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?"

Beneath the blanket, Lindsay curled her fingers into tight, shaking fists. Nothing about her heartbeat felt calm.

Hours earlier, the moment she returned home, she had scrubbed herself raw in the shower, thrown every piece of clothing into the wash, and sprayed the room with enough freshener to bury any trace of alcohol.

After several rounds of steady breathing, she finally pieced together the calm he was seeing now.

Her lashes fluttered faintly, and a thin sheen of tears coated her eyes. "I went to visit my brother. He's still unconscious. With my parents' death anniversary coming up, it's hitting me hard."

Those tears slipped free, soft and convincing, and Matthew's last thread of doubt snapped. He sank to one knee and gathered her carefully into his arms. "Hey, don't fret. I've already contacted every top specialist I could find for him. He's going to wake up, I swear. Please don't cry anymore."

She willed her tense muscles to loosen, leaning into him and circling her arms around his narrow waist. "Honey, I've been having these strange dreams lately. I keep seeing Kyra. In them, she didn't die and even found her way back."

Matthew's body stiffened around her. A second later, his hands closed around her shoulders as he pushed her back just enough to look at her. "Linds, why would you say something like that?"

Matthew's stare bore into her, heavy and searching.

She lifted her tear-streaked face, meeting the weight of his gaze without flinching, looking fragile and broken. "Tell me the truth, love. Is Kyra really gone? Can you swear to me she was executed, that she's never coming back?"

Silence stretched out before he reached up and gently brushed away the tears clinging to her skin. He never gave her the answer she needed. "Don't dwell on things like that. I'm going to take a shower. Afterward, I'll help you settle in for the night. It's late already."

With that, he left the room. Water thundered from the bathroom soon after.

Dropping her gaze, Lindsay let a crooked, wild little smile take shape. He was indeed madly in love with Kyra.

Sleep barely touched Lindsay that night.

When morning finally arrived, golden sunlight had already spilled into the room, and the world was in motion.

Lindsay found the sheets cold beside her. Instead of reaching for the bell, she made her way to the bathroom on her own, washed up, and got dressed. Even if her eyes never healed, she made a silent vow—she wouldn't rely on anyone again.

The instant she cracked the bedroom door open, a sweet, familiar laugh drifted up from below and froze her in place. "Stop it! That really tickles!"

That was Kyra's voice. Clear as day. Lindsay felt a wave of chill. Matthew had actually brought Kyra into their home. Either he believed her blindness made her oblivious, or he was brazen enough to flaunt the affair right under her nose.

Her grip tightened on the white cane until her knuckles throbbed. Every part of her wanted to storm downstairs and tear the mask off the woman who had ruined her life.

Matthew's amused murmur sliced straight through her fury. "You naught one, smearing frosting on my face. Now, you're gonna pay."

Soon, the giggles below shifted into breathy little gasps.

"Kyra..." Matthew murmured.

The wet, greedy sound of kissing filled the living room.

Lindsay suddenly spoke up, her voice sharp and cutting. "Honey, what are you doing down there?"