Chapter 1
Eight Months Earlier.
LORETTA
My heels struck the pavement in uneven rhythm, sharp cracks ricocheting off the tight Barcelona streets like gunfire.
I tried to steady my steps, but fear had already taken control, turning my body into something frantic.
The tip of my cane swept ahead of me, tapping, sliding, mapping the ground in quick, practiced arcs.
My lungs burned.
Someone was behind me—running hard, fueled by rage, closing in.
I couldn’t see them, but the pounding, monstrous footsteps were unmistakable—louder now, closer with every step as I pushed myself faster.
I reached my apartment door.
I had to get inside before they caught me.
My grip tightened painfully around my cane as my other hand plunged into my bag, fingers fumbling past my wallet, my phone, a pack of tissues—
Keys.
Where are the keys?
“Come on... come on...” I muttered under my breath, my voice barely more than a breath itself.
My fingertips finally brushed the cold metal, and I yanked the keys free, nearly dropping them in my haste.
Focus, Loretta.
My fingers shook so badly the metal scraped uselessly against the keyhole.
“Damn it—”
I tried again.
Missed.
Behind me, the footsteps pressed closer.
A cold wave slid down my spine.
I yanked the key out, flipped it, and forced my shaking hand to steady. My thumb traced the grooves, grounding myself in something real.
This time, it slid in.
The click was soft—but to me, it sounded like survival.
I shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the wall inside. I stumbled over the threshold, catching myself on the frame before spinning back and slamming it shut, muscle memory taking over even as my breathing broke into ragged gasps.
Only when everything was secured did I press my back against the door, every inch of my body braced like I could physically hold the world out.
My heart pounded so violently it blurred everything else.
I forced myself to go still and listen.
Nothing.
No footsteps outside. No hand testing the handle.
No ragged breath of a predator closing in on its prey.
Just the distant hum of traffic... a car passing somewhere far off... and the faint, steady drip of water from a gutter.
Seconds stretched.
Then longer.
My lungs slowly remembered how to work.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
“You’re fine,” I whispered, though my voice trembled. “You’re fine, Loretta.”
But the words felt thin.
I swallowed hard and pushed myself off the door, my legs unsteady as I moved deeper into the apartment.
I didn’t need sight to navigate this space.
This place was mine.
Every inch of it.
Twenty steps from the door to the armchair.
I counted them without thinking, my cane tapping softly ahead while my free hand skimmed the wall.
My heart still pounded, every nerve straining for a sound that might follow me inside.
When the worn velvet of the armchair finally brushed my fingertips, relief crashed over me so suddenly my knees almost buckled.
I sank into it, exhaling shakily as the cushions wrapped around me like something protective.
I sat frozen, clutching the armrests, forcing myself to breathe after the frantic run.
I didn’t know who he was, but I knew what he was—a threat.
And worse... I felt it.
That he wasn’t gone.
That he was coming.
My heart wouldn’t settle, racing harder with every passing second.
My grip tightened.
Then—
BANG!
The violent thud against the door hit like a gunshot in a closed room.
I jerked so hard the armchair scraped beneath me, my balance tipping dangerously before I caught myself.
My cane slipped from my fingers and clattered against the floor, the sound loud in the sudden chaos.
My heart slammed straight into my throat.
No.
No, no, no—
“Open this door, Empty Eyes!”
The voice tore through me, thick with mockery and smug authority.
Bruno Pérez.
Of course it was him.
My body went rigid, every muscle locking as if stillness alone could make me disappear.
My nails bit into my palms, sharp and grounding, a pain I welcomed because it kept me anchored here—kept me from spiraling.
Empty Eyes.
The name burned hotter now than it had in the office.
He’d said it a few hours earlier at the company for the first time, his voice low and amused as his open palm cracked down hard on my ass—right where the curve of my cheek met the top of my thigh, like I was something he owned.
Like I was something he could test, touch, take.
My reaction had been immediate and instinctive.
The crack of my palm against his face had echoed through the entire office floor.
A room full of silence after.
A room full of people who suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Because no one—no one—touched Bruno Pérez like that and walked away.
Especially not a blind intern.
My jaw tightened at the memory.
I hadn’t seen his face.
But I had felt it—the heat of his skin under my palm, the sharp turn of his head from the impact, the stunned stillness that followed.
For one second... he hadn’t been in control.
And men like Bruno?
They didn’t forgive that.
“Empty Eyes!” Bruno shouted again from behind the door, louder this time, his rage breaking through in a raw, unrestrained edge that rattled the wood between them.
He slammed another heavy blow into the door, shaking it violently, the wood’s vibration echoing through the apartment, the floor, and into my bones.
“You think you can humiliate me in front of everyone and just walk away like it’s nothing?” His voice sank, rough and vicious. “You made a mistake you don’t get to walk away from. And I assure you... you will pay for it, you arrogant, blind bastard.”
Another bang.
The hinges groaned.
I flinched despite myself.
Call the police.
The thought came—but died just as quickly.
The Pérez name wasn’t just powerful—it was untouchable. It seeped into everything. Police stations. Courts. Politics. Money moved where they wanted it to move, and people looked away when they needed them to.
If Bruno wanted in, he was coming in.
No one would stop him.
My head turned toward the hallway leading to my bedroom, my mind searching for escape routes I already knew didn’t exist.
He already knew I was here. He could probably smell the fear bleeding off me.
The pounding grew more aggressive, more impatient.
Wood creaked.
Metal strained.
“He’s going to break it down,” I whispered, the words barely leaving my lips.
My pulse spiked, my senses sharpening instinctively.
“This damned door refuses to yield,” Bruno called, his tone almost bored. “Very well. Come and open it yourself—now. Perhaps I will be merciful... if you are quick enough.”
A humorless sound rose in my chest.
Merciful?
Men like him didn’t know what that word meant.
I rose from the chair, but I wasn’t about to open that door, not even with his threat pressing against me.
I stepped back—slow, unsteady—then again, forcing distance between myself and it.
Not because it would save me, but because instinct screamed for space.
“I see you intend to defy me,” he said coldly. “Very well. I will not stop until this damned door gives way. And by the time I step inside, you will be praying for an end that will not come easily.”
Then his strikes on the door grew heavier, more insistent, the entire frame shuddering with each impact as my heart lurched and I moved blindly in panic—
Then—
A final, deafening crash.
The door gave.
Wood splintered violently, the crack echoing through the apartment as the frame tore apart under the force.
Metal shrieked as the lock ripped free.
Cold air rushed in immediately, brushing over my skin, carrying the outside world with it.
And him.
His presence filled the room before he even spoke.
Heavy footsteps crossed the threshold—slow, deliberate.
I stood in the center of the living room, my sightless eyes fixed on nothing, my breathing shallow, controlled only by force.
Every nerve in my body screamed, every sense stretched to its limit.
His cologne twisted my stomach.
My fingers curled slightly at my sides, ready, though I didn’t know what I could possibly do.
His steps slowed.
I could hear the shift in his stance, the subtle change in the air as he stood so close to me.
“You did not truly believe I would overlook the fact that you dared to slap me in front of the staff, did you?”
I didn’t answer.
Silence was safer.
Silence didn’t provoke.
But Bruno didn’t strike me as a man who needed provocation.
A soft chuckle left him, low and dangerous.
“Oh, don’t do that,” he said, almost conversationally. “Don’t go quiet on me now. You had no trouble speaking with your hands a few hours ago.”
Another step.
Too close.
My skin prickled violently as his presence invaded my space.
I could not help but wonder what Bruno would do to me here—alone in my apartment, helpless and trapped within my own walls.
Of course, I knew of Bruno’s recklessness.
Being the younger and only brother of the CEO of the company I worked for had granted him a dangerous kind of immunity—the freedom to bully, to assault, to hurt whoever he pleased without consequence.
Everyone said that despite the boss’s cold reputation, he had a soft spot for his brother; no matter what Bruno did, it was always buried, always erased.
Once, he had struck an elderly woman while drunk driving, and Rafael had made it disappear before it ever reached the police.
Another time, he was caught vandalizing a competitor’s property during a drunken outburst, it was quietly settled behind closed doors.
Yet I refused to be just another person he could harass and walk away from freely.
Still, I knew that daring to slap him after what he had done—after striking me without consent—would carry consequences.
I just hadn’t expected them to come this quickly.
Would Bruno beat me? Would he kill me?
I could endure such things.
Physical pain no longer unsettled me as it once had.
Bruises faded. Bones repaired. I had survived worse than anything a man like him could do with brute force.
But if he attempted something beyond that—