, to steel myself and push through.

I reached for the wall again, my fingers tracing its cool surface, seeking a point of reference as I tried to find my way, to orient myself in the unfamiliar space. But the bathroom was bigger than I'd guessed, its dimensions deceptive, its layout a mystery. Where was the sink to set my clothes, the toilet to guide me? The shower with its soaps and warm water, the promise of cleansing and comfort?

I sighed, long and heavy, my breath catching in my throat, the weight of my frustration pressing down on me. My pride could only take me so far, my strength was finite.

"Lord, please let this be okay, give me the strength to endure," I whispered to myself, seeking solace in prayer, a desperate plea for guidance. Then, louder, projecting a confidence I didn't feel: "Are you still there... sir, have you abandoned me?"

"Yeah, I'm still here, lurking in the shadows. Need something, are you ready to admit defeat?"

I bit my lip, frustration flaring, a surge of anger momentarily eclipsing my fear. Even his voice sounded like he was holding back a laugh, mocking my struggle, reveling in my vulnerability. But I had to stay calm, maintain control, I had no idea how many months I'd be stuck with him, dependent on his whims, forced to endure his presence.

"I... I need help, I can't navigate this space on my own." The words were dragged from my throat, each syllable rough and bitter, a reluctant admission of defeat.

But silence answered me, a heavy, oppressive silence that amplified my fear. No footsteps, no movement, no indication of his presence-like he'd frozen in place, just watching, observing my struggle without offering assistance.

"Damn it! Did he leave me here, abandon me to my fate?!" I hissed, my anger rising, turning toward where I thought he'd been standing, my movements clumsy and uncertain. "He thinks I can't do this, that I'm helpless without him? I can! I can handle it, you bastard, I don't need your help!"

I furrowed my brow, my determination reignited, and took another step, my hand still on the wall for balance, my only point of reference. Three steps in, I collided with something solid, an unexpected obstacle-but it didn't feel like plaster or paint, it lacked the cold, unyielding texture of a wall.

"Another wall, what is this, a maze? Why didn't he tell me there was another wall, warn me of the obstruction?" I grumbled, my frustration growing, gripping the surface in front of me, trying to discern its nature. But something was off, something felt wrong. It was warm, radiating heat. And there was a hard, long shape pressing against my stomach, a distinct and unsettling pressure-what kind of wall had that, what unnatural structure was this?

I ran my fingers over it, tracing its outline, and my blood turned to ice, a chilling premonition of the danger I faced. This wasn't a wall, a solid, inanimate object. It was him, his body pressed against mine, an unwanted intimacy.

I stumbled backward, my feet slipping on the wet tile, my balance precarious-but strong arms caught me before I could fall, preventing a disastrous tumble. Even blind, my eyes went wide with shock, my senses overwhelmed by the sudden contact.

I could feel the hard lines of his body against mine, the unyielding strength of his muscles, heat radiating from his skin, scorching me, invading my personal space. And that thing pressing into my stomach, a blatant and unwelcome intrusion...

"W-What is that, what are you doing?! Is it... wood, are you carrying a plank of wood?"

A low laugh rumbled through his chest, a dark, mocking sound that sent shivers down my spine, a visceral response to his proximity. His lips brushed against my ear, his breath warm and dangerous, laced with a hint of mint and something more primal, something that set my nerves on edge.

"That's my hard cock, sweetheart, my undeniable arousal."

"Asshole, you arrogant bastard!" I shrieked, my whole body going cold with a mixture of fear and revulsion, my innocence shattered. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this-for his crude words, for his blatant sexuality, for the way his body felt so solid against mine, so undeniably male.

I tried to push him away, to create some distance between us, but he only laughed harder, his grip tightening, holding me steady against my will.

"Relax, little bird, calm yourself. I have no intention of using it on you, you're safe from me. You're not my type, not nearly attractive enough to tempt me-too skinny, not pretty enough, lacking any real appeal. Not even close to meeting my standards."

"Then why don't you let me go, release me from your grasp so I can punch your face, so I can inflict some damage?! If I could see you right now, if I had my sight, I'd tear you apart, I'd make you regret ever laying a hand on me-even your nose holes would get an earful, I'd spare no part of you!" I panted, words tumbling out in a rush of anger, a desperate attempt to reclaim some control.

I straightened up, pulling away from his embrace, ready to put as much distance as possible between us-but his hand stayed on my arm, his grip surprisingly firm, preventing my escape. I wanted to snap at him, to unleash my fury, but I needed his help, I was trapped in this darkness, dependent on his assistance. So I bit my tongue, swallowing my anger, and stayed still, enduring his touch.

He guided me to the edge of the tub and helped me sit, then stepped back. The sound of his footsteps faded.

"I'm getting cold, my skin is prickling... just give me the soap and shampoo, place them in my hands, and I can manage from here, I can complete this task myself." I called out, projecting a confidence I didn't feel, but no answer came, only silence. Instead, I jolted, my body tensing as cold water poured over my head, an icy deluge that streamed down my skin, soaking me to the bone.

"I said I'd do it myself, I didn't ask for your assistance, I wanted to maintain some control!" I gasped, my voice echoing in the small space, the shock of the water sending strange shivers through me, a visceral response to the sudden intrusion. I'd never felt anything like it-unexpected, intimate, unsettling, a violation of my boundaries.

The water cut off as abruptly as it had begun, leaving silence in its wake, a heavy, oppressive silence that heightened my anxiety. I strained to hear him, to discern his location, but there was nothing, no sound, no indication of his presence-until a hand touched my side, a tentative exploration, slick with soap.

A soft, broken sound, a whimper of protest, escaped my lips before I could stop it, betraying my vulnerability. I clapped a hand over my mouth, stifling any further noise, my heart racing so fast I could barely breathe, my senses overwhelmed.

His fingers moved slowly along my ribs, tracing their delicate curves with exquisite precision, his touch feather-light, barely there, yet enough to make my skin prickle with awareness, to ignite a confusing mixture of fear and anticipation. I could feel my pulse thrumming everywhere, a frantic rhythm echoing through my body-at my wrists, at my neck, betraying my anxiety, and, shamefully, between my legs, a shameful heat that defied my will.

But I wasn't the only one affected, I wasn't alone in this strange, unsettling dance, this silent battle of wills. Behind me, Lucian stood rigid, his body tense, his presence radiating a barely contained energy, his jaw tight, his lip bleeding where he'd bitten it too hard, a testament to the internal struggle he waged. He was fighting a battle he'd never seen coming, a conflict between his desire and his control.

-

For fuck's sake, what is happening to me, he thought, his mind reeling, his body tight with a sharp, unfamiliar need, an overwhelming desire he'd never felt so intensely, so uncontrollably. This is impossible, I can't succumb to this, I can't let her see how deeply she affects me.

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW

Steam curls from the tub's surface, thick and warm against the cool air of the bathroom. Sera shifts against the porcelain, her breath catching in short bursts.

"Hnngh... ahh... stop that... right there."

"Here. Is this the spot that troubles you?"

"Y-yes-just a little lower. Let me do the other side-ah, that's it."

Lucian's thoughts spiral in a tangle of Russian and English, coarse words settling heavy in his throat. For fuck's sake. This is torture. His shoulders are drawn high, every muscle taut as wire. The washcloth in his hand is slick with water and soap; he feels each soft gasp from Sera as if it were his own skin catching against a rough edge, every whimper a current pulling at his center.

He had planned for simplicity. Washing her, seeing to her needs-it was written in black ink on the contract, a duty like any other. He never imagined how her skin would yield under his touch, how even the smallest shift of her body would send sharp jolts through him. When she tries to press her lips together, to swallow her reactions, he hears them still: each breath, each quiet sigh clear as glass breaking in the silence.

His palm slides down her waist, deliberate and slow. The washcloth glides over cotton underwear thin as spider silk, and beneath it her skin is smooth as river stone. Heat radiates from her, searing through fabric and flesh alike, settling deep in his gut where it burns steady and bright.

Earlier she reached for the body wash, her fingers fumbling but sure, her knuckles white with determination. He held firm, keeping the bottle out of reach and citing the contract as reason enough to stay close. Every word he spoke then-about not being attracted, about her appeal being of no consequence-was false as polished glass, a shield he had built to stand between them.

He presses his lips together until he tastes copper, his focus fixed on the curve of her ribs as he scrubs gently at the skin there. She shivers, her muscles tightening under his hand, and he realizes she is ticklish. The thought sends heat rushing to his face; he sets one palm flat against the tub's edge to steady himself, his gaze dropping to the water where it ripples around her hips.

"I said I'll do it myself. I am perfectly capable. You are just teasing me now. Tormenting me on purpose." Her voice is sharp with anger, but underneath lies something softer, something he cannot name. The corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile-he finds her defiance more compelling than he should.

"Quiet, Seraphina. Control yourself. This is part of our agreement, a necessary piece of what we've made. You have nothing to fear. I will not overstep our boundaries. I would never take advantage of you. I am not that kind of man." The words come easily, rolling from his tongue like rain off a slate roof, and for a moment he almost believes them.

Never take advantage? The thought sits bitter in his mouth. He is already using his position, his power, to keep his hands on her skin. His mind fills with images he has no right to hold, desire building so hot he feels it in the pulse at his temple. He was hard before he even touched her, watching her undress from the doorway with his shoulders braced against wood, feeling as if he had gone days without food. Now that he is close enough to smell the lavender in her hair, every part of him strains toward release.

He is damned, plain and simple. Each new thought, each vision of what he might do to her, pulls him deeper into the current. It takes all his strength to keep his movements steady, to keep his distance even as his fingers crave to pull her close, to give in to what his body demands.

They have been married only hours. The sun still hangs high in the sky over this pretense of a union, and already he fights a pull stronger than any he has known. No woman has ever unspooled him like this. Not the socialites who pressed their bodies against his at parties, eager for his name. Not the heiresses who offered fortunes for the chance to bear his children. He built his empire on cold calculation, on locking away weakness so no one could ever use it against him.

But here he stands, undone by a blind woman he intended to set aside once she gave him an heir. A pawn in his plan, and one who cannot see the sharp lines of his jaw, the emerald of his eyes hidden behind brown contacts, the tattoos winding up his forearms like warnings carved in ink. She does not know the darkness he carries, and somehow that makes her more precious than any treasure he has ever owned.

"Hello? Are you moving at all? Are you still there? You have gone silent on me. Just like everyone else. I told you I would handle this. I am perfectly capable-give me the soap, or at least the shampoo. Let us finish this charade. Let us be done with the awkwardness."

Her voice pulls him back. Even without sight she holds her head high, no trace of fear in her posture. He is used to people shrinking away from him-from his hair cut sharp and dark as a wolf's pelt, from the weight of his name.

"I said I would take care of you."

"Take care of me? You are just standing there. Frozen solid." Frustration edges her words, but he finds himself leaning closer, drawn to the fire in her tone.

"Fine. What about the shampoo? I will let you wash your hair."

"Finally! That is more like it. See? You are not so hard to talk to, sir-"

"Lucian."

"Huh?" She tilts her head, her ears sharp even as her brow furrows in confusion.

He laughs, the sound rough and unfamiliar in his own ears. He hates repeating himself, yet now he says it again. "Call me Lucian."

Sera takes the bottle, her fingers brushing his as she pulls it away. She works suds through her hair, her movements quick and determined, but he feels the tremor in her shoulders each time his hands brush her skin. Ticklishness, yes. But he thinks there is more to it than that.

Thirty minutes pass before he is done. Steam clouds the mirrors, and the air between them hums with a tension so thick he could reach out and hold it in his palm.

"Stay here. I will get your clothes."

Good grief. His accent is perfect. Of course it is-he has money enough to learn anything he wants, Sera thinks, her fingers working through soapy knots in her hair.

"Where would you get clothes? I did not bring anything with me."

Lucian's hand rests on the door handle, his gaze fixed on her for a long moment before he turns. "They are already here. I will be right back. No need to worry."

When he leaves the door clicks shut behind him, and quiet settles over the room so sudden it makes her chest tight. Her thoughts race as fast as her pulse.

Lucian moves down the grand staircase, his steps heavy against the marble. He intends to collect the clothes his secretary prepared, but voices carry up from the foyer-loud, sharp with anger.

"What the hell is wrong with him!"

"Shein, calm down. This is not just Lucian's choice. It is Madam's too. So stop shouting."

"What about me? He promised me. He said he would marry me-but this? A contract marriage? With who? Is that what billionaires do?"

Lucian's jaw tightens. He knows the voice well. Shein Dela Vega-his childhood friend, and the last person he wants to face today. He steps into the foyer, his gaze as cold as winter stone.

"What is all this noise?"

Two figures turn toward him. Shein stands with her hands balled at her sides, her eyes wild with fury. His secretary bows his head and backs away without a word.

Shein crosses the room, her stilettos striking the marble like small hammers. She reaches for his face, but he catches her by the shoulders, holding her steady at arm's length.

"What are you doing here?" His voice holds no warmth.

"Lucian! What happened to us? I thought we had an understanding. You said you would consider it." She clings to his forearms, her voice thick with tears she will not let fall.

He tilts his head, his expression distant as water on glass. "Enough, Shein. I have told you before. I am not interested. We have known each other our whole lives-you are like a sister to me. Nothing more."

"No! I will not accept this. Let me see her. What did she do to you? Did she bewitch you? Just tell me-fuck-tell me."

"Well. Look who is here. Shein Dela Vega. A vision I never expected to see again."

Both turn toward the entrance, where Cathy Vitale stands with her bodyguard close behind. Shopping bags swing from her arm, their designer logos bright against her dark coat. She carries herself like the head of a house-every movement deliberate, every word weighted with authority.

"Madamé Cathy!" Shein releases Lucian and throws her arms around the older woman, stumbling slightly in her high heels.

They kiss on each cheek before Cathy settles onto a sofa, Shein following close beside her. "What are you doing here, dear? I thought you were in Singapore."

"Oh, Madamé-I took the first flight back the moment I heard about the marriage." Her voice carries a dramatic lilt, but hurt sits deep in her eyes.

Cathy laughs softly, though her tone is sharp as a blade. "It is true. Lucian is married now, and I chose his wife myself. Is there something wrong with that?"

Shein falls silent, her jaw clenched tight. Lucian smirks and walks to his grandmother's bodyguard, August-a man near his own age with eyes as keen as his own. "August. Why did you allow her to do the shopping?"

"Madamé insisted, sir. She wanted to select everything herself."

Lucian nods and takes the bags of clothes meant for Sera. Behind him Shein speaks again, her voice low and tight.

"But Madamé-he promised me. He said when he turned twenty-five and had not found anyone-"

"Enough, Shein." Lucian cuts her off, his voice firm. "I will arrange a flight back to Singapore for you tomorrow morning."

Cathy waves a hand in dismissal. "Do not be so harsh. She is still family. You can stay the night, dear. This house is not as large as our home in Russia, but we have plenty of rooms. I will have a maid prepare one for you."

"Oh my gosh-thank you, Madamé!" Shein hugs her again, but her gaze stays fixed on Lucian as he turns to climb the stairs.

She glares after him, her nails digging into her palms until she feels warm blood on her skin. She has known Lucian her entire life. They made an agreement, and she waited for him to keep his word. Now he has cast her aside for a woman she has never even seen.

I will find out who she is, she thinks, her jaw set hard. And I will do whatever it takes to get Lucian back.