Chapter 3

After dinner, the pack doctor came to check on my eyes, as he did almost every evening. I was passing the room when I heard him speak, so I stopped outside the door.

“Alpha Callahan, Dr. Calloway couldn’t come tonight, so he asked me to take over. I’ve reviewed Arianne’s records, and if she continues with the proper treatment, there’s a very good chance her eyesight could eventually return.”

I stood perfectly still.

For some reason, my chest suddenly felt heavy.

What difference would it make if I could see again?

Would I simply have a clearer view of Damon choosing Bianca over me? Would I finally be able to watch every lie unfold right in front of my eyes?

There was a long silence inside.

Then Damon answered.

“No.”

The doctor sounded confused. “No? Alpha, I’m not sure you understand. This is excellent news. Her condition is treatable, and if we increase—”

“Did Calloway not tell you?” Damon interrupted. His voice had lost all warmth. “For the past five years, I’ve only allowed him to prescribe the mildest tonics. Nothing that would actually accelerate her recovery.”

The doctor went quiet.

“You mean you deliberately withheld her treatment?” he finally asked. “Alpha, that isn’t right. She has the right to know that she could recover. You can’t take that choice away from her.”

Damon released a slow breath.

“And what happens when she can see again?” he asked. “Have you considered that? What happens to Bianca when Arianne learns everything?”

“Your mate’s welfare should come before anything else,” the doctor replied firmly. “You cannot keep her blind simply because the truth would be inconvenient.”

“Inconvenient?” Damon’s voice dropped into something colder. “This isn’t about convenience. I’m keeping the situation under control. I’m protecting both of them, and I won’t have you questioning a decision you don’t understand.”

My hand tightened around my wedding ring.

So he had known all along.

For five years, Damon had known that my sight might return, and he had deliberately kept me from receiving the treatment I needed.

Why?

Was I really that easy to control? Had he believed that as long as I remained blind, I would never discover what he had done?

A sharp crack sounded in the hallway.

I barely felt the pain until I looked down and realized I had forced my ring from my finger. Blood was already slipping between my fingers.

I turned and ran.

I didn't know where I was going. I only knew I needed to get away from that door, away from Damon’s voice, away from the truth that had just shattered everything I thought I knew.

I stumbled into my room, shaking so badly that I could barely breathe. My hip struck the bedside table, and the framed photograph from our wedding toppled onto the floor.

I crouched and picked it up.

In the photograph, Damon was leaning toward me, pressing a gentle kiss against my forehead. His expression was full of devotion, as though I were the only thing in the world that mattered.

I stared at his face.

“Why?” I whispered. “Why would you lie to me like this?”

My tears fell before I could stop them.

Then, somehow, I started laughing.

It wasn't happiness. It was the kind of laughter that escaped when there was simply too much pain to contain.

“Damon, you really are incredible,” I murmured. “You planned everything, didn't you?”

My stomach twisted violently, and I doubled over as bitter liquid rose into my throat.

“All those years I thought something was wrong with me. Every day I was frightened and confused, wondering why I couldn't get better. I thought I was broken.”

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

“But it was you.”

I cried until my body felt empty. Then I took the photograph from its frame and pushed it into the shredder.

The machine slowly pulled the picture inside.

The grinding sound was harsh and mechanical, but somehow it felt as though it were tearing through something inside my chest, too.

The wedding.

His promises.

Every memory I had protected for five years.

Gone.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

Damon’s voice came from behind me.

I didn't turn around. I gathered the shredded pieces from the machine and dropped them into the trash.

“Nothing,” I said quietly. “It was just a corrupted file. I don't need it anymore.”

Damon stepped closer.

“Corrupted?” He looked down at the scraps. “Let me see. Why does this look familiar?”

His voice changed.

“Arianne, what exactly did you—”

The door opened.

“Damon?”

Bianca’s voice was soft and familiar.

He turned toward her immediately.

The change in him was so instinctive that it hurt more than I expected. One second, his attention had been on me; the next, it belonged entirely to her.

Bianca entered carrying a bouquet of white lilies, their strong fragrance filling the room.

“I brought these for her,” she said with a shy smile. “I thought she might like them.”

Damon’s expression softened.

“You shouldn't be walking around too much. What if something happens to you or the pup?”

“I’m fine. I just wanted to do something thoughtful for her.”

He took the flowers from Bianca and placed them in my arms.

“Here. These are for you.”

“Happy birthday, Miss Whitmore,” Bianca added sweetly.

The scent hit me immediately.

It was overpowering.

I began coughing, one fit after another, until my chest tightened and tears streamed down my face.

Damon frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you allergic to them? Why didn't you tell me?”

Before I could answer, Bianca came up behind me and gently covered my eyes.

“Just a little farther,” she said, laughing softly. “Don’t peek. I made something special for you.”

I let her lead me.

I no longer had the energy to resist.

What difference did any of it make?

“Okay,” she announced brightly. “Are you ready?”

Her hands fell away.

“Surprise!”

I opened my eyes.

On the white marble table sat a plate of raw meat, still wet with blood, while the vegetables beside it had been burned almost completely black.

I stared at the table.

For a moment, I couldn't tell whether it was supposed to be a joke.

Then I wondered if I was the joke.

Bianca suddenly gasped.

“Oh, no. I completely forgot.” She brought a hand to her forehead. “Miss Whitmore can't really see, can she? I didn't think about how this would look…”

She stopped herself, covering her mouth as though she had accidentally said something she shouldn't.

Damon immediately took her hands.

“It's fine. Don't worry about it,” he reassured her, signing slowly. “Arianne won't take it personally. She's not that sensitive.”

Not that sensitive.

Bianca lowered her head, her fingers moving uncertainly.

“Why do I keep getting everything wrong? I only wanted to do something kind for her, but somehow I ruin everything. Maybe I'm just useless.”

Damon’s expression softened at once.

“Don't say that. You're not useless, Bianca. You tried, and that's what matters. You don't have to get everything perfect.”

She sniffed and looked up at him.

“I also made her a mango cake. I thought maybe she'd like something sweet.”

Damon finally looked at me.

That familiar tenderness returned to his eyes—the same expression I had once believed was reserved for me.

“Wife, come over here. She put a lot of effort into this. At least have a bite.”

I remained where I was.

My hands slowly curled into fists.

I was exhausted.

Not physically.

I was simply tired of pretending that none of this hurt.

“Damon,” I said.

He looked at me.

“Do you remember what today is?”

His expression changed slightly.

“Of course. It's your birthday, isn't it?”

I stared at him.

“No.”

The word came out quietly, but it seemed to drain the warmth from the room.

“It isn't my birthday.”