Male Model Accused Me, but I’m Blind

“Ms. Lane, the police will transfer you to the detention center within 30 minutes. Before that, they will ask you to sign some documents.”

Grace's voice turned colder and more precise. “Do not sign anything. Wait for me to arrive.”

The call ended.

I held the phone in my hand. My cold palm was, unexpectedly, slightly damp with sweat. There was hope. For the first time since falling into this dark pit, I felt hope—even if it was as faint as a flame in the wind.

The police car soon stopped. I was taken into an office.

Officer Wright slammed a document down in front of me. “Sign it.”

I shook my head. “I won’t sign anything until my lawyer arrives.”

His expression darkened instantly. “Lawyer? Can you afford a lawyer?”

He let out a cold laugh. “I’m telling you, it’s useless! No one can save you!”

He grabbed my hand, trying to force it onto the ink pad.

It was at that moment, a calm female voice came from the doorway. "Stop."

It was not loud, but it was heavy with authority. The movement in the room froze instantly.

The sound of high heels clicked clearly against the floor. A woman walked in, dressed in a professional suit. She moved with decisive steps. Her presence was sharp and cutting. Her gaze swept the room, and her brows were slightly furrowed.

“I'm Grace Quinn, defense attorney for Ms. Lane. Your attempt to force my client to sign documents after she explicitly refused is a violation of the law.”

She placed a file and her bar license on the table. Her movements were clean and precise.

“I was assigned by the Municipal Legal Aid Center. Here is my authorization and credentials.” She looked up. Her tone was calm but unyielding. “Now, I demand a private consultation with my client.”

Officer Wright’s expression turned ugly. He picked up the documents, flipping through them repeatedly, as though he was searching for a flaw. However, he found none.

Grace’s paperwork was complete, compliant, and airtight.

“Tsk… Legal aid…” he muttered in disdain but ultimately did not dare object further. “Ten minutes.”

With a dark expression on his face, he led the others out, leaving the room to us. The door closed. There was only Grace and me in the room.

The sound of high heels striking the floor was clear and steady, drawing closer with each step. Then, they stopped in front of me. A faint, cool scent of paper and ink drifted into my breath.

“Ms. Yvie Lane.” Her voice came out calm, measured, and controlled. “In your phone call earlier, you mentioned your hearing is unusually sensitive. Can you elaborate?”

I did not expect that to be her first question. Still, I did not hesitate. “After I went blind, my other senses, especially hearing and touch, became significantly sharper. I can judge a person’s build, habits, and even emotional state by the rhythm and weight of their footsteps.”

I paused for a moment. “And I can pick up details most people miss.”

Grace did not interrupt. She simply listened quietly. Then, she asked the key question. “Did you notice anything unusual from the apartment across from you?”

My heart tightened slightly. “Yes.”

I lowered my voice. “Curtis doesn’t live alone.”

Grace kept silent.

I continued, “Before he called the police, I heard it at least three times late at night. There were two sets of footsteps in his house.”