Chapter 11

Arya slid her sunglasses down and turned to leave without a sound. She feared that if she stayed even a second longer, she would lose control and slap the shameless couple.

Inside the room, Asher glanced at Lindsay, who blushed from the others' teasing. He said nothing. Instead, he raised his glass and emptied it in one gulp.

As he set the empty glass down, a flicker of movement at the corner of the window caught his eye. He froze for a moment. That silhouette looked strangely familiar.

"Stop messing around, Lottie," Neil said gently, pulling his daughter's hand away from Lindsay's and lifting her into his arms. "Go play with your brother inside."

Charlotte pouted in protest.

Lindsay crouched to comfort her. "Lottie, how about Mo—"

She glanced at Neil and quickly corrected herself, "How about I go with you, hmm?"

Charlotte, always obedient to Lindsay, nodded without hesitation.

Asher watched Lindsay carry Charlotte to the inner room, then stood and casually moved to sit beside Neil.

"Neil," Asher asked directly, "what's going on with Arya? Still unconscious?"

Neil paused, scrolling through his phone. After a beat, he answered, "She woke up yesterday."

Asher froze. He glanced toward the door again. So the woman he had glimpsed outside—someone who looked so much like Arya—was probably really her.

"And she—"

He tried to ask more, but Neil cut him off coldly, "She's blind. No idea if or when she'll recover. You know how proud she is. Until she's fully healed, I don't want anyone to know she's awake."

Blind? A blind woman could not have been standing outside their door, peeking in.

Asher doubted his eyes and swallowed the rest of his questions.

Neil returned to his phone. Patricia had sent a message two hours earlier.

Patricia: [Mr. Hammond, Mrs. Hammond was just picked up by a car!]

The message included a photo of the license plate.

Neil recognized it immediately. It was Diane's car.

He felt no surprise. Arya's world was painfully small. Aside from revolving around him, the only friend she had was Diane, that loudmouth, bad-tempered woman from a family long in decline.

Neil had never thought much of her.

Arya had always been cautious. Although she remained close to Diane in private, she never mentioned her in front of Neil.

She probably went out to meet Diane now without asking first because she feared it would upset him.

Neil smirked smugly. He could read her like a book.

He leaned back against the couch, bathed in warm light. His face remained handsome, refined, and charming, but his gaze was cold and detached.

Arya was a good woman—a perfect wife, a capable partner. No flaws worth noting.

It was just that a woman who was too easy to read was like a glass of lukewarm water. It was tasteless and hard to swallow but even harder to throw away.

…

Arya sneezed hard.

She stared down the hallway ahead, lips twitching in frustration.

Five years had passed. T-Club had undergone major renovations, expanding and redesigning much of the layout.

She had planned to head straight out but, lost in thought, must have wandered too far and gotten turned around.

She scanned the walls and floors for directional signs when she nearly collided with a man rounding the corner.

"Watch where you're going, you blind bitch!" the man barked.

He had a beer belly, a thick neck that blended into his shoulders, and a gaudy gold chain hanging like an eyesore. He was clearly a nouveau riche prowling around.

The stench of alcohol hit Arya first. Not wanting trouble, she kept her head down and tapped her cane to find her way, apologizing, "Sorry. I can't see."

That only seemed to excite the man. He sneered, "Well damn, you really are blind, huh?"

Through her tinted glasses, Arya made out his leering face, greasy and close. His breath reeked so badly it churned her stomach.

"Heh… you smell pretty nice. Look really sweet too. Lucky for you, I'm a doctor. Let me fix those eyes of yours," he said.

Arya's voice turned icy. "Move."

The man clearly didn't take her seriously. Grinning sleazily, he said, "Call me sweetly, and I'll let you pass. Come on, just say it…"

Arya's rage simmered, but she had no outlet. This pig begged for it.

She glanced up at the wall-mounted security camera, then feigned helplessness. She cried, "I don't believe you're a doctor… Don't come any closer, I'm scared…"

Step by step, she lured him into a corner the camera couldn't see.

Drunk and horny, the creep followed eagerly, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"Don't be scared, sweetheart. Come with me to my private room. I'll take real good care of those eyes," he coaxed.

Behind Arya's sunglasses, her eyes flashed cold. She gripped her cane tightly. One strike to the right spot would leave this pig half-paralyzed, then she'd finish him with a swift kick to ruin his manhood.

The man's fat hand reached toward her.

Just as she prepared to act, a sharply dressed man burst from nowhere, grabbed the creep's wrist, and twisted hard.

"Ahhh!!" the man howled in pain.

Even Arya was caught off guard.

The newcomer looked about 30, with sharp, professional features. He was clearly someone high up in a company. She was certain she'd never met him before.

Samuel had already grabbed the man's head and smashed it into the wall. His voice remained cool and controlled as he said, "Sir, if you're that drunk, maybe go lie down in your room. Need me to escort you?"

The creep sobered enough to be terrified, pleading, "N-No need! I'll go! I'll go right now!"

Just as he tried to escape, a low, smooth voice cut through the air behind him. The tone was casual, almost amused, but carried a chill that could freeze bone.

"Leaving already? That easy?" the voice commented.

Arya stiffened. She turned slowly toward the sound.

Not far behind, Troy walked toward them.

The soft hallway lighting filtered through her tinted lenses like warm dusk. His tall frame and movements felt like that evening at the airport seven years ago.

The man before her now overlapped perfectly with the memory from back then.

"Arya, was it worth it?" That voice echoed like a drumbeat in her head, rattling her soul.

It had been seven years…