1 Harrison Bennett married me out of sheer obligation. For three years, he treated me like the rarest porcelain, promising over and over that he would find a donor match for my corneas. And because I was blind, he never bothered to guard his words around me. The muffled cadence of his voice drifted from the half-open door of his study, accompanied by Arthur, his personal assistant: "Mr. Bennett, we secured a matching donor cornea over a month ago. Do you still not intend to schedule the transplant for Mrs. Bennett?" Arthur’s words struck me like a physical blow. Harrison had found a match weeks ago. All this time, he had been lying to my face. My fingers curled into the fabric of my skirt, knuckles whitening as I fought the urge to storm into that room and demand the truth. Instead, my knees buckled, and I sank quietly against the hallway wall, pulling my knees to my chest in the dark. Arthur’s voice pressed through the heavy oak door. "Mrs. Bennett is gentle, sir. She is truly devoted to you. She isn't like the socialites who only care about your money." Inside, the steady, rhythmic tapping of Harrison’s knuckles against polished walnut rang out—sharp, deliberate, and cold. "Arthur," Harrison said, his tone devoid of warmth. "What did Brooke give you to make you plead her case?" "I simply feel sorry for her," Arthur replied, the truth detonating in my ears like thunder. "To protect Miss Audrey’s happiness, you gave Mrs. Bennett’s corneas to Miss Audrey’s fiancé. Mrs. Bennett lives in complete darkness. She bruises herself constantly just trying to walk across a room." My breath caught in my throat. When I first met Harrison Bennett, my vision had been flawless. He was sitting on a hospital bench in standard-issue cotton scrubs, a thick band of white medical gauze wrapped around his eyes. He was undeniably striking, with sharp cheekbones and a clean, aristocratic jawline that drew quiet, giggling stares from the nurses and visiting girls in the ward. I didn't steal glances. I looked at him openly. The closest I ever stood to him, he suddenly tilted his chin toward me. "Why didn't you come by yesterday?" I froze, startled. Can a blind man see through gauze? As if reading my silence, a faint smile curved his lips. "You smell like lavender." I looked down at my faded cardigan, self-conscious. "It’s just cheap laundry detergent." "It’s nice," he murmured. His profile was breathtaking—more handsome than anyone I had ever known in my small, suffocating corner of the world. What a shame, I had thought, that he was blind. Then, possessed by some reckless impulse, I blurted out, "If you let me look at your face properly just once, I'll give you my corneas. How about that?" That morning, the clinic had handed me a terminal cancer diagnosis. My parents refused to spend a single cent on my treatment; every penny of their savings was reserved for my younger brother’s upcoming wedding. They had already discarded me. I had no intention of clinging to a life that didn't want me, and I knew no one would remember I had ever existed. Except, perhaps, the man who would carry my sight in his eyes. After the surgery, my world went entirely black. Harrison came to my bedside a few days later. "Brooke," he said softly, his voice trembling with an emotion I had mistaken for remorse. "You don't have cancer. There was a mix-up with the patient queue numbers in the pathology lab." "What great news," I whispered, the words dying in my throat before they could form real sound. Unloved by my parents, replaced by my brother’s new bride, I had nowhere to return. And now, blind and broken, I had no means of surviving on my own. Harrison reached down, taking my trembling fingers into his warm, firm grip. "Brooke, I will take care of you for the rest of your life." Six months later, we signed our marriage license at City Hall. There was no white gown, no ceremony, no reception. Everyone in his social circle whispered that Harrison Bennett had married down purely out of moral debt. And for three years, I had believed that exact narrative. Yet, behind closed doors, he played the devoted husband so thoroughly that his high-society friends routinely mocked him for it. "Harrison, just buy the girl another set of corneas and be done with it," I once heard one of them sneer when they thought I was asleep upstairs. "Why shackle your entire life to a charity case?" "She’s a nobody from nowhere," another piped up. "No family, plain looks, completely severed ties with her folks. What good does having a wife like that do for your standing?" "Well, at least she cut off her leech of a family. Saved Harrison the headache of buying out in-laws." "Still, she’s cold. She doesn't belong in our circle." Harrison would let them talk until their glasses were empty before offering a quiet, unyielding rebuke. "Brooke is my wife. That isn't up for debate." Eventually, Harrison stopped inviting his friends to the house. They drank at private lounges in the city instead. Once, past midnight, one of his friends dialed my phone from a noisy bar. "Hey, sis-in-law, Harrison’s completely trashed. Why don't you drive down and pick him up?" In the background, a chorus of drunken laughter erupted. "Are you out of your mind? Calling a blind girl for a pickup?" The line went silent, but I stayed on the receiver for a long time, listening to the dial tone without realizing they had hung up. Harrison didn't come home that night. The next morning, he brought home warm, fresh crab bisque to apologize, wrapping his arms around me and swearing he would never drink to excess again. I wasn't upset because he had stayed out. I was upset because I felt like dead weight—a useless, hollow shell incapable of doing a single thing for the man I loved. And all this time, Harrison knew how desperately I craved the light. Arthur had already secured the tissue, yet Harrison refused to schedule the operation. Why did he despise me so much? Groping along the baseboards, I crept back to our bedroom on silent feet. Harrison had a mountain of paperwork to review and didn't leave his study for hours. I sat in the darkness, struggling to regulate my breathing, before feeling my way toward the nightstand to pour a glass of water. Footsteps echoed softly in the hallway. The door opened, followed by the crisp click of the wall switch. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" Harrison’s voice was velvet smooth, rich with tenderness. A wave of cool, woody agarwood cologne washed over me as his tall frame cast a shadow over my space. His warm hand closed around my wrist, steadying me as he guided me gently down onto the edge of the mattress. Though I couldn't see him, I felt the shift in air as he dropped to one knee before me, his long fingers gently brushing stray hairs from my forehead. I swallowed, my voice small and tight. "I didn't realize the light was off." His fingers stilled for a fraction of a second. "I'm sorry," he whispered, genuine regret lacing his tone. I shook my head, leaning forward to wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face against his collar. "Harrison... being blind is terrifying. Have they found a matching donor yet? Can we do the surgery soon?" I didn't know if this display of vulnerability would move him. I couldn't see his face to search for a crack in his armor. Harrison’s body stiffened beneath my touch. But almost instantly, his arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. He pressed a soft kiss into my hair. "Soon, Brooke. The moment we find a compatible donor, I’ll book the operating room immediately." A chill spread through my chest, settling deep in my bones. If I hadn't overheard his conversation with Arthur just moments ago, I would have melted into his arms, overwhelmed by his counterfeit devotion. He never intended for me to see again. He wanted me confined to this luxurious, gilded cage forever. Dark, ugly thoughts spiraled through my head. What did he gain by keeping me blind? Was it to make his rendezvous with Audrey Miller easier? Perhaps they stood right in front of me in this very room, kissing passionately while I stared blankly ahead, oblivious. After all, what could a blind woman prove? The entire estate was staffed by Harrison’s loyal employees. None of them would dare breathe a word to me. Behind my back, they probably looked at the legitimate Mrs. Bennett with a sickening mixture of pity and contempt. Even if it was all speculation, the fire in my chest burned through my throat, bitter and suffocating. "Brooke?" Harrison murmured, noticing my silence. He lifted the back of his hand to my forehead. "Are you feeling unwell? Should I call the doctor?" I grabbed his hand, lowering it, and shook my head. "No. Just tired." Harrison slid off my slippers and pulled the heavy duvet over my shoulders. Just as he finished, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it, and when he spoke, his voice took on a polished, corporate veneer. "Brooke, an urgent matter came up at the office. I might have to stay overnight. Don't wait up for me, all right? Get some sleep." The bedroom fell completely quiet. He was gone. I turned over on my side, clutching a pillow tightly against my chest, piecing together the fractured history I had gathered over three years. Audrey Miller. I had heard his friends mention her name in passing, though I had never met her. I had never paid it any mind because Audrey had a fiancé. From what little I had pieced together, Harrison, Audrey, and a man named Nicholas Hayes had grown up together in the same elite neighborhood. Inseparable childhood friends. When I first learned of Audrey’s existence, an involuntary twinge of jealousy had surfaced. Harrison had laughed it off back then, kissing my cheek. "They were childhood sweethearts. I was just the third wheel." I had kept quiet, but a private sense of relief had bloomed in my chest. I never questioned it again. Besides, after our wedding, Harrison rarely brought up either of them. Now, the puzzle pieces locked violently into place. Harrison had always envied Nicholas Hayes. Yet, because he loved Audrey Miller above all else, he had taken my corneas to restore Nicholas’s sight so Audrey wouldn't have to marry a blind man. And if my corneas were inside Nicholas Hayes’s eyes... whose corneas was Harrison using right now? Harrison didn't return that night. Exhaustion took over, dragging me into a fitful sleep. The following morning, after finishing breakfast, I dismissed the maid and made my way alone to the courtyard garden. I had lived in this house for three years. I knew every turn, every brick, every incline by heart—learned through countless bruised shins and skinned knees. Because I lacked vision, my hearing had sharpened to a razor's edge. The crunch of gravel signaled two sets of footsteps approaching from the stone pathway. Instinctively, I shrank back, crouching low behind the overgrown boxwood hedge. A woman’s voice drifted through the morning breeze, light and melodic, calling my husband’s private name: "Harrison, the garden looks breathtaking." My mind drifted. I had once asked him, "Why do your friends always call you 'Bennett' or 'Harry,' but never 'Harrison' the way your mother does?" He had toyed with my fingers, speaking casually: "Because I don't let them." It wasn't a family privilege. It was Audrey’s exclusive right. "What kind of roses are these?" Audrey asked. Compared to her sweetness, Harrison’s voice was reserved, almost clinical, yet he answered patiently: "They're called Amour de Molène. They bloom in May and repeat continuously until the first hard frost." A mocking smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Amour de Molène. When I had brushed my hands across those exact velvety petals and asked Harrison what they were, he had simply brushed it aside, telling me they were just ordinary landscape shrubs. The difference between love and indifference was really that simple. Audrey’s tone suddenly dipped into sorrow. "Harrison... are you still angry with me?" "No," he said stiffly. A trace of quiet triumph flickered in Audrey’s voice as she pressed on: "Then why did you marry Brooke? You rushed to the courthouse the moment my engagement to Nicholas was announced." She took a step closer to him. "Were you doing it out of spite?" "Harrison, there was no reason to marry a woman you don't love just to throw your own happiness away." Audrey let out a shaky breath. "Even if you wanted to marry someone, it shouldn't have been Brooke. Do you have any idea what people in our circle say behind your back?" "They say you lost your mind. They say you degraded yourself by taking in a blind stray." Degraded himself? My fingernails dug so deeply into my palms that the skin nearly broke. Did I force Harrison Bennett to marry me? Did I beg him to play the savior? Harrison dodged her question, keeping his voice measured. "I have a responsibility toward Brooke. It's my penance." He looked at Audrey, a hint of reprimand entering his tone. "Audrey, you shouldn't speak of Brooke that way. Both you and Nicholas owe her." Audrey’s voice grew thick with tears. "Harrison... have you fallen in love with her?" "No." The denial left his lips instantly, without half a second of hesitation. Seeing her weep, his resolve seemed to crumble, and he let out a defeated sigh. "Marrying Brooke... yes, part of it was out of spite. But Audrey, you didn't care back then, did you?" Harrison’s laugh was self-deprecating. "I had the ring and the custom gown ready. Both tailored to your exact measurements. If you had come to me just once, I would have found another way to compensate Brooke, and I would have married only you." "But Audrey, you never came." His tone was quiet, but underneath it lay a reservoir of raw, unhealed grief. Audrey sobbed openly, leaning into him. "I'm sorry... Harrison, I'm so sorry." Harrison hesitated for a fraction of a second before gathering her into his arms, his hand gently stroking her long hair. I stayed crouched behind the hedge until my legs were completely numb, waiting for the reunited lovers to part. A sharp, searing pain tore through my chest, and a single, warm tear dropped onto the back of my hand. I wiped my face and took a silent, ragged breath. If nothing else, Harrison still felt a shred of guilt toward me. And I intended to use every last drop of that guilt. That evening, as Harrison sat across from me at the dining table, he noticed the small white bandage wrapped around my index finger. His voice darkened with immediate authority. "What happened to Mrs. Bennett’s hand?" Before the head maid could speak, I quickly lowered my head and whispered, "Harrison, don't be angry. It was my own fault. I knocked over a glass on the nightstand and cut myself while trying to pick up the pieces. It doesn't hurt anymore." I reached out blindly, catching the sleeve of his tailored suit, pulling on the fabric with trembling fingers. "Harrison... am I completely useless? I can't do anything right. All I do is make messes for other people to clean up." Without a word, Harrison swept me into his arms and carried me upstairs to our bedroom. He knelt on the hardwood floor with an antiseptic kit, carefully re-dressing my wound. I reached out tentatively, letting my fingertips trace the sharp line of his jaw and the bridge of his nose. "When you were blind," I murmured softly, "how did you survive it?" Everyone had claimed I trapped Harrison by demanding marriage as repayment. In the past, I had never brought up the hospital days, clinging to the childish delusion that he had married me because he genuinely cared. Now, I didn't want his heart. I only wanted my eyes back. Because only when I could see again would I have the power to walk away from him forever. From that day forward, I stopped isolating myself in the bedroom. I spent my afternoons sitting in the common areas, gently chatting with the housekeeping staff. Gradually, their hushed whispers shifted from "that blind girl" to "poor Mrs. Bennett." I smiled faintly at the pity, untouched by it. Until one afternoon, standing near the study, I overheard Harrison and Arthur speaking once more—and my dead heart suddenly hammered against my ribs. "Mr. Bennett, why have you changed your mind about scheduling the cornea transplant for Mrs. Bennett?" Harrison’s voice carried a distinct lightness, almost buoyant. "Audrey and Nicholas are heading for a divorce." Arthur immediately caught his drift, though his tone held a rare note of hesitation. "And Mrs. Bennett? What will happen to her?" Harrison answered casually, as though discussing the disposal of old furniture: "I’ll hire the top ophthalmologist in the country to restore her sight. Once she recovers, I'll set up a trust fund and send her abroad. She won't be around to disrupt Audrey and me." He paused, adding with a trace of detachment, "I wronged Brooke back then by using her corneas to smooth Audrey’s path. But I couldn't stand by and watch Audrey marry a blind man and become the laughingstock of the city. Audrey was born into high society; she isn't built to endure ridicule." My throat went dry, but I didn't dare swallow, terrified of making a sound. Audrey was born delicate and noble. Was I born cheap and worthless? Fit only to be kept in the dark, discarded as a stepping stone for someone else's fairy tale? A bitter taste spread across my tongue, seeping down into my lungs until every breath burned. Then, Harrison delivered the final blow: "For an ordinary girl with no family or standing like Brooke, having her corneas used to pave Audrey’s way was already the greatest privilege of her life."
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