Blinded Love

The kiss was not a promise; it was a trap.When Damien’s lips finally parted from hers, Avery’s knees felt dangerously weak. She stumbled back a fraction of an inch, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. The heavy lace veil, now flipped back over her head, felt like a noose.Behind his sleek, pitch-black glasses, Damien’s eyes remained completely unreadable. But his lips wore a faint, devastatingly handsome smirk.He didn't say another word. He simply turned, his silver-tipped cane tapping lightly against the polished marble floor as he began his slow, deliberate descent down the altar.The heavy double doors of the cathedral hadn't even fully opened before her father and stepmother were sweeping toward them like vultures."Damien, my boy! A spectacular ceremony!" Collin Vance’s voice boomed through the high-arched cathedral, dripping with a false, oily warmth. He clapped a heavy hand onto Damien's shoulder, though Avery noticed how quickly he withdrew it when Damien’s posture w

Avery tightened the silk belt of her robe, her heart rate finally settling into a steady, albeit cautious, rhythm. She looked over at Damien. He was still leaning back in the leather armchair, the firelight carving his sharp jawline out of the shadows."Since we are officially husband and wife," Damien began, his voice cutting through the crackle of the hearth, "it seems only fitting we share a drink to celebrate. Or perhaps... to mourn our lost freedom."He stood up, smoothly navigating the space between the hearth and a sleek, dark-wood bar cart in the corner. He didn't use his cane this time, his hand lightly tracing the edge of the mantle, then the back of a chaise lounge, acting the part of a man relying on tactile memory.Avery watched him closely. His movements were incredibly fluid, almost too graceful for someone living in complete darkness."What are we drinking?" Avery asked, keeping her distance."A vintage Cabernet," Damien replied, his back to her as he poured the deep r

Avery barely slept.Every time she drifted off, she pictured the heat of Damien’s bare skin, the solid weight of his shoulders, and the undeniable tension that had filled the bedroom. She had stayed glued to her side of the mattress all night, terrified that if she rolled over, she’d bump into him.By 5:30 AM, she gave up. She slipped out of bed, threw on a simple knit sweater and jeans, and headed down to the kitchen.Making the coffee was easy. Carrying it up to the east wing was the hard part.The Kingsley estate was massive, but Damien’s directions from the night before were clear. She found the heavy oak doors of his home office right where he said they’d be. She pushed them open with her elbow, balancing the mug.Damien was already there. He was fully dressed in a crisp grey suit, his dark glasses back in place. He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, typing on a braille keyboard with blinding speed."You're late," Damien said. He didn't look up, but his fingers stopped moving. "

Inside the black sedan, Damien let out a soft, amused grunt as he swiped the live feed closed on his phone. "She found the false bottom in the desk," Marcus noted from the front seat, catching a glimpse of the screen. "She's smarter than we anticipated, sir. Do you want me to have security relocate the Vance dossier?" "No," Damien said, leaning his head back against the leather. A slow, quiet smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Leave it right where it is. Let’s see how long it takes her to find it. This marriage was supposed to be a tedious transaction, Marcus. My new wife is proving to be... highly entertaining." Damien checked his watch. "What does the rest of the day look like?" "Just the two executive briefings at headquarters, sir. You'll be wrapped up by two o'clock." "Perfect. Clear anything else. I want to be back at the estate early." "And if she discovers the truth about your eyes while you're away, sir?" Damien’s smile faded into something sharp. "She won't. Not

​​"The card is on the console," Damien said, gesturing toward the middle of the back seat as the sedan merged into city traffic. "Spend whatever you like, Kendra. Within reason, of course."​Avery looked down at the sleek, heavy black credit card. It felt incredibly heavy in her hand. "Thank you," she said, forcing her voice to sound light and privileged. "I have a few boutiques in mind."​In her head, she was scrambling. She had spent the last hour trying to remember how Kendra acted when she had a credit card in her hand. Kendra would scoff at the prices, demand the sales associates bring her champagne, and buy five of the same bag in different colors just because she could.​But as the car pulled up to the high-end shopping district, a knot formed in Avery's stomach. She had worked hard for every single dollar she ever earned. The idea of handing over a card that belonged to a man she was actively lying to made her feel sick.​"Is something wrong?" Damien asked, his head turning sl