Chapter 4

THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW

Sera stirred awake to cool air pricking her skin, a refreshing contrast to the warmth beneath the covers, the sheets soft and crisp against her arms, a luxury she'd never experienced before. She pushed herself up, a sharp sound—a gasp, a groan—slipping out before she could stop it, betraying her lingering pain.

"Shit—why is it so dark… oh." She pressed a hand to her forehead, fingers tracing the ridge of her brow, a familiar gesture of self-soothing, as a bitter smile touched her lips, a fleeting expression of resignation. "Right. I'm blind."

She opened her mouth to speak again when a laugh rang out, a melodic sound that filled the room—warm, with a hint of mischief that made her purse her lips, her defenses rising instinctively.

"W-Who are you? Where am I? The man who brought me here—what happened to him?"

"Calm down, my dear, one question at a time." The woman cut in, her voice soothing, her laughter settling into gentle warmth, a comforting presence. "Can't you recognize my voice, remember who you're with?"

Sera furrowed her brow, her expression strained, confusion knotting in her chest, a feeling of disorientation washing over her. How would I know her voice when I've only heard it once, in the chaos of that day, amidst the fear and violence?

"I-I'm sorry. I can't see you, so… I don't recognize you." She spoke carefully, choosing her words with deliberate precision, fingers twisting in the sheets—cool cotton, smoother than anything she'd ever owned, another reminder of her unfamiliar surroundings.

"Oh… of course. That was thoughtless of me, insensitive of me to assume you'd remember."

Sera focused on the room around her, relying on her other senses to paint a picture: faint movement to her left, the soft rustle of fabric indicating someone nearby, a scent like lavender and old books, a comforting aroma that hinted at age and wisdom. Then warm hands closed around hers—firm but gentle, palms rough with calluses from work or age, a testament to a life lived fully. She flinched, her body tensing instinctively, trying to pull back, her trust fragile.

"W-What are you—"

"My dear… I owe you more than I can ever say, a debt I can never truly repay." The woman squeezed her hands, her grip steady, reassuring. "If not for you, I wouldn't be here now, I might not be alive."

The words hit Sera hard, sending a jolt through her shoulders, a wave of emotion washing over her. Recognition flooded her mind, piecing together the fragments of memory, and her eyes widened behind closed lids—even though all she saw was black, her inner vision clear.

"You're the woman from the van. The one they took, the one I tried to save." She gasped, her voice filled with relief, and the older woman chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated through the room, a sound of genuine gratitude.

Relief lit up Sera's face, banishing the shadows of fear, and she squeezed the woman's hands back, her fingers finding the ridges of scars on the back of the older woman's knuckles, a tangible reminder of the violence she had endured.

"Are you okay? How's your side—did the wound heal properly? Did they catch the ones who did it, bring them to justice?" Questions tumbled out one after another, a torrent of concern, and the grandmother's expression softened, her heart swelling with affection—though Sera couldn't see it, her empathy was palpable.

She really is something, the grandmother thought, her gaze lingering on Sera's earnest face, admiration filling her. After everything she's been through, after losing her sight, she asks about me first, selfless and unwavering.

Her eyes drifted to the doorway, where her grandson leaned against the frame, his posture casual but alert—one leg crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest, a silent observer. She could feel the weight of his stare, cold as winter, even as he pulled out his vape and took a slow hit, his detachment a familiar shield. She tilted her head slightly, a silent Told you so passing between them, a knowing exchange. He exhaled a thin cloud of mint-scented smoke, the fragrance filling the air, his eyes never leaving Sera, studying her with an intensity that bordered on obsession.

"Grandma? Why aren't you answering, what's going on in there? Are you hurt again, have they harmed you?"

The grandmother turned back, giving Sera's hands another squeeze, her touch lingering.

"I'm perfectly fine, Lucian, all thanks to you, to this brave young woman." She reached up to cup Sera's cheek, her touch light as a feather, her affection genuine. "But because of what happened to me, because of your selfless act, you lost one of the most precious things a person can have, your ability to see the world."

Sera shook her head, her voice steady and clear, rejecting the self-pity. "No—never say that, don't blame yourself. I chose to help you, it was my decision. You didn't do anything wrong, you were the victim."

A wide, genuine smile spread across her face, illuminating her features, and even in the dim light, it lit up the room, a beacon of hope.

"I'm really okay, I swear, I'm adjusting. The doctors said my sight will come back—eventually, it's just a matter of time."

"Even so, I know how hard this must be, how much your life has changed." The grandmother's voice grew quiet, filled with compassion. "When, my dear? How long will you have to live like this, shrouded in darkness?"

Sera fell silent, her inner turmoil growing. The question landed deep in her chest, igniting a wave of uncertainty, a painful reminder of her unknown future—she had no answer, no timeline to hold onto, no certainty.

"I-I should go home." She spoke carefully, her voice barely audible, her fingers still twisted in the sheets, her anxiety growing. "If you want to pay me, to thank me… please don't waste money on me, don't spend it foolishly. Everything's so expensive now, life is hard enough—even a piece of candy costs more than it used to." Her words were earnest, devoid of greed, her intentions pure. She'd acted out of kindness, not for reward, she hadn't the faintest idea if this woman was rich or poor, powerful or powerless.

The grandmother opened her mouth to respond, to offer comfort and reassurance, when her grandson stepped forward, his presence filling the doorway, his voice sharp as broken glass, shattering the fragile peace.

"Go home? And what then, what awaits you there? Have you already forgotten your family sold you to that governor, traded you for money?"

Sera froze, her body going rigid, her muscles tensing, as if bracing for a blow. The memory crashed over her, a wave of pain and humiliation—her mother's slap, the callous disregard, the sound of cash counting, reducing her worth to a monetary value, the governor's oily hands on her arm, his touch repulsive.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper, the metallic tang of blood a familiar sensation, dropping her head in shame, her thoughts spinning into chaos, overwhelmed by the resurfacing trauma.

"And you bought me from them, rescued me from that fate." Her voice was barely a whisper, laced with a rising fear, her hope dwindling. "So aren't you going to do the same thing, treat me the same way? Like you said in the car, am I just your possession now?" It felt like nothing had changed, despite the opulence of her surroundings—she was just property traded from one stranger to another, her agency stripped away.

Before panic could take hold, the grandmother pulled her into a tight embrace, enveloping her in a comforting warmth, holding her close as if to shield her from the harsh realities of the world. "Don't be scared, Seraphina, you have nothing to fear. We will never hurt you—never let you suffer here, not while we have breath in our bodies."

"H-Huh?" Sera pulled back slightly, bewildered, her senses reeling. How does she know my full name? We've only just met, how can she be so familiar?

The grandmother stroked her back, her touch soothing, her voice soft as silk, a gentle reassurance. "You have nothing to worry about, my dear, trust in us. My grandson and I will take care of every single one of your troubles, alleviate every burden. Until your sight returns, he'll look after you, guide you through the darkness—make things easier however he can, anticipate your needs."

"I still don't understand—why are you doing this for me, what do you expect in return?"

"This is the only way I can truly thank you, Sera, to express the depth of my gratitude." The grandmother cut her off gently, preventing further protest. "I won't give you money, I won't insult you with charity—you've made it clear you don't want that. Instead, I'm offering you a chance to build something better, to create a life free from fear and hardship. And you need to accept it, for your own sake—this is your only real choice, the only path forward."

Sera was speechless, her mind struggling to process the information, staring into the dark as her thoughts raced, colliding and conflicting. Should I say yes, accept their offer? Something feels off, too good to be true—why would this man, this stranger, care for her, invest in her future? What did he want in return, what was the hidden price?

She bit down on her lip, hard, her anxiety growing, drawing blood. The grandmother was right—her family had cast her aside like trash, discarded her without a second thought. This might be her only shot at stability, her only hope for a better future. But trusting strangers, especially wealthy and powerful ones, felt like walking off a cliff with her eyes closed, a terrifying leap of faith.

"C-Can I think about it first, have some time to consider your offer?"

The words were barely out when a loud CRASH echoed through the room, startling them both—Lucian had slammed his fist on the side table, his frustration overflowing, sending a glass of water rattling precariously, threatening to spill.

"What the hell is wrong with you, what are you even considering? Don't tell me you're actually thinking of going back to those leeches, crawling back to the people who abused you!" His voice boomed, raw anger lacing every word, his control slipping.

He couldn't make sense of his own frustration, the intensity of his reaction surprising even him—watching her hesitate, knowing she might choose to return to the people who'd used her their whole lives, who saw her as nothing more than a burden. She was so gentle, so willing to forgive, so blind to their cruelty… it made him want to shake some sense into her, force her to see the truth.

"Lucian, brat! Enough of that, mind your manners!" The grandmother snapped, her brow furrowed, her displeasure evident.

But Lucian didn't care, ignoring her reprimand. He needed to cut through her kindness, shatter her illusions, make her see the reality of her situation.

"You're too damn nice for your own good, Sera, too trusting. They've been using you all along, manipulating you, and you let them! Are you really that naive, that blind to their selfishness? Maybe losing your sight was the only way to make you see how they truly treat you, how little they value you. For fuck's sake—how can you be so—"

A pillow flew across the room and smacked him square in the face, interrupting his tirade, silencing him with a soft, but firm impact.

He stood frozen, his anger momentarily forgotten, staring at the spot where Sera sat—shocked silent, unable to process what had just happened. Did she just throw a pillow at me, dare to strike me?

"Why are you shouting, why are you raising your voice?! I'm not deaf, I can hear you perfectly well!" Her voice cracked with irritation, her own temper flaring. "You're yelling like you're speaking through a megaphone, and I'm just trying to talk, trying to have a reasonable conversation!"

Both Lucian and his grandmother stared at her, stunned into silence, their expectations completely subverted. Then the grandmother burst into peals of laughter, a hearty, unrestrained sound that filled the room, echoing off the walls.

"Oh my God—you're perfect, you're exactly what he needs!" She cackled, wiping tears from her eyes, her amusement genuine.

Sera flushed, embarrassment warring with anger, her cheeks burning. She'd thought the older woman would be upset, offended by her outburst—but instead, she sounded delighted, as if she'd just passed some sort of test.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful," 

The grandmother quieted, looking at her with warmth in her eyes, a silent reassurance passing between them. She didn't speak, but Lucian knew exactly what she wanted, understood her intentions implicitly—don't tell her yet, not the full truth.

"Enough of this." Lucian waved a hand toward the door, a dismissive gesture, where a man stepped inside, his presence radiating authority, the thick folder under his arm rustling with every deliberate step. He set it on the table with a quiet thud, the paper crisp and heavy, and took a seat across from them, his movements precise and controlled.

Sera tensed, sensing the new presence, her heightened senses on alert—the faint smell of ink and cologne, a sophisticated and expensive scent, the sound of his breathing, steady and calm, projecting an air of composure. Who is this, what role does he play in all of this?

"Ms. Mortez. I'm Attorney Chavez, legal counsel for the Vitale family." The man's voice was smooth and professional, projecting confidence and competence. "First—do you truly intend to return to your family, despite everything that has transpired?"

Sera's breath hitched, her anxiety growing, the question a direct challenge. An attorney? Why is there a lawyer here, what legal machinations are at play?

"I-I don't know, I'm still trying to figure everything out."

The three of them exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. "This is a chance you won't get again, a unique opportunity," the attorney continued, his tone persuasive. "Are you really going to turn it down, reject the possibility of a better life? Would you rather struggle, alone and vulnerable, while the people who sold you live off the money they got for you, profiting from your suffering?"

The question twisted in her chest, igniting a wave of anger and resentment, her thoughts a tangled mess, pulling her in different directions. She couldn't see the faces around her, couldn't gauge their expressions, couldn't tell if they were being honest, genuinely concerned for her welfare—all she had were their words, their voices, the weight of their presence in the room, a confusing and unreliable set of cues.

She stayed quiet, lost in thought, her mind grappling with the complex situation, until the grandmother placed her hand over hers on the table, a comforting gesture of support. Sera felt the stiff texture of paper beneath her fingertips, pressing against her skin—official, important, final.

"This is a contract, Seraphina," Lucian said, his voice low and serious, devoid of emotion. "It outlines how we'll protect and support you, provide for your needs, as repayment for what you did for my grandmother, ensuring your safety and well-being."

"A contract? Do we really need that, is that really necessary?" Sera whispered, confusion clouding her mind, a sense of unease growing. "What for, what purpose does it serve?"

The attorney cleared his throat, preparing to elaborate, and began to explain—the terms, the care they'd provide, the luxurious life they were offering while she lived under their roof, a life of comfort and security. But what Sera didn't know, what they deliberately concealed from her, was that the words on the page held a secret she never could have imagined, a hidden agenda that would irrevocably change her life.

This wasn't just about repayment, about expressing gratitude for her selfless act. The contract bound her to be Lucian's wife, a legal obligation that went far beyond mere friendship or gratitude—in name, at first, a marriage of convenience, but with a condition neither of them would speak aloud, a deeper and more complex motivation: he needed an heir, a legitimate successor to his power and wealth.

From the start, fate had conspired against her, keeping her in the dark, both literally and figuratively—her blindness leaving her unaware of everything around her, dependent on the goodwill of strangers. But even if she could see, even if she possessed perfect vision, she never would have guessed the truth, never could have imagined the extent of their deception: the man who'd bought her freedom wasn't just a wealthy businessman, a powerful philanthropist.

Lucian Vitale was a high-ranking member of the Bratva—the most powerful mafia organization in Russia, a world of violence and intrigue, a dangerous web from which there was no escape.