After I Restored His Sight, He Abandoned Me

The elevator ascended with stomach-lurching speed, carrying me to the top floor of Wright Tower. My reflection in the polished doors looked small, almost fragile—a far cry from the confident woman who had once commanded boardrooms alongside my father.

I clutched my purse tighter, feeling the weight of the birthday gift still inside. The cufflinks seemed to mock me now, a reminder of my foolishness.

"Ms. Bennett." The receptionist barely glanced up as I approached. "Mr. Wright is expecting you."

Of course he was. This meeting was as calculated as everything else in Lucian's new life.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office offered a panoramic view of Manhattan—a kingdom he surveyed with cold satisfaction. Lucian stood with his back to me, Tiffany at his side, her manicured fingers tracing patterns on his arm.

"You came," he said without turning, his voice devoid of warmth.

"I needed to hear it from you," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt. "After everything we've been through."

He turned then, and I barely recognized the man before me. The humble, grateful Lucian had vanished, replaced by someone with calculating eyes and a predator's smile.

"Esther." My name sounded like a business transaction on his lips. "I assume you've heard the news."

"Your engagement announcement?" I stepped forward. "On my birthday, no less."

Tiffany's laugh tinkled like breaking glass. "How unfortunate for you."

Two security guards materialized at the door, their presence making my skin crawl. Lucian noted my discomfort with clinical detachment.

"Let's be direct," he said, gesturing to a chair. "I need a wife with Tiffany's social standing to secure the board's confidence."

"And what do you need me for?" I asked, remaining standing.

Something flickered in his eyes—not remorse, but irritation at my defiance.

"I've become... accustomed to you." He reached into his pocket and produced a small key, sliding it across the desk. "There's an apartment in Tribeca. Fully furnished. You'll have your own entrance."

I stared at the key, understanding dawning with sickening clarity.

"You want me to be your mistress," I whispered.

"I want you to be practical," he countered. "We had something real, Esther. Something I'm not prepared to give up entirely."

Tiffany's smile widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Lucian has always been particular about his... preferences. He's used to your scent, your touch."

The casual cruelty of her words stole my breath. This wasn't jealousy—this was something far worse. They were in this together.

I picked up the key, feeling its cold weight in my palm. Then, with deliberate slowness, I placed it back on the desk.

"No," I said simply.

Lucian's expression hardened. "No?"

"I won't be your dirty secret." My hand moved before I could think, connecting with his cheek in a sharp slap that echoed through the office.

For a moment, genuine shock registered on his face—then something darker took its place.

"You misunderstand your position," he said quietly, rubbing his cheek. "You think you have choices here?"

He nodded to the guards, who moved with practiced efficiency.

"If you won't submit willingly," Lucian said as strong hands gripped my arms, "you'll be taught your place."

The last thing I saw before darkness claimed me was Tiffany's triumphant smile.

---

Consciousness returned in fragments—the smell of damp concrete, the taste of blood in my mouth, the ache of restraints biting into my wrists.

I opened my eyes to darkness broken only by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. My head throbbed as I tried to orient myself.

"Finally awake, princess?"

Tiffany's voice came from the shadows. She emerged like a specter, her perfect features twisted with malicious delight.

"Do you like our little guest house?" She circled me slowly. "The Wright family has owned this villa for generations. Completely soundproof, isolated from the main property."

I tried to speak, but my parched throat produced only a raspy sound.

"Don't bother," Tiffany said, pressing a cool cloth to my lips. "Scream all you want. No one will hear you."

The basement had been transformed into something from a nightmare—restraints, devices with sinister purposes, cameras mounted in corners.

"Why?" I managed to ask.

Tiffany tilted her head, studying me like an interesting specimen. "Why not? You're nothing but a peasant who stumbled into something she couldn't handle."

She reached out suddenly, her nails digging into my cheek. "Look at this skin—so rough, so ordinary." Her lip curled in disgust. "I doubt it will handle what we have planned."

Behind her, a door opened, casting harsh light across the concrete floor. A figure appeared in silhouette, watching us with predatory interest.

"Is our guest comfortable?" Lucian asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

Tiffany turned to him with a predatory smile. "Not yet," she replied. "But she will be—one way or another."