Pinned to the floor by the stranger, I could see my “blind” fiancé mopping the ground less than three meters away, headphones sealed over his ears.

He couldn’t hear my struggle, couldn’t “see” my humiliation—a faint smile still playing on his lips.

Just before the thug pulled up his pants and left, he leaned close to threaten me. “Keep your mouth shut, or your blind fiancé is dead.”

I believed him. Clenching my jaw against the agony, I hid everything, clinging to the thought that he was a victim, just like me.

But late that night, I overheard him on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear.

“I told you to dirty her up—all to vent Mila’s anger.”

“She was violated right in front of me. With the debt of gratitude I earned taking a knife for her, the Brooklyn family heirloom will have to be mine.”

“Mila loves that antique jade box so much. I have to give it to her.”

So he could see. My suffering was his design. His blindness was an act. Every tender word, a lie.

Eyes shut tight against the pain, I turned and sent a message to someone else.

I need your help.

…

“Make a sound, and your blind fiancé is dead.”

The man’s rough hand clamped over my mouth, the greasy sweat and tobacco stench slithering into my nostrils like poison.

I struggled desperately, my nails carving bloody tracks into his arm, but he only restrained me more violently.

In despair, I wrenched my head to the side. My gaze slipped past his broad shoulder and landed on the familiar figure in the center of the living room.

Kenneth.

My fiancé.

He wore the white loungewear I’d bought him, noise-canceling headphones on, pushing a brand-new floor scrubber as he meticulously cleaned the floors of our future home.

The machine droned loudly—loud enough to drown out everything.

He couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear.

He didn’t know the woman he’d sworn to protect was being dragged into an abyss by a stranger, a demon, less than three meters away.

Tears of shame blurred my vision.

I watched him push the scrubber, coming closer, then drifting away.

His movements were graceful, focused. A faint smile even touched his lips, as if he were savoring a moment of peace.

It was the smile I loved most—clean, warm, once the only light in my dim world.

Now it felt like a poisoned blade, flaying my heart to pulp.

“Your man’s good to you, huh? Still so diligent even blind,” the assailant panted in my ear, his voice thick with mockery.

My body trembled violently—not from fear, but from a bone-deep chill spreading from my marrow.

I don’t know how long it lasted before the demon finally left, satisfied.

The door clicked softly shut.

Almost at once, the floor scrubber fell silent.

Kenneth took off his headphones and “looked” toward me with perfect accuracy, his face etched with just the right amount of concern.

“Brooklyn, was that the door just now? I thought I heard something.”

I lay curled on the cold floor like a broken doll, clothes disheveled, skin mottled with bruises.

I stared at him—at those eyes covered in special-effects scars, utterly lifeless. My throat felt stuffed with cotton and ground glass. I couldn’t speak.

He “groped” his way toward me, stumbling, nearly tripping over the coffee table.

“Brooklyn? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

His hand finally found my arm. The warmth of his fingertips brushed my skin, and I jerked back as if branded.

He froze, concern deepening. “You’re so cold. Are you sick? Brooklyn, please, don’t scare me.”

Looking at his frantic expression, hearing his gentle, trembling voice, my stomach turned.

I wanted to scream. Why, Kenneth? Why would you do this to me?

But the thug’s threat still hissed in my ears.

I couldn’t call the police. Couldn’t tell a soul. Or Kenneth would be in danger.

That’s what the bastard had whispered, over and over.

And I, pitifully, had believed him.

Battling nausea, I pushed myself up from the floor, my voice a stranger’s rasp. “It’s nothing. I’m… just tired.”

“Are you sure?” He reached out, trying to touch my cheek.

I flinched away. “I need to shower.”

Then I fled to the bathroom.

Hot water cascaded over me. I scrubbed until my skin burned, but the filth buried deep in my bones wouldn’t wash away.

The person in the mirror had hollow eyes, bloodless lips, a body mapped with shame.

I covered my mouth, sobbing silently.

I thought this was my private hell.

That if I pretended nothing happened, if I buried the secret, life could return to normal.

I still believed, naively, that he was a victim like me—kept in the dark.

Awakening from a nightmare deep in the night, I found myself slick with cold sweat.

Beside me, Kenneth slept soundly, the steady rhythm of his breathing filling the quiet room.

I slipped out of bed, moving toward the living room for a glass of water.

Just as I reached the bedroom door, a hushed, deliberately lowered voice drifted through the crack of the partially open balcony door.

Kenneth’s voice.

My feet froze.

“…Don’t worry, it was handled cleanly. The guy took the money and vanished from Ashford.”

“Brooklyn? She’s terrified out of her mind—won’t say a word. I told the guy to take all the blame, to threaten her that if she dared go to the police, he’d come after me. She’s obsessed with me. There’s no way she’d let anything happen to me.”

“Hah, tainted? That’s exactly the point. A woman who’s been soiled—who else would want her after this? No one but me. And the Brooklyn family heirloom will have to be handed over to me, nice and obedient.”

“I’m taking her to get the marriage license tomorrow. Once I have the box, I’ll deliver it straight to you.”

“Mila, be patient. Once your wedding gift is secured, we’ll celebrate properly…”

I couldn’t make out another word.

My mind went blank. All I heard was the thunderous pounding of my own heart, the roar of blood rushing in my ears.

He could see.

That assault was his own doing.

All his so-called devotion, the light he supposedly gave up for me—it was all an elaborately staged lie.

That man hadn’t been threatening me; he’d been carrying out Kenneth’s orders.

Fear of something happening to him? He was the mastermind.

My blood ran cold, icing over in my veins. My hands and feet went numb.

I wanted to scream, to rush out and tear that hypocritical mask from his face, but I didn’t even have the strength to move a finger.

Leaning back against the cold wall, I slowly slid down to the floor.

Nineteen years.

I’d known Kenneth for nineteen years.

Playing in the mud together in diapers, and later, when he became the most notorious troublemaker in all of Ashford’s social circles, I was the only little shadow trailing behind him.

When he got into gang fights, I passed him the brick.

When his father chased him down to beat him, I hid him in my family’s attic.

Everyone wondered how an old academic family like the Mus could raise such a wild child, always following Kenneth around.

But they didn’t know—when my parents died unexpectedly in that archaeological accident and the whole world seemed to abandon me, Kenneth stayed by my side. “Brook, don’t be scared,” he said. “From now on, I’m your family.”

Three years ago, to save me from a group of thugs, he injured his eyes. His world plunged into darkness.

Consumed by guilt, I swore I would take care of him for the rest of my life.

He told me, “Silly girl, I saved you willingly. Marrying you is a win for me.”

I believed him.

I believed all his sweet nothings, trusted in the love that made him risk everything for me.

I drowned in the deep affection he wove around me, willingly offering up everything I had—including the one tangible memory my parents left me, the Brooklyn family’s heirloom passed down through generations: that jade heirloom box.

According to ancestral tradition, the heirloom box could only be handed to my legal spouse on the very day we registered our marriage.

That’s why he was in such a hurry to get the license.

That’s why he engineered that brutal assault.

Just to make me ‘tainted,’ to make me cling to him desperately, and then, to hand over the heirloom box willingly… so he could give it to another woman.

Mila.

Our mutual childhood friend, his idealized first love.

That girl who always wore white dresses, whose smile seemed gentle and harmless.

So she was the one he truly wanted to marry.

And me? I was just a tool he used to seize the treasure, a stepping stone to be discarded once it had served its purpose.

Grief and rage, violent and overwhelming, engulfed me, stealing my breath.

The balcony door slid open. Kenneth’s footsteps approached.

I snapped my eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness.

“Brook?”

He walked over and gave me a gentle shake, his voice holding a trace of barely perceptible tension.

I could feel his gaze on me, sharp as a scalpel, sweeping over my face, assessing whether I was truly out or faking it.

After a few seconds, he must have decided I was genuinely passed out. Scooping me up with feigned urgency, he carried me swiftly back to the bedroom.

His movements were steady, without a hint of groping or hesitation.

How could a man blind for three years navigate a dark room with such familiarity?

As he laid me on the soft bed, I caught a faint, unfamiliar whiff of women’s perfume on him.

Mila’s favorite scent.

So tonight… he’d just come from seeing her.

My heart died completely.

Lying in the dark, I stared wide-eyed, sleepless through the rest of the night.

As dawn began to lighten the sky, I picked up my phone, scrolled to a number I hadn’t contacted in ages, and sent a single message:

—*Louis, I’m in trouble. Can you help me?*

Louis called back almost immediately.

His voice was as calm and steady as ever. “Brooklyn? What’s going on?”

Muffling the phone, I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. My voice dropped to a whisper. “Louis, I can’t talk. Just tell me—if I wanted to file charges against someone powerful here in Ashford, what are our chances?”

Silence stretched over the line.

Louis had grown up with me, Kenneth, and Mila.

But he was never like the rest of us.

He came from old-money political stock. Could’ve walked the gilded path laid out for him. Instead, he walked away and became a detective—a choice that nearly got him disowned.

In our world, he was the outlier. Right now, he was my only lifeline.

“With solid evidence,” he said, his tone leaving no room for doubt, “it doesn’t matter who they are. No one’s above the law. Trust me on this, Brooklyn.”

“I do. I trust you.”

Before hanging up, I added quietly, “Meet me at the county clerk’s office tomorrow. Ten sharp.”

…

The next morning, Kenneth was up early, humming in the kitchen while he made breakfast. His mood was suspiciously bright.

He brought a sandwich and milk to the bedside, his unseeing eyes aimed gently in my direction. “Rise and shine, Brooklyn. Eat up, then we’ll go make it official at the clerk’s office.”

I stared at the ugly scar carved into his face—a special-effects wound turned permanent. To sell the blind act, he’d mutilated his own handsome features.

A born actor.

I sat up, face blank, took the plate, and ate mechanically.

When I didn’t speak, his voice softened. “What’s wrong? Still shaken from yesterday? Don’t be. It’s over. I’ll treat you twice as good now. No one will ever hurt you again.”

I nearly choked on my milk.

Lifting my head, I locked eyes with his, searching that manufactured darkness for any crack in the performance.

“Kenneth.” I let each word land. “Do you actually love me?”

He paused, then gave a light laugh, reaching to touch my hair. “Silly question. Why would I marry you if I didn’t?”

I pulled back from his hand. “Then promise me something. After we sign the papers today—after you get the jade box—I want you to say it in front of everyone. Say that you, Kenneth, will love only Brooklyn for the rest of your life. That you’ll never betray me.”

His hand froze.

The air went still.

Then the doting mask slid back into place. He smiled, indulgent. “Of course. Anything you want, you get.”

I looked down, hiding the inferno in my eyes.

Fine, Kenneth.

You said it.

Let’s see how you handle the show Mila and I have planned for you today.

Before we left, Kenneth made sure to call all his and Mila’s old friends—said he wanted them there to witness our happiness.

I knew better. They came to watch me crawl. To see the “soiled” woman beg to marry him, hand over her family heirloom, and fund Mila’s dream wedding.

I chose a white dress with the highest collar I owned and caked concealer over the brutal marks on my neck.

In the mirror, I forced a stiff smile.

*Don’t be afraid, Brooklyn.

The gates of hell are open. And everyone who belongs there is walking right in.*