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.

Once Vera clocked out and came to pick Lindsay up, Lindsay had already buried every trace of emotion beneath a calm mask.

Lindsay settled into the passenger seat. She kept the window down, the rush of air scraping at her cheeks while her thoughts twisted and tangled inside her chest.

"Vera, let's hit a bar tonight," Lindsay abruptly suggested.

The car jerked, tires scraping along the edge of the curb.

Vera quickly steadied the car, regaining her composure. "Hitting a bar? Is everything okay?"

Lindsay turned her empty gaze to her friend. "Vera, do you also think that without my sight, I cannot be the Lindsay I used to be?"

Vera's chest tightened. Only three years had slipped by, yet sometimes, it felt impossible to remember the Lindsay from before.

Before, Lindsay had sparkled with energy. She had never shied away from anything, always living with her heart wide open. But that fearless woman had vanished the night of the fire.

The past three years had witnessed Lindsay withdraw into a shadow of her former self. She had retreated into a world revolving around Matthew, clinging to him as if he were the only thing left.

Vera sometimes wondered if Lindsay could keep breathing if Matthew ever left her side.

Sensing Vera's hesitation, Lindsay turned back toward the window. The wind whipped across her skin, and for just a second, she almost believed she could see everything rushing by outside.

Lindsay said slowly, "I visited Louis earlier. For three years, I couldn't bring myself to visit him, and now everything inside me feels scraped raw. I need something strong to take the edge off. People say a drink can quiet the things that hurt, right? And I want to start learning how to move through the world again. When we get to the bar, don't hover over me like I can't stand on my own."

Lindsay's tone carried a strange sense of acceptance, as if she had already made peace with the weight she'd been carrying.

Something about Lindsay felt different to Vera. She couldn't name it, but she wished with all her heart that Lindsay would finally step beyond her little world and reclaim the life waiting for her.

Vera replied, "Then we're going all out tonight until we can't stand anymore!"

Star Club pulsed with energy near the university. Youngsters filled every corner, and the place kept things polished without letting chaos slip in.

That bar had once been frequented by Vera and Lindsay. Not a single detail had changed since those days.

The two of them slid into a booth tucked away in the corner.

Music and alcohol surged through the room, waking up pieces of people they thought were gone forever.

Lindsay's face slowly gained more color. After downing a few fruit cocktails, she rose from her seat and said, "Restroom."

Vera made a move to follow, but Lindsay waved her off.

The restroom was down a straight hall at the end, a route Lindsay could walk even without her cane.

A while later, Lindsay finished washing her hands when Kyra's voice drifted in from outside the door. "Why drag me to this dump to relive old times? This place is crawling with college kids."

A jolt shot through Lindsay. As footsteps echoed down the hall, in blind panic, she darted across to the other side and crashed through the door marked for men's restroom.

She flung the door shut behind her, only to stumble into the broad warmth of someone's chest. Raising a trembling finger to her lips, she silently begged for quiet.

Sandalwood lingered in the air, soothing her nerves even as her mind scrambled.

"Anthony, is that you?" she whispered.

Just then, Matthew's voice came from just beyond the door. "Kyra, stay at the entrance when we're finished. Don't go wandering off."

This sent a new rush of fear through Lindsay. Instinct took over, and she grabbed the man in front of her, hauling him into the nearest stall with her.

Inside the cramped stall, their bodies pressed close. Desperate to keep him silent, she clapped a hand over his mouth, tiptoed, and whispered right by his ear, "Please. Not a word."

Anthony had more than a few drinks in him. The steady, measured control he kept at work started slipping away. With Lindsay so close, something electric stirred beneath his skin.

Without thinking, he pulled her close, his arm circling her waist. Shadows played across her face, and in that uncertain light, her eyes sparked with a wild blend of fear and defiance.

Anthony dipped his head. Lindsay instinctively shrank back, not daring to make any noise that might give them away.

As her hand brushed his chest, she felt muscles tense beneath her palm. In her attempt to dodge him, her lips brushed his Adam's apple by accident.

A sharp breath escaped him, rough around the edges.

With every passing second inside the cramped stall, her nerves stretched thin. Her brow knotted, and she shot him a warning in a low, urgent whisper. "Anthony, don't mess around!"

He drank in her distress, an almost playful glint in his eyes as he drew her even nearer. "You're hiding out in here while your husband's mistress is waiting outside? Or are you under orders from Matthew to cozy up to me?"

The memory of the detective's report flashed through Anthony's mind, darkening his gaze. His fingers found her neck, sweeping her hair aside until the red crescent birthmark stood out against her skin. That shape matched the memory etched in his mind. He couldn't deny it now. Lindsay was truly the little girl who had saved him years ago.

Lindsay had never stood this close to any man before, and the nearness left her chest thudding hard enough to hurt. Trapped between Anthony and the stall door, she couldn't find a single inch of space to retreat.

Summoning a desperate kind of courage, the kind that came when a person had nothing left to lose, she hooked her arms around Anthony's neck.

Moisture shimmered in her reddened eyes, giving her a fragile, almost broken look. She said, "How do you want me to prove my innocence? You heard what happened. Matthew betrayed me and, exploiting my blindness, hid everything from me. If he ever learns I might get my sight back, he'll do anything he can to make sure it never happens."

Her mouth hovered closer, trembling with each word. "You've hated him for years, haven't you? The enemy of my enemy can be on my side. Right now, I don't have anything left, and I can't strike back on my own. Could you help me?"

Anthony narrowed his eyes. She made that proposal once more. How intriguing. Curiosity curled through him as he wondered what she would do next. Now that he knew she was the little girl who had once saved his life, he was ready to lend his strength. Still, he was uncertain whether she truly wanted to bring Matthew down.

A sudden burst of clicking heels interrupted their moment, echoing right outside the stall door.

Matthew's voice followed, edged with confusion. "Kyra, you do realize this is the men's room, don't you? Just wait. I need to wash up."

With a wicked grin, Kyra seized Matthew's tie and pulled him closer. "Come on, Matthew. What's there to be afraid of? Isn't sneaking around half the fun?"

She let her hand wander, slipping boldly beneath his waistband.

"Kyra, what do you think you're—" A rough groan escaped him. Years of pent-up restraint snapped like a dry twig.

"Stall," he rasped. "Not by the sink. Someone could walk in and see us."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than they stumbled into the stall beside Lindsay and Anthony, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss.

Kyra moaned, "Matthew, don't bite so hard... Hurry, take off my panties. I wore the ones you like."

"You're irresistible. Let me show you how much I like them," Matthew chuckled.

What followed were moans, the sound of bodies colliding, and shameless whispers bleeding through the thin partition, impossible to ignore.

A rush of loathing, pain, and sickness crashed over Lindsay, freezing her in place. Her stomach twisted as each sound fueled her anger.

For a wild moment, she wanted nothing more than to storm out, tear open the door, and drag those two out for everyone to see.

Suddenly, Anthony's warm hands cupped her ears, trying to block the sounds.

She shook him off, biting down on her lip. She needed every word, every ugly moment, seared into her memory. Only by letting herself feel the full weight of this could she promise herself never to forgive.

Without a word, she reached into her pocket and slipped her phone into Anthony's hand. Her lips shaped a silent command. "Record it for me."

Anthony's eyes shadowed, yet something like admiration glinted in them. Impressive of her to stay level-minded in a moment like this. Any evidence of the affair would become leverage, ammunition for the battles that lay ahead with the Riley family.

For half an hour, Anthony kept his arms around Lindsay as they endured the cruel symphony from the next stall.

When the noise faded at last, Lindsay stood rigid and pale. Anthony guided her quietly out the back, keeping her upright as they slipped into the night.

Stepping outside, Lindsay let the cold night air wash over her cheeks and realized her tears had never stopped. How small she felt in that moment.

Anthony handed her a couple of tissues. "Let me drive you home."

Determined to reach home before Matthew, Lindsay gave a tight nod. She sent a quick voice note to Vera and kept her thoughts to herself for the rest of the ride.

...

Matthew didn't return home until almost wee hours. Rubbing his temples at the gate, he automatically looked toward the bedroom upstairs. Nothing but darkness met his eyes. His eyes dropped to the living room, which was pitch black.

For three years, not once had he returned to an empty, unlit house. Unease crept in, tightening around his chest. He shrugged off his coat and hurried inside.

Sensor lights sparkled to life as he walked by, chasing away the darkness and bringing back a sense of past warmth.

Relief settled over Matthew when he spotted Lindsay sitting quietly on the edge of the bed, lost in her own world. "Linds, why didn't you turn on the lights?" he asked.

Lindsay had already recognized the sound of his car in the driveway. At his voice, her head shifted toward him with slow, mechanical precision. She fixed her unseeing eyes on him. A hint of self‑mockery stirred beneath the calm surface, though her voice came out gentle and steady. "Lights or no lights won't make a difference for me. I can't see a thing either way."

He moved closer, and the mix of alcohol and another woman's perfume clung to him so strongly that she instinctively leaned back.

"Linds..." Matthew extended his hands, but the moment she recoiled, his arms stalled in mid‑air, his gaze cooling.

Not once in the past three years had he come home without finding honey water on the table or her hands ready to ease his headache. She used to settle against him like a small creature seeking warmth, drifting off only after he held her. But this night was nothing like the others.

Keeping his tone deceptively light, he asked, "Did you go out today?"