The Blind Wife Who Sees Everything

Blake let out a long sigh, and it was impossible to tell if it was from regret or relief.

"It's okay," he said. "Just remember… even if you can't see for the rest of your life, I'll still love you."

"I'll add another ten million to the medical team's funding tomorrow. Maybe that will speed things up."

He added, "But for now, it's time for dinner. Come on."

He bent down and swept Ava into his arms.

The gesture, once so sweet, now sent a wave of revulsion through her. Her entire body went rigid.

They walked into the manor's dining room.

"I want to sit next to Mom!" Maya called out cheerfully.

But she was standing by another chair, carefully arranging a napkin for Sienna, the mistress.

Given the long dining table's arrangement, with Blake at one end and the woman at the other, it was clear they had no intention of seating Ava next to her.

It was all a carefully staged performance for the blind woman in the room.

The woman, draped in a silk gown, leaned lazily against Blake, looking more like the lady of the house than Ava ever did.

Blake cut Ava's steak and spooned side dishes onto her plate.

Maya poured Ava some juice.

Everything seemed so familiar. But this time, Ava could see. She saw the jealousy smoldering in Sienna's eyes.

The food tasted like ash in her mouth. She stared at the hand Blake used to serve her—the same hand that had caressed another woman that morning.

Her stomach roiled.

Just as she was about to get up, Sienna extended a high-heeled foot under the table and brazenly hooked Blake's calf with the tip of her shoe.

He flinched, trying to pull his leg away. But she wrapped her ankle around his, guiding his movements.

In the end, even after she released him, Blake didn't pull his leg back.

This time, the nausea was an unstoppable tide. Ava braced herself on the table, dry-heaving until the world spun.

Maya ran to get her a napkin.

Blake reached out, wanting to pat her back in comfort.

But the thought of what that hand had done made her slap it away instinctively.

"Dirty," she said coldly.

Blake froze, his expression utterly confused. "What? I was just cutting your steak!"

"What's wrong? Are you okay? I'll take you to the private clinic."

"I'm fine." Ava pushed him away and steadied herself.

She returned to the bedroom and locked herself in the bathroom. Steam filled the air, blurring her reflection in the foggy mirror.

She remembered the words she had overheard outside Blake's office.

"Blake, is it because your wife's blind? Is that why you can't get it up for her? Is that why you take it all out on me?"

"Shut up. Who do you think you are? Know your place."

Blake hadn't denied it.

Ava dragged her hand across the mirror, and her own face stared back, stark and clear.

What had she looked like when she was blind?

Was she so unremarkable… so inferior… that Blake could discard their youthful love, the life she'd saved, their entire marriage, for another woman?

She remembered their wedding night—how he had kissed her eyes over and over, his tears landing on her cheeks.

"Ava, you're finally mine. I love you, and thank you for loving me. I will take care of you for the rest of my life. If I ever break this vow, may God strike me down."

He had taken care of her. That much was true.

He had hired thirty maids, all professionally trained in nursing care. She only had to press a call bell, and someone would appear.

Even though she couldn't see, he still bought her everything—skincare, jewelry, clothes. Whatever other wives had, he made sure she had better, more expensive versions.

Fearing she would be bored, he even assembled an audiobook recording team just for her, to read the latest books and magazines.

Did Blake really not love her anymore?

Ava didn't think so.

She realized he hadn't stopped loving her. He'd simply learned to love someone else at the same time, splitting his heart neatly in two: one half for his wife, the other for his mistress.