The Blind Angel Turns Out To Be A Sweet Demoness

Beneath the blanket, Lindsay curled her fingers into tight, shaking fists. Nothing about her heartbeat felt calm.

Hours earlier, the moment she returned home, she had scrubbed herself raw in the shower, thrown every piece of clothing into the wash, and sprayed the room with enough freshener to bury any trace of alcohol.

After several rounds of steady breathing, she finally pieced together the calm he was seeing now.

Her lashes fluttered faintly, and a thin sheen of tears coated her eyes. "I went to visit my brother. He's still unconscious. With my parents' death anniversary coming up, it's hitting me hard."

Those tears slipped free, soft and convincing, and Matthew's last thread of doubt snapped. He sank to one knee and gathered her carefully into his arms. "Hey, don't fret. I've already contacted every top specialist I could find for him. He's going to wake up, I swear. Please don't cry anymore."

She willed her tense muscles to loosen, leaning into him and circling her arms around his narrow waist. "Honey, I've been having these strange dreams lately. I keep seeing Kyra. In them, she didn't die and even found her way back."

Matthew's body stiffened around her. A second later, his hands closed around her shoulders as he pushed her back just enough to look at her. "Linds, why would you say something like that?"

Matthew's stare bore into her, heavy and searching.

She lifted her tear-streaked face, meeting the weight of his gaze without flinching, looking fragile and broken. "Tell me the truth, love. Is Kyra really gone? Can you swear to me she was executed, that she's never coming back?"

Silence stretched out before he reached up and gently brushed away the tears clinging to her skin. He never gave her the answer she needed. "Don't dwell on things like that. I'm going to take a shower. Afterward, I'll help you settle in for the night. It's late already."

With that, he left the room. Water thundered from the bathroom soon after.

Dropping her gaze, Lindsay let a crooked, wild little smile take shape. He was indeed madly in love with Kyra.

Sleep barely touched Lindsay that night.

When morning finally arrived, golden sunlight had already spilled into the room, and the world was in motion.

Lindsay found the sheets cold beside her. Instead of reaching for the bell, she made her way to the bathroom on her own, washed up, and got dressed. Even if her eyes never healed, she made a silent vow—she wouldn't rely on anyone again.

The instant she cracked the bedroom door open, a sweet, familiar laugh drifted up from below and froze her in place. "Stop it! That really tickles!"

That was Kyra's voice. Clear as day. Lindsay felt a wave of chill. Matthew had actually brought Kyra into their home. Either he believed her blindness made her oblivious, or he was brazen enough to flaunt the affair right under her nose.

Her grip tightened on the white cane until her knuckles throbbed. Every part of her wanted to storm downstairs and tear the mask off the woman who had ruined her life.

Matthew's amused murmur sliced straight through her fury. "You naught one, smearing frosting on my face. Now, you're gonna pay."

Soon, the giggles below shifted into breathy little gasps.

"Kyra..." Matthew murmured.

The wet, greedy sound of kissing filled the living room.

Lindsay suddenly spoke up, her voice sharp and cutting. "Honey, what are you doing down there?"