I couldn’t ignore the growing storm inside me anymore.
At first, I tried to silence it. I distracted myself with chores, tried to focus on meals and anniversaries and the way Richard smiled when he walked through the door. I told myself I was overthinking, that maybe I was just too sensitive. I blamed my hormones, the medication, even the tonic that upset my stomach. But deep down, something had shifted. I no longer felt seen... just watched. As if I were being studied… or guarded.
Especially when he kissed my eyes.
That should’ve been the first real clue, shouldn’t it? No matter how passionate or rushed our nights were, Richard never forgot to cup my face gently, lean in, and kiss my eyes like they were sacred. Like they were the best part of me.
I used to find it romantic. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
The message from the hospital 'Miss Stacy has finally woken up' had haunted me for days. It clung to the back of my mind like cobwebs I couldn’t wipe away. I had wanted to ask him outright, but every time I opened my mouth, I saw his warm eyes, his easy smile, and my resolve shattered.
So I decided to find the truth myself.
The next morning, I left home before Richard did. I told the maid I had errands. The truth sat like lead in my stomach as I headed to the clinic that had handled my eye transplant years ago. It had been a high profile case at the time my family had paid a fortune to get me the surgery when every specialist said there was no hope.
My fingers fidgeted in my lap as I waited in the doctor’s office. When he finally came in, he looked older but kind, and I gave him a polite smile, even though my insides were shaking.
“I know it’s been years,” I began, trying to keep my voice steady, “but I was wondering… about the donor. The eyes I received. I just... I’ve been having dreams and… strange feelings.”
He gave me a puzzled look, but after a moment’s hesitation, he pulled up a file on his tablet. “I suppose there’s no harm now. The donor’s name was Stacy Rowe. She was declared legally brain-dead after an accident. Her parents authorized the transplant.”
My breath caught.
Stacy.
It wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be.
I forced a smile and thanked him, but my hands wouldn’t stop trembling as I left the office. I stood outside in the sun, hoping the warmth would calm me, but it only made my skin feel clammy. I opened my phone and typed in the name of the hospital from Richard’s message.
The receptionist at the front desk seemed disinterested when I asked about a patient named Stacy Rowe. “Family or friend?” she asked.
“Friend,” I lied, my throat dry. “I just… wanted to check if she’s doing better.”
The nurse blinked at her screen, then nodded. “Room 306. Third floor.”
I thanked her and moved toward the elevators, but halfway there, I stopped. My legs wouldn’t go any farther. My instincts screamed at me to turn around, but my heart, my need to know, pushed me forward.
Room 306. The hallway felt like it stretched for miles. I passed rooms with open doors, TV sounds, beeping monitors, nurses laughing, someone crying. Then I reached it.
'Stacy Rowe' the name was printed clearly on the placard beside the door.
My hands turned clammy. My pulse pounded in my ears. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t even know what I was expecting. Maybe some reassurance that it was a different Stacy. Maybe to walk away feeling foolish and paranoid.
But then I heard her voice.
Soft, fragile, broken in the way that only someone truly alone can be.
“Richard… it’s so dark. I’m scared. I feel like I’m trapped in a box. I… I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want my eyes back. I miss the light.”
I froze.
I would recognize his voice anywhere.
Richard.
His tone was gentle, loving. Familiar in the worst possible way.
“I’ve been with your eyes all these years,” he said. “I’ve kept them safe, Stacy. I made sure they were loved. Soon… soon, they’ll be yours again. No one can take them away.”
The floor swayed beneath me.
My knees nearly gave out.
I stumbled back, one hand over my mouth to keep from sobbing. I couldn’t breathe. My lungs refused to cooperate. I turned and ran, shoes echoing in the silent hallway.
Richard had never loved me. He had married me to keep Stacy’s eyes close, to keep them protected. I had been nothing more than a host, a vessel, a placeholder.
And all those nights he kissed my eyes during sex… it wasn’t because he adored me.
It was because he missed her.
The world tilted violently, and I barely made it to the stairwell. I needed to get out. I needed air. My vision blurred. My heart thundered.
One step.
Two.
The railing slipped from my grasp.
Then, everything went black.
The day had been long. Longer than most. Even after everything that happened, the stolen project, the chaos, the silent tension between everyone on the executive floor… my face remained composed. But inside… everything felt like it was shifting.I had spent hours in my office, keeping my head down, working through files while the storm brewed quietly in Richard’s. I could sense his presence without needing to look up. The energy around him was… heavy. Like something had broken and was trying, desperately, not to bleed out.It wasn’t my business. At least, not outwardly.I had my own part to play.I gathered my things slowly when the clock finally blinked 7:42 p.m. Christine had texted earlier that Zane had eaten and was already curled up in bed with his favorite bedtime story. That was my signal to breathe. I was free to go.I reached for my handbag, pushing a pen behind my ear as I took one last glance at the work I’d pushed aside most of the day. I stacked the files, slipped my lapt
Camilla’s POV The corridors of Anderson Global always had this sterile quiet around noon. Most of the staff were either at lunch or hidden behind frosted glass panels. I preferred it that way… it meant less chit-chat, less curious eyes. I clutched the thin manila folder in my hand… a revised schematic update for project’s upper level eco-balcony integration. It wasn’t urgent, but Richard had asked me to bring it up once it was ready, and I had just finalized it. I figured I’d get it over with before grabbing a late lunch. I adjusted my blazer and nudged his office door open with a soft knock. “Mr. Anderson—” I stopped. Richard was standing behind his desk, one hand gripping the edge, the other fisted in his hair like he was seconds away from ripping it out. His back was half-turned toward me, but I could see his knuckles pale and
Richard’s POV It was already past noon when I finally pulled myself together and drove to the office. Rain pelted the windshield as I sat at a red light, one hand gripping the steering wheel while the other tapped restlessly on my thigh. I hadn’t slept well. My mind had been a whirlwind of Camilla’s voice, the flash of fire in her eyes, the way she’d looked at me before storming out the night before. I hadn’t been able to breathe right since. She didn’t just walk out of my house, she walked out of whatever fragile thing was building between us. It hurt more than I was willing to admit. And now, heading into work, I wasn’t sure how to face her. Would she even look at me? Would she pretend like none of it happened? I couldn’t blame her if she did. By the time I stepped into the building, I barely acknowledged the greetings I received. I was soaked, unshaven, and just barely holding it together. On the surface, I was the CEO. The boss. But inside… everything felt like it was fray
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time I pulled into the office parking lot. It was past 10 a.m. unlike me. I rarely ever came in this late, but the events of last night had left my mind spinning. I had barely slept, haunted by the stinging echo of Stacy’s voice. Don’t like the taste? Or are you allergic to it, Tessa? She’d said my name like it was a loaded gun, aiming straight for the part of me I’d spent years burying beneath a new name, a new city, and a carefully curated life. Even now, the thought of her watching me as I drank that juice, the faint twitch of satisfaction in her smile… it made my chest tighten. I stepped into the building, shook off the umbrella, and walked briskly toward my office. Most of the staff I passed gave me polite nods or warm good mornings. But something felt… off. Like air thick with static before a storm. When I turned down the hall leading to my office, I slowed. The door was slightly ajar. Odd. I frowned. I never left it like that
After dinner at Richard’s house…I drove in silence, letting the city blur around me as if the night could wash away the burning in my throat. The moment I closed the car door behind me outside Richard’s home, I told myself not to fall apart. Not yet. I could still taste the mango juice. That acidic sweetness clung to my tongue like a warning. It scratched down my throat, curled in my chest like smoke. My body didn’t erupt into a full blown allergic reaction, not because it didn’t try but because I’d prepared. I always prepare. Stacy may think she’s smart, but she’s also obvious. From the moment Caleb told me about her visit to my stepmother’s house, I knew she was digging. That wasn’t curiosity, that was war. And tonight? That was her first strike. A glass of mango juice. So elegant. So simple. So quietly vicious. And yet… it didn’t catch me off guard. Not fully. I’d ta
Aside the location Richard sent, the driveway curved just like I remembered it. The tall pines swayed gently in the breeze, casting shadows across the manicured lawn as I pulled up to the front of the house I used to call home. But I wasn’t here to walk down memory lane, I was here to remind myself why I left it behind. The lights inside glowed like a beacon of the life I once imagined. The life I was robbed of. As I stepped out of the car, my heels tapped against the familiar stone pavement. I inhaled sharply, forcing down the lump rising in my throat. “Get a grip, Camilla,” I muttered under my breath. “This isn’t your home anymore. This is just another battlefield.” Before I could reach the door, it opened... almost like it had been watching, waiting. “Good evening, ma’am,” said the housekeeper. Lydia. The moment our eyes met, her face paled. Her lips trembled. She knew. The sa