The scent of lavender oil was thick in the air, a constant reminder of my new life as a blind massage therapist.
Years ago, while proctoring an SAT exam, my sight inexplicably vanished, leaving me to navigate a world of sound and touch.
But my quiet existence shattered when two familiar voices, brimming with arrogance, drifted in: Vic Stone, boasting about cheating, and David Miller, whispering about 'the culprit' who was 'right there in the exam room' when I went blind.
My hands froze, my heart hammering as the full, horrifying realization hit me: my tragedy wasn't a freak accident, but a premeditated attack.
My entire life, my career, my very existence, had been stolen by someone in that room.
Who was this mastermind, hiding in plain sight?