Lindsay groped for the edge of the bed, finally managing to find her phone by touch alone.

Running her fingers over the raised keys meant for the blind, Lindsay dialed the one number she still trusted—her best friend, Vera Green.

"Linds?" Vera's voice burst through the line, bright with excitement before melting into gentle concern. "You finally shook that cold? I was planning to visit this weekend, but work's been nonstop. Since you were under the weather, I figured I'd give you space."

A cold? Lindsay tried to remember when that had supposedly happened but pushed the thought aside. Keeping her tone steady, she said, "Vera, you mentioned you're interning under Dr. Anthony Dixon. Do you think you could help me get on his list for a corneal transplant?"

Anthony Dixon was no ordinary doctor. As the third son of the influential Dixon family in Eighstin, he had been known for his razor‑sharp mind and cold demeanor since childhood. At fourteen, he'd created a technology that sent the Dixon Group's value soaring overnight, earning him the family patriarch's admiration and marking him as the obvious heir.

But Anthony had shocked everyone by refusing to take over the empire. He had finished a dual medical program faster than anyone expected and rose to become Mercy Hospital's most in‑demand eye surgeon.

What mattered most to Lindsay was that the Dixon and Riley families had clashed for generations. Matthew would never have enough influence to track down Anthony's patients.

This sliver of an opening was the only chance Lindsay could see. She silently prayed that when Anthony recognized her name, he wouldn't let the past stand in the way.

On the other end of the line, Vera stayed quiet for a long, heavy moment. "Matthew didn't tell you?"

Lindsay froze, her breath catching. "What was he supposed to tell me?"

Vera let out a sigh. "There's a perfect corneal donor available today. I called Matthew myself to give him the news, but he told me you were sick with a terrible cold and couldn't make it in. The matching window is closing fast. If we miss this one, we might be waiting months for another chance."

A sharp pain twisted through Lindsay's chest, forcing her to take deep breaths just to stay steady. Her fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles whitened. A rare donor match—dismissed because of a cold she never even had. No wonder Matthew had asserted that her eyes would never heal. He had been pulling strings behind the scenes. He must have been cutting off every chance she had for surgery, every opportunity to regain her sight, for three long years.

The realization scorched through her, hatred roaring up like flames. She bit down on her finger, grounding herself before she shattered. The Riley family practically ran half of Eighstin. If Matthew sensed even a whisper of suspicion from her, everything she was planning would fall apart—and Vera would be dragged down with her.

Lindsay tilted her head back, blinking hard until the tears retreated. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, delicate, almost bashful. "Vera, if I get my sight back, Matthew will definitely be thrilled. Can you keep this between us for now? I want to surprise him."

Vera burst into a laugh, completely convinced. "Oh, say no more. You two are hopelessly sweet on each other. I won't breathe a word."

A wave of relief washed over Lindsay. She and Vera settled the details quickly—Vera would pick her up the moment Matthew left for work.

That night crawled by in agony. Sleep refused to come to Lindsay. The familiar warmth beside her, once a source of comfort, now made her skin crawl.

Morning finally arrived.

As soon as Matthew's car rolled down the driveway, Vera's arrived in its place.

Raelyn Payne, the housemaid, recognized Vera instantly. She smiled, opened the gate, and waved Lindsay and Vera off, suspecting nothing.

Vera launched into her usual cheerful chatter the moment Lindsay sat down, her voice bubbling through the car. Slowly, the sound eased the tightness in Lindsay's chest. Drained from the night's terror, Lindsay leaned against the window and slipped into a shallow sleep.

By the time they pulled up outside Anthony's office, Lindsay felt like she could breathe again.

"Dr. Dixon," Vera called out, her voice bright and cheerful, "this is the patient I mentioned yesterday. Thank you for agreeing to see her."

A smooth, level voice responded, "Please, have a seat."

Vera helped Lindsay into the exam chair and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I got called to the ER, so I have to run. Text me when you're finished, alright?"

"I will." Lindsay nodded.

The door clicked behind Lindsay, sealing her in with the scent of disinfectant—sharp and clinical—with just the faintest undercurrent of sandalwood.

"Try to relax."

She felt his breath on her cheek, gentle but close.

Cool fingers hovered near her eyes. She recognized the soft click of a penlight.

"Full-thickness injury. No response to light," Lindsay remarked, steady and matter-of-fact.

A low hum was his only reply.

A few seconds later, he warned, "This might sting a little."

Lindsay gave a small nod, bracing herself. She told herself she could handle it. But she was wrong. The instant the probe pressed to her eye, a wave of searing pain crashed over her—the same blinding agony she remembered from the glass had ripped through her vision on that fateful day.

Lost in darkness, she reached out, desperate for something solid, anything to anchor her. Her hand closed instinctively around the first thing she found. But unbeknownst to her, it was his private parts, straining against his pants because of her touch.

Without thinking, she squeezed tighter, clinging to the only comfort in the room.

A low, rough groan vibrated from his chest. "So how long do you intend to hold on?"

"Ah!" It finally dawned on Lindsay just what she had grabbed, and embarrassment jolted her into motion. She hastily withdrew her hand and sprang to her feet, hurriedly retreating to create some distance.

Her clumsy movements sent the chair skittering across the floor, and her hand swiped dangerously close to toppling a tray of instruments.

Before disaster struck, a strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her firmly to a stop.

A husky, teasing voice sounded right at her ear. "Trying to trash my office, are you?"

A fierce blush crept up Lindsay's cheeks. Tears of embarrassment shimmered in her unfocused eyes as she fumbled for words, lashes fluttering. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Anthony looked down at the woman pressed awkwardly against him. She felt impossibly soft and delicate, as if a single careless move might shatter her. He felt an odd restlessness stir inside, something he'd never expected.

Moments earlier, he had forced himself to stay perfectly still, terrified any sudden movement might cause further damage to her injured eyes. But now, with her pressed close, warmth spread through him, making his heart stutter in his chest. This didn't make any sense. Normally, he wouldn't feel a thing for a patient. What was wrong with him?

A ridiculous thought flashed through Anthony's mind—had someone spiked his morning coffee? He found himself actually wondering if that could be the case.

Anthony's brows drew together in a deep frown. He was about to let go of her when something caught his eye—a small, vivid red birthmark just behind her ear.

It matched the mark on the little girl who had pulled him from the brink all those years ago, right after he had been kidnapped. The mark was shaped like a crescent moon. Could this woman—blind and trembling before him—really be the one who'd saved his life years back?

Stunned, Anthony leaned in, trying to get a better look.

But Lindsay slipped from his grasp, backing until her back met the wall. "Dr. Dixon, how soon will you have the results?"

He watched her in silence, studying her face for a long moment before closing the gap between them with two purposeful steps. His presence brought a chill to the room, the air around him turning sharp.

"Your eyes have been damaged for three years. Why the sudden rush for the test results now?" he asked.

Lindsay dropped her gaze, fingers twisting the hem of her sweater. She had no allies, no power. Confronting Matthew and Kyra alone would be suicide. Still, she'd made her decision. "I'd like to strike a deal, Dr. Dixon." Her words came out steady, a strange sense of peace settling over her as she found her way to the nearest chair.

Her eyes were unfocused, but Anthony could still see it—the fierce, unyielding determination burning behind those clouded eyes.

Intrigued, he folded his arms and took the seat across from her, waiting to hear just what kind of bargain she intended to propose.

"Help me get my sight back, and I'll help you bring down the Riley Group." The words tumbled out, her voice trembling slightly. As she uttered Riley Group, her pulse raced, and shadows darkened her features.

"Why would you think I have any interest in your proposal? I don't even get involved in my own family's power games—what makes you think I want to take on the Riley family? If you're here as a patient, my obligation is only to your eyes. Anything else is your problem. Unless, of course, you have something a little more tempting to offer."

He studied the woman sitting across from him, something unreadable flashing through his eyes. He couldn't believe for a second that Lindsay truly meant to team up against the Riley family. Rumors had painted her as blindly and hopelessly in love with Matthew for years.

Anthony leaned back, his interest fading, his face smoothing back into polite indifference. His tone returned to the chilly professionalism from before. "Mrs. Riley, your initial examination meets surgical requirements. Come back on Monday for a second assessment, and we'll finalize the details. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to see."

"Alright. Thank you, Dr. Dixon. Please keep this visit private." She hadn't expected to sway him on her first try.

Rising, Lindsay used the wall to guide her way to the door and then slipped quietly into the hallway.

The instant she left, Anthony pulled out his phone and called the private detective he'd hired. "Any progress on the person I've asked you to look for?"

The voice on the other end sounded hesitant. "It's been years. It's hard to trace."

"I'll send you a new lead. Look into this woman—find out if she was anywhere near the scene of my kidnapping when she was a child. And while you're at it, dig into Matthew Riley's background." With that, Anthony ended the call.

His eyes drifted to the passport photo attached to Lindsay's file, and his expression gave nothing away. If she truly turned out to be the little girl who'd saved his life all those years ago, he would move heaven and earth to protect her—no matter what it cost him.

Lindsay trailed her fingers along the wall for a long while, her cheeks still flushed with lingering embarrassment.

Before everything had fallen apart, Lindsay had often accompanied Matthew to society galas and exclusive dinners, where she'd crossed paths with Anthony more than once. Every encounter had been strained, electric with unspoken tension. No matter the situation, she'd always stood by Matthew and confronted Anthony.

Looking back now, Lindsay felt it seemed fate had a wicked sense of humor.

The memory of what her hand had grabbed moments earlier sent another wave of heat rushing up her neck.

She covered her face with one hand, mortified, then forced herself to breathe and pulled her collapsible white cane from her bag. Instead of calling Vera to guide her, she steadied herself and followed the path stored in her memory, tapping her way toward the ninth‑floor VIP burn unit.

When Lindsay reached her brother's hospital room, she thanked the nurse quietly, waited until the footsteps faded, and then eased into the chair by the bed. The steady rhythm of the monitors filled the silence, and her nose stung as tears threatened to spill.

Years back, when the fire had swept through the Gordon estate, her brother, Louis Gordon, had barely survived the flames since he had been lounging in the bathtub at that time. He had been pulled out alive, but the massive dust inhalation had left him in a coma ever since.

Lindsay reached out and wrapped her fingers around her brother's hand, tracing the skin that had been rebuilt over endless surgeries. The rough scars of old burns had faded, replaced by smooth grafts that barely hinted at what he'd endured.

Two years ago, outside the operating room, Matthew had stayed by her side, patient and calm, when she had struggled to hold herself together. "Linds, your brother's burns are severe, and infection is a constant threat. We can't afford to wait for him to wake before we operate. I've found the best surgeons. I promise, I won't let you lose your brother too."

She had agreed. Since she had become unable to see any of it for herself, he had described each surgery performed on her brother, every new graft, every faint sign of healing, turning every sliver of progress into hope she could cling to.

For three long years, she had clung to every word he had uttered. She had assumed his profound love for her had been the reason behind his insistence on marrying her after her family's downfall, that he had pulled her out of the darkest moments in her life out of concern, and that she could lean on him without hesitation.

But the bitter truth was that the man she thought had rescued her was the very source of her worst memories.

He had planned every gesture with one goal in mind—he wanted her grateful and devoted, so she would never dig into her family's tragedies. He was utterly unscrupulous and shameless.

Her grip on Louis' hand tightened before she even realized it.

Louis's fingers gave the slightest twitch in return.

A rush of hope spilled through her. "Louis!" she called his name again and again, yet he remained still. The steady rhythm of the machine never shifted.

Unable to hold back anymore, Lindsay pressed her face against the back of his hand while sobs tore at her throat. "I promise I'll avenge our family. Kyra and Matthew won't escape what they did," she whispered between sobs.

She stayed beside him for a long while before she forced herself to step away.

Once she reached the corridor outside the emergency room, she pulled out her phone to call Vera.

Just as she was about to hit the button, a voice she recognized swept through the corridor.

"Matthew, please don't be mad at me. I intended it as a surprise. Aren't you happy that I returned a little earlier than schedule?"

The phone slipped out of Lindsay's grasp, bouncing loudly against the floor. Shock opened her unseeing eyes wide. No mistaking it—she knew that voice anywhere. Kyra was back.

Although Kyra's tone had dropped, the way she sang her words was something Lindsay could never forget.

"Miss, you dropped this. Are you okay? Do you want some help?" A gentle hand picked up Lindsay's phone and returned it to her.

Lindsay grabbed it quickly, heart pounding so hard that it hurt. Hugging the wall for support, she shuffled her way to the stairwell, backed into a corner, and tried to steady her frantic breathing.

Meanwhile, inside one of the small ER rooms, Matthew let Kyra cling to him, patting her back dotingly.

"Ever thought about my feelings if something serious had happened to you? You should have called me as soon as you landed. Don't just hop in a cab next time. I'm glad you only got a little banged up. Is your head still hurting? Here, let me carry you to the bed. You're not going anywhere until the test results are back."

Though his words were strict, he spoke to her with real concern.

The nurse sorting through a tray of supplies glanced up, recognized Matthew, and offered a smile. "Mr. Riley, you and your wife look so loving together."

Matthew faltered for a heartbeat, and Kyra, dressed in her thin hospital gown, looped her arms around his neck with a bashful grin. "Of course, we are," she answered as she nestled against him. "My husband cares about me more than anything."

Three years of restraint shattered in a single instant, and Matthew's voice slipped into a low, heated rumble. "Not now, babe."

Back in the stairwell, Lindsay stayed rooted in place, biting her lip so hard that the taste of iron filled her mouth. Every gentle gesture Matthew had ever given her twisted inside her like thorns tearing through skin. The pain kept building.

The whole thing seemed absurd to Lindsay. If Matthew adored Kyra that deeply, why had he walked into the Gordon home and offered marriage to her instead? When had their affair even begun? Had Matthew been at the Gordon residence on that fateful day, watching her family die in the flames?

Cold dread crept through her limbs. Her breath hitched as the rising panic tightened around her neck like a vise.