After I Restored His Sight, He Abandoned Me

The basement door creaked open, flooding the dank space with harsh light. I squinted, my eyes adjusting slowly after days in near-darkness. Lucian's silhouette appeared in the doorway, immaculate in his wedding-day tuxedo.

"Tomorrow's the big day," he said, his voice eerily calm as he descended the stairs. "I thought you might want to know what's in store for you."

I remained silent, conserving what little strength I had left. My broken arm throbbed relentlessly, and the bruises from Tiffany's "tests" had turned my body into a canvas of purple and yellow.

"After the honeymoon," Lucian continued, circling me slowly, "I've made special arrangements for you."

He knelt before me, his gray eyes—the ones I'd restored with my own hands—studying me with clinical detachment.

"I've found a surgeon who specializes in lobotomies," he said casually, as if discussing a business transaction. "Nothing too drastic. Just enough to... simplify you."

My heart stuttered. "To what?"

"To what you were always meant to be." His fingers brushed my cheek, and I flinched. "A pet. My pet. Forever."

The casual cruelty of it stole my breath. "You never loved me," I whispered.

Something flickered in his eyes—not guilt, but annoyance at being questioned.

"Love?" He laughed, the sound hollow in the concrete space. "You were convenient, Esther. A tool to get what I needed."

He stood, straightening his cuffs. "The procedure will be quick. You'll still be able to follow simple commands. Fetch things. Warm my bed."

"And if I refuse?"

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then I'll have you killed. Either way, you'll serve your purpose."

I looked up at him, really looked at him, and saw nothing of the man I thought I'd saved. The last ember of affection died inside me, replaced by something cold and crystalline.

"Enjoy the light while you can," I whispered.

His expression darkened. "What did you say?"

"Enjoy the light while you can," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "You never know when it might be taken away."

---

"Get her cleaned up," Tiffany ordered the maid. "I don't want her stinking up my wedding."

The woman's hands trembled as she washed my face and arms, avoiding eye contact. I understood her fear—these people destroyed lives without thinking twice.

"Good enough," Tiffany declared after inspecting me. "Now, the cloak."

The heavy black garment swallowed me whole, concealing my battered body and filthy clothes. Only my face remained visible, a mask of bruises and determination.

"You'll carry my train," Tiffany instructed, her voice syrupy with false sweetness. "And you'll stand in the shadows behind the altar."

Lucian appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable. "Is this necessary?"

"Absolutely," Tiffany insisted. "I want her to see everything she lost."

He shrugged. "Fine. But if she makes one wrong move—"

"She won't," Tiffany interrupted. "Because I've arranged for a sniper."

She leaned close to my ear. "One wrong move, and you die. Remember that."

---

The Hamptons estate sprawled across manicured lawns that ended at a dramatic cliff overlooking the Atlantic. White chairs lined a makeshift aisle leading to an altar draped in flowers and crystal.

I stood in the shadows behind the altar, the weight of the cloak oppressive in the summer heat. My broken arm throbbed with each heartbeat, but I barely noticed the pain anymore.

The string quartet began playing Pachelbel's Canon, and guests rose as Tiffany appeared at the end of the aisle. She was breathtaking in ivory silk that cascaded like water around her feet—my feet, actually, as I carried the train.

Lucian waited at the altar, his eyes fixed on his bride. The officiant, a silver-haired man with kind eyes, began the ceremony.

"Dearly beloved..."

I scanned the perimeter discreetly, noting the positions of Lucian's security team. And then I saw it—a tiny glint of sunlight reflecting off something metallic in the distant treeline.

Not a sniper rifle.

A signal.

My father's team was in position.

I straightened my posture imperceptibly, the cloak suddenly feeling less like a prison and more like a disguise. Behind the altar, hidden from the guests, my fingers found the small communication device that had been slipped to me during my "cleaning."

Three taps. The signal to proceed.

"Before we continue," the officiant said, "is there anyone who objects to this union?"

The traditional pause. The expected silence.

I stepped forward.

The cloak dropped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet like spilled ink.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as they took in my appearance—the bruises, the dried blood, the clearly broken arm.

"What is this?" someone demanded.

"Who is she?" another voice called out.

Lucian's face contorted with rage. He signaled to his guards with a sharp motion—the signal to eliminate me.

But they didn't move.

Instead, the sound system crackled to life, and my father's voice boomed across the lawn, overriding the officiant's microphone.

"This venue is now under my control," he announced, his tone deceptively calm. "I suggest everyone remain seated."

Lucian's eyes widened as he finally understood what was happening. "This is impossible," he whispered.

I met his gaze steadily. "Nothing is impossible," I replied softly. "Not even justice."