Chapter 9

Rosalie's POV

The afternoon after we registered, I asked Gemma to come over to the apartment that evening. I was ready to settle every account I had with Bryce.

I dug out every gift Bryce had given me over the years. Diamond bracelets, limited-edition handbags, a whole wardrobe of couture gowns.

I looked at them one by one, and suddenly realized—not a single one was something I'd ever truly wanted.

They were all things he imagined a woman ought to love. He'd never once asked what I liked.

I drew a deep breath and patted my cheeks. Pull yourself together, Rosalie! It's not too late to wake up! I packed them all, contacted an anonymous auction house, and donated every cent of the proceeds to the burn ward. The relief came with a dull ache, like pulling a tooth that had gone bad long ago.

Sorting through the old things, I counted up something else: the paper I'd turned down for him, the two offers I'd declined, the three industry conferences I'd missed. Those were the truly precious things—the ones I'd thrown into the fire with my own hands.

Because I gave up my studies, the company fell into my stepfather's hands.

The dividends from the cutting-edge products I'd developed were withheld under every excuse imaginable, and the medical bills piled up into a mountain.

And these gifts happened to be just enough to cover them. Using what he'd given me to pay off the debts I'd taken on for him. You could call it putting them to good use.

Before I knew it, I'd tidied up right into the evening. After I set up the surveillance and recording equipment, Gemma arrived early. "Don't worry, Rose, I'll keep you safe!"

Gemma's reassuring voice gave me enormous courage. She cracked her knuckles, itching to teach Bryce a lesson. Seeing that the time was nearly up, I ushered her into my room to hide.

I walked into the bathroom and splashed water on my face.

The woman in the mirror—blonde hair, green eyes, not a single scar on her face. That haze in my eyes, the one soaked in three years of "devotion," had cleared. In its place was something cold and bright—the sharpness I'd had at eighteen, when I first walked into the MIT lab.

I was going to take it back. All of it.

Starting tonight.

At eight o'clock sharp, the doorbell rang.

I adjusted my sunglasses and glanced toward the room where Gemma was hidden. The red light was on. Gemma crouched in the bedroom, the door left ajar.

Everything was ready.

"Come in, it's unlocked." I turned my "gaze" toward the wall at an angle in front of me.

"Baby." Bryce pushed the door open, deliberately lowering his voice into false tenderness. "You moving out on your own—I've been worried sick, couldn't sleep all night. With your eyes like this, how can you manage on your own?"

I caught two scents. His cold, woody cologne, and that cloying sweetness of Chloe's, tangled together.

"I've heard some things." I kept my head down, my voice soft, testing. "At the party... someone said you and Chloe..."

"That's nonsense." He cut me off at once, walked over, and crouched in front of me, taking my hands, his tone earnest enough to drip honey. "Rosalie, listen to me. You're the only one I love. All these years, that's never changed. Those people gossip—don't believe a word of it."

I turned my "gaze" toward the empty air behind his shoulder and let my eyes redden just enough. "Really?"

"Of course it's real." He pressed my hand to his chest. "Can you feel it? This heart of mine beats only for you."

Meanwhile, his other hand rested on Chloe's waist.

Chloe was wearing a dark, low-cut dress today, her chest half-exposed, bending down to rub herself against Bryce, putting the whole view right in front of his eyes. He thought I couldn't see.

I nodded, "moved," and drew my hand back. "Now that you're here, I feel at ease."

"Silly girl." Bryce settled onto the sofa across from me, the leather creaking as it sank. Then came a second sink—Chloe sat down beside him, practically pressed against his side.

"Rosalie." Chloe's voice was soft enough to wring water from. "Don't take offense at what I'm about to say. But aren't you being a little petty?"

"What do you mean?"

"You believe every rumor you hear." She sighed. "Bryce has worried himself half to death over you, and here you are, doubting him. Behavior like this—it just breaks a person's heart."

As she spoke, she laid her hand on Bryce's knee and slowly slid it upward.

I lowered my eyes, my nails digging into my palm.

"I'm not doubting him." My voice was faint. "It's just... I can't see. It leaves me uncertain."

"If you can't see, all the more reason to be sensible." Chloe's tone stayed gentle. "The state you're in now—who wouldn't find it a burden? Yet Bryce hasn't complained once. And still you throw a tantrum and move out. Have you ever thought about how it makes him look?"

By now that hand had slid into the waistband of his trousers.

Bryce's breath dropped sharply. He coughed to cover it.

"Chloe, don't talk to her like that." He scolded with his mouth, but his body didn't move an inch, letting that hand carry on. "Rosalie's had it rough."

"I know I shouldn't say it." Chloe put on an aggrieved tone. "But I really do think you deserve better. Rosalie, right now... let me be honest with you—are you still the person you used to be? You need to be clear about your situation. Do you still think you're the high-and-mighty young lady of the Fairfax family? Your eyes are gone, and who knows what your face looks like now. And the company isn't yours to run anymore. Trust me—apart from Bryce, who else would ever want you?" Chloe's voice still sounded so very understanding.

If I couldn't see, right at that moment, just how "understanding" she was being while jerking off my ex-boyfriend, I might have actually believed her!

A wave of sourness rose in my stomach.

For three months, day after day, I'd held his hand and listened to him say, "In my eyes, you'll always be the most beautiful." And in the world I couldn't see, this was how they sat before me.

"It's my fault for being unreasonable." I bowed my head, my voice trembling. "Bryce, am I completely useless like this?"

"Don't think that way." His voice was flawlessly gentle. "You're just a patient right now. You don't need to worry about anything else."

In the same second, he reached out and hauled Chloe's whole body onto his lap. She straddled him, her skirt sliding up to the top of her thighs, that half-exposed chest pressing right up to his eyes. His hand slipped into her neckline and began to knead roughly.

That stifled, wet, sticky gasp landed barely a meter away from me.

Three months. For three months, Chloe had moved into my home under the banner of "caring for her blind cousin." Things like this—how many times had they done them, in the darkness I thought was mine?

I nearly threw up on the spot.

"About the wedding..." I forced the words out. "The trust needs the original from the marriage registry. When can I get it?"

The movement on the sofa paused for half a second.

"You don't need to worry about these little details." His voice was slightly hoarse. "I've taken care of all the documents. I'll bring a few things over tomorrow—all you have to do is sign."

"Sign what?"

"Just procedural stuff." His breathing was unsteady, his words coming faster. "The change of trust beneficiary, the equity holding authorization. You can't see, and reading would only tire you out—I'll just read them aloud to you."

"The same as that marriage certificate before?"

"The same." It slipped out of him, and then he laughed. "Silly girl, would I ever read you anything false?"

Good. That was on the recording.

"Then what about the day of the fire?" I raised my head. "Why didn't you save me?"

"Baby, haven't we already talked about this?" He sighed. "The smoke was too thick that day—I simply couldn't see you. I'm sorry, it was my fault."

"You led Chloe out."

"I was right beside her." Chloe cut in at once, her voice quick and soft. "Rosalie, how can you blame him for that? You rushed in to save people—that was your own choice, nobody begged you to. Don't hang that debt around his neck, all right?"

As she said this, she was undoing his shirt buttons, one, two.

The first day I woke up in the hospital, that was exactly what I'd asked: "Why didn't you save me?" And that was the answer he'd given me then, too.

And I'd believed it. For three whole months, I'd clung to that "I couldn't see" and invented a hundred excuses to absolve him.

I really wanted to slap that lovestruck fool of a self awake.

"She's right." Bryce's voice dropped low, carrying a kind of condescending patience. "Rosalie, you know full well how I've treated you these past months. Consider it repaying me—stop making a scene. I'll go through with the wedding, and every socialite in Boston will be there. What I'm giving you is already more than anyone else would."

"That's right, Rosalie." Chloe panted. "You should just count yourself lucky."

Enough. More than enough.

I took off my sunglasses.

Those newly recovered green eyes were cold as ice, aimed straight at the two of them tangled together on the sofa.

"Bryce." I said it word by word. "Does that little thing of yours only get hard in front of a blind woman?"

The movement on the sofa froze mid-air.

"Or is it—" I set the sunglasses on my knee, my voice flat enough to send a chill down the spine. "—that without this blind woman here to watch, the two of you can't even spring for a hotel room? You have to crawl into my home to get your grubby little thrill?"

Chloe's hand froze inside his open shirt, her skirt still hitched up to her thighs, every trace of that gentleness shattered on her face.

The color drained clean out of Bryce's face.