The Fake Blind Heiress's Sweet Revenge

The heavy, suffocating darkness that had trapped Aurora for six months finally fractured.

She blinked. Once. Twice. The blurry shapes above her slowly sharpened into the intricate plaster moldings of her penthouse bedroom ceiling. The crisp morning light filtering through the sheer curtains sent a sharp, physical ache straight to the back of her retinas.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Her fingers dug into the silk sheets. She could see. The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water, shocking her nervous system into overdrive.

She pushed herself up. Her arm muscles trembled violently, weak from months of careful, hesitant movements. She threw off the covers, her bare feet hitting the freezing hardwood floor. The cold grounded her.

Then, she heard it.

A low, breathy moan echoed from the end of the hallway. It was a sound that sliced through the quiet morning, sharp and unmistakable.

Aurora's stomach twisted into a tight, painful knot. She turned her head toward her nightstand. Her white cane rested against the mahogany wood. Her fingers hovered over the grip, but she pulled her hand back. She didn't need it. Not right now.

She walked out of the bedroom, her bare feet making no sound. The bright light in the hallway made her eyes water, tears spilling hot down her cheeks as she forced herself to keep them open.

She stopped outside the guest room. The heavy oak door was cracked open, spilling a warm, yellow light into the corridor. The sounds were louder now. Wet, rhythmic, and accompanied by a high-pitched giggle that made bile rise in Aurora's throat.

She leaned closer, peering through the narrow gap.

Her heart completely stopped. The air vanished from her lungs.

On the center of the king-sized bed, her fiancé, Jaren Sweeney, was tangled in the sheets with her adoptive sister, Hilary Russo.

Hilary threw her head back, laughing that familiar, grating laugh. She ran her hands through Jaren's hair, pulling him closer.

"When are we finally getting her trust fund, Jaren?" Hilary asked, her voice dripping with sweet poison. "I'm sick of waiting."

Jaren kissed her neck, his hands moving over her skin. "Today. As soon as that homeless proxy signs the marriage certificate with her, the money defaults to my control. The blind bitch won't suspect a thing."

A wave of pure, physical nausea hit Aurora so hard she had to press her hand against the wall to stay upright. Her blood turned to ice. The man who had held her hand in the hospital, the sister who had cried by her bedside-they were dissecting her life like vultures.

She didn't think. Her body moved on pure, raw adrenaline.

She shoved the heavy oak door. It slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

The two figures on the bed froze instantly. Jaren whipped his head around, his eyes wide with sheer panic as they locked onto Aurora.

Hilary let out a piercing scream, scrambling backward and pulling the white duvet up to her chin. Her eyes darted around, flashing with a brief, ugly annoyance at being caught.

Jaren practically fell off the bed, grabbing his silk robe from the floor and shoving his arms into the sleeves. He stumbled, trying to pull the robe around himself, his hands fumbling wildly with the sash in a pathetic display of panic, and forced his voice into that sickeningly gentle tone he always used with her.

"Aurora? Sweetheart, why didn't you knock?"

He took a step toward her. He raised his hand and waved his fingers directly in front of her face, testing her.

Aurora's jaw clamped shut so hard her teeth ached. She stared straight ahead, forcing her eye muscles to relax, letting her gaze go completely unfocused and empty. She didn't blink. She didn't flinch.

"Why are there noises coming from my guest room?" Aurora asked. Her voice was flat, devoid of the violent storm ripping through her chest.

Hilary caught on immediately. Seeing Aurora's blank stare, she let out a fake, trembling sob.

"Oh, Aurora," Hilary cried, her voice thick with manufactured pity. "I was just helping Jaren change the bandages on his shoulder. It hurts him so much."

Jaren stepped closer, his patience snapping. He reached out and grabbed Aurora's wrist. His grip was brutal, his fingers digging into her fragile bones.

"Let's go back to your room," Jaren ordered, his gentle tone completely gone, replaced by a cold, hard edge. He yanked her arm, trying to drag her out of the doorway.

Aurora fought back. She twisted her arm, her fingernails sinking deep into the back of Jaren's hand, drawing a thin line of blood.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed, her voice cracking.

Jaren hissed in pain. His face twisted into an ugly snarl. He raised his hand, balling it into a fist, ready to strike the blind woman who dared to defy him.

Before his arm could swing down, the electronic lock on the front door beeped, the temporary access card Jaren had provided for the proxy signing functioning perfectly. Then, the heavy oak door was kicked open with an explosive crack.

Heavy, purposeful footsteps stormed down the hallway, carrying a freezing, terrifying pressure.

A man appeared in the doorway. He was tall, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He wore a cheap, faded jacket, but the dark, murderous look in his eyes belonged to an apex predator.

He lunged forward. His massive hand clamped around Jaren's raised wrist.

A sickening crunch of bone echoed in the room.

Jaren let out an agonizing, high-pitched scream, his knees buckling instantly.

The man didn't hesitate. He tossed Jaren backward like a piece of garbage. Jaren slammed into the corner of the wall, clutching his broken wrist and sobbing.

The man stepped in front of Aurora, his broad back completely shielding her from the bed.

"Who the hell are you?" Jaren screamed, his face pale and sweating.

The man looked down at Jaren, his jaw tight, his eyes dead and cold.

"I'm her husband," he said.