Hidden Identity: Becoming the mafia heiress after being blind

I kept my face carefully blank as they finished, every muscle in my body rigid with the effort of appearing oblivious. Marcus pulled away from Tifa, pressing one last lingering kiss to her lips.

"I'll get us some towels," he murmured, his voice tender in a way I hadn't heard in years.

"Don't be long," she replied, stretching languidly across our bed.

The bathroom door clicked shut. The shower started running.

My heart hammered so violently I feared she might hear it. I kept my gaze unfocused, my posture relaxed, though every nerve ending screamed for me to run, to scream, to throw something.

The bed creaked. Footsteps padded across our hardwood floor, her bare feet approaching me. The scent of expensive perfume mingled with sex filled my nostrils as Tifa stopped directly in front of my chair.

I felt her scrutinizing me, studying my face. Her naked body stood inches from mine, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from her skin.

She leaned down, her face level with mine. I maintained my vacant stare, the same empty gaze I'd perfected.

Tifa waved her hand in front of my eyes. I didn't blink. Didn't react.

She moved closer, her breath warm against my cheek. Her lips formed words directly in front of my face, deliberately exaggerated movements meant for someone who couldn't possibly see them.

"Oh, poor thing," she mouthed silently, her lips curving into a cruel smile. "You don't even know your husband loves fucking me now."

My stomach lurched. Bile rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, fighting to maintain my blank expression as she lingered there, watching for any reaction, any sign I could see her taunting me.

I gave her nothing. Five years of blindness had taught me how to hide behind empty eyes.

I remained frozen as Tifa's silent laughter washed over me. Her shoulders shook with cruel mirth, her eyes never leaving my face. She reached out, fingers extending toward my cheek in what would surely appear as an innocent gesture of comfort to anyone walking in.

I braced myself internally for her touch, knowing I couldn't flinch, couldn't show recognition. Whatever game she planned to play with my skin, I'd have to endure it with the same vacant expression.

But her hand never reached me.

"What are you doing?" Marcus's voice cut through the room, sharp and urgent.

Tifa's hand jerked back. I heard the rustle of terry cloth, smelled the steam from the bathroom trailing in with him.

"She's blind, not deaf or numb," Marcus hissed. "She can still hear you and feel your touch."

I maintained my empty stare, aimed at nothing, as if their conversation floated somewhere beyond my comprehension. Inside, my mind raced. The concern in his voice sounded genuine, the protective fiancé rushing to shield his vulnerable partner. The same man who'd just been in our bed with another woman.

"I was just saying hello," Tifa replied, her voice honey-sweet, the malice completely vanished. "Poor thing, sitting here all alone."

"Here." The sound of fabric against skin, Marcus wrapping a towel around her. "Get dressed. She doesn't need your pity."

"Of course, darling." Her voice moved away, back toward the bedroom. "I just feel so terrible for her. For both of you."

Tifa's voice cut through the haze of my pain.

"Did you make sure to reject all the eye donations this week?"

I froze, my breath catching in my throat.

Marcus's reply landed like a sledgehammer. "No, I'll have to go tomorrow to do that."

My voice nearly choked. The world I thought I knew crumbled around me. All those years of waiting, of hoping, of being told there simply weren't any compatible donors...

"It's getting harder to keep blocking them," Marcus continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "That new hospital administrator asks too many questions."

"You'll figure it out," Tifa purred. "You always do."

I balled my fingers into a fist to steady myself, struggling to process what I'd just heard. Five years. Five years of darkness they had deliberately forced upon me.

"Our vacation for a week was very romantic as well," Tifa said, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "We should do it again soon."

"We will," Marcus replied. "Maybe Paris next time."

Business trip. He'd told me it was a business trip. The trip during which, by some miracle, a donor had finally been found. The only week he hadn't been there to block it.

"I can't believe how perfect it worked out," Tifa giggled.

I clutched the chair I was on, afraid my trembling legs would give out. My lungs burned as I held my breath, straining to hear every word.

"Remember when we planned that freak accident?" Tifa's voice turned nostalgic, as if reminiscing about a pleasant vacation. "That was a super plan."

My stomach lurched. The scaffolding collapse at the construction site. The one that had taken my sight. The one Marcus had called a tragic accident.

"It's unfortunate she survived," Tifa continued casually, "but her losing sight worked perfectly in our way."

My heart plummeted again, a second freefall that left me hollow. They hadn't just been blocking my donor matches. They had caused my blindness in the first place. Deliberately.

"We just needed her out of the picture," Marcus replied. "Death would have been cleaner, but this worked out better in some ways. Everyone thinks I'm a saint for staying with her."

"Your reputation has never been better," Tifa agreed. "And keeping her blind meant keeping her dependent. Keeping her yours while still having me."

"Pure luck she survived," Marcus muttered. "That beam should have killed her instantly."