His Fiancée Wanted My Eyes, But I Will Steal His Heir

“Victor, is that you?” The boy stayed quiet, trying to slip away, his face pale as a ghost.

“Victor!” Ariel grabbed his shirt, yanking herself free from Brodie Wagner’s grip. “Why won’t you talk to me?” Tears spilled down her cheeks—unstoppable, a flood of emotion she hadn’t even known was there. “It’s me. Ariel Reed. Your sister. Don’t you know me?”

She tugged down her sleeve, baring the birthmark on her shoulder. “Remember? You used to say you wanted one just like it on your back when you were little.”

Brodie watched them, his expression darkening the second he saw the birthmark.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t Mom send you back to the Lawrence family? Are you okay? You’ve grown so much…” Ariel’s words rushed out, then faded to a whisper. “I missed you so much…”

The boy stayed silent, head bowed—not denying her, not confirming anything. He just listened, unmoving, while she poured out memories and longing.

Only then did Brodie really understand why Victor had agreed to the transplant—and why he’d asked for Ariel to visit him after the surgery.

“You need to get ready,” Brodie said, pulling Ariel back before she could fire off another endless round of questions.

“Ready for what?” Ariel shot back. “Are you really going to let Victor donate for Fiona’s transplant? Is that what she meant—using the person I care about most to get back at me?”

“No. I don’t agree. I won’t allow it!” She spread her arms in front of Victor, protective as a mother hen shielding her chick. “Neither of us owes her anything. Why should he give up his sight for her?”

“His girlfriend was in an accident. She needs the money,” Brodie said.

“How much? I’ll pay it. I have money!”

“Two million dollars. Do you have it?”

The words knocked the fire right out of her. Almost instantly.

“Then… what about the Lawrence family? Victor, aren’t you the Lawrence family’s second son? Didn’t Mom send you back to them?”

Her voice wavered, her confidence draining fast. She understood: if Victor were really the Lawrence heir, none of this would be happening.

Victor stayed silent. But Brodie remembered the rumors from over a decade ago—how the Lawrence family had supposedly found an illegitimate son after their real son was kidnapped. Then the real heir came back, and nothing more was ever said about the alleged illegitimate child.

“They never had a second son,” Brodie said.

“How can that be? That’s impossible!” Ariel muttered, then realized that wasn’t the most urgent problem. She asked Brodie for his phone to make a call, but it was dead. Undeterred, she turned to Victor—but he only shook his head, either not having one or refusing to lend it. Her eyes darted around until she spotted a passerby and immediately borrowed a phone.

She dialed her grandfather Bruce Reed’s number, holding her breath. Thank God, he answered fast.

“Grandpa, I need money. Could you lend me two million? Please?”

Bruce Reed refused. Truth was, he’d never favored Ariel—his illegitimate granddaughter. Pressuring her into marrying Brodie Wagner had been pure transaction: she was the perfect match to save his beloved youngest daughter Jenny Reed’s kidneys. Her mother got the money; Ariel lost a kidney. Deal done, long ago. The fact that he’d even helped her treat Capri was a mercy. How could she expect him to block his real granddaughter’s treatment now?

She’d been fooling herself, thinking she could play him without showing her real hand. She’d overestimated herself—and underestimated Bruce’s cold indifference.

“And don’t bother Dexter Fox. He’s done enough for you,” Bruce warned, then hung up.

“Mr. Wagner. Mr. Hayes. The surgery is ready to proceed,” Dr. Zachary Thompson announced, appearing out of nowhere.

“No! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” Ariel blocked Victor, searching Brodie’s eyes. “This has to be her doing. Fiona is doing this to get back at me…”

“Was the car accident her doing, too?” Brodie asked, cold.

“Then take me instead. Brodie, I won’t use you as a bargaining chip anymore. I agree to the surgery. I agree to donate my eyes,” she declared, firm. “But Brodie, you promised me. You’ll help me see the light again. Don’t break your promise.”

Brodie frowned at her tear-filled eyes, forced to face the small part of himself he’d been denying. When Fiona’s blindness sent him into a rage, he’d locked Ariel away in an isolated cottage—anger driving him. But underneath it all was the unspoken hope that Fiona would insist on the transplant. Because he couldn’t bear to see it: the utter dimming of Ariel’s eyes.

He was captivated by those eyes—like an artist starving for inspiration, a desert craving a spring, the rare glow of fireflies on a summer night.

“It’s too late. The contract is signed, and the accident surgery is done,” Brodie said quietly. “I’ll find Victor a suitable cornea. He won’t be blind forever.”

“Take him to prep now,” he instructed Dr. Thompson, keeping his grip on Ariel’s arm.

“No! Victor, don’t go with him! I’ll think of something, I promise!” Ariel fought hard, but Brodie’s hold didn’t budge. Helpless, she watched Victor walk away with Dr. Thompson, unable to break free.

“Victor, don’t go! Please, don’t go, Victor—”

“Ariel, calm down!” Brodie gritted his teeth as her fingernails dug little crescents into his skin, his temper climbing.

Victor stopped and turned back. “Sister…” he called softly.

“Sis, you know… from the moment Mom sent me to the Lawrence family, my world went dark. That’s why I’m not scared now. Honestly? I’m happy. Because I know when this is over, you’ll be there—and my light will come back.”

He bent down and kissed Ariel’s forehead, soft—just like she used to do when they were kids.

“Wait for me.”

Ariel watched him walk farther away, every step carrying him toward the darkness—all because of her. She crumpled at Brodie’s feet, unable to even cry.

How could she deserve this?

When they were younger, their mother said Victor had gone to live with a wealthy family. Ariel had wondered if he really wanted to leave, but time and distance convinced her: a child had no say in things like that.

As an adult, she hadn’t looked for Victor. Hadn’t checked if he was okay. She’d justified it by telling herself, “Wealthy families don’t claim poor relatives.”

And now? What had she done? She was sending her own brother into darkness.

She couldn’t bear it. She wasn’t worthy of his sacrifice.

Her breathing turned erratic. Sensing it, Brodie started to kneel and check on her—but she suddenly shot up. She raised her foot to move forward, and her strength gave out. She collapsed.

He reached out and caught her awkwardly, going down to the floor with her. Thank God the fall wasn’t bad. He cradled her in his arms, taking in the cold sweat on her skin, her pale, unconscious face.