Chapter 1 #3
The ghosts of my past still lived beneath my skin, buried deep where I prayed they would remain, and compared to that pain, his cruelty felt small.
No—Bruno would not break me. He could not.
Working as an intern in his brother’s company did not give him the right to strip away my dignity as though I were less than human.
And I wasn’t born blind.
Once, I had been able to see.
But then there was my father—my cruel, heartless, monstrous father.
My throat tightened violently at the thought of him, and I forced the memories down before they could fully surface, but memories never stayed buried once they were summoned.
They clawed their way back up no matter how desperately you tried to keep them hidden.
And I had learned something very young:
Men like Bruno weren’t new. They just wore different masks.
Without warning, Bruno gripped my jaw and forced my mouth open painfully wide. My breathing remained controlled despite the panic clawing through me, my cuffed hands twitching helplessly as cold metal slipped into my mouth.
The flat edge of surgical scissors pressed firmly beneath my tongue, forcing it upward, stretching the sensitive flesh in a way that sent a slow, electric pulse of pain through my jaw.
“How about this,” he murmured, making certain I could feel the cold edge of the scissors against my tongue, his breathing dangerously close. “Perhaps it is time someone taught you the cost of defiance. You value that sharp little mouth of yours so much... imagine life without it.”
His grip tightened slightly.
“You are already blind. If I removed that stubborn tongue of yours—silenced that sharp little voice permanently—what, exactly, would remain of you?”
“This is your final opportunity. Beg.”
I stilled instantly, not flinching, not breathing too hard, not making a sound, because the slightest movement would be enough for the blade to cut.
A warm, metallic taste flooded the back of my throat—not blood, not yet—but the anticipation of it, the way fear could trick your body into preparing for pain before it even arrived.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
But my body remained... still.
Let him do it.
The thought came cold and steady
Let him spill my blood.
Let him rob me of speech. Let him destroy whatever he pleased.
I would not hand him the humiliation of surrender.
Besides, pain had walked beside me for far too long to frighten me now.
“You stubborn little bitch.”
Bruno’s voice snapped sharply through the silence, raw frustration finally bleeding through the control he had been desperately trying to maintain.
“Why are you not begging?” he demanded, his grip tightening painfully against my jaw. “Why are you still looking so calm?”
The scissors pressed harder.
A sharp sting flared beneath my tongue.
“Are you not scared you’ll lose it?” he hissed. “Your tongue? Your pretty little voice?”
I couldn’t answer.
Not even if I wanted to.
The angle of his grip, the pressure of the metal—it locked my mouth in place, turned my silence into something forced.
But to him—
It looked like defiance.
And that made it worse.
His breathing grew rough and unstable.
“Beg!” he roared at me.
The blade shifted slightly.
My heart kicked hard against my ribs—
Still, I didn’t move.
Didn’t give him the reaction he wanted.
Because fear, when shown to men like him, only fed them.
The metal edged lower.
Just slightly—
But enough for pain to spike sharply through me.
“Bruno.”
A calm, commanding voice sliced through the room like a blade.
Everything froze.
The scissors were ripped from my mouth so abruptly I gasped, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.
Air rushed into my lungs.
I swallowed instinctively, my tongue moving quickly, carefully—checking.
No tear.
No blood.
Just a lingering ache and the bitter taste of adrenaline.
But something had changed.
The air itself felt... different.
Like the moment before a storm breaks.
A presence filled the room—not loud, not aggressive—but overwhelming in a way that pressed against my skin, my senses, my instincts.
Even without sight—
I felt it.
The subtle shift in temperature.
The way the space seemed to tighten around a single point.
The way silence itself became... respectful.
Footsteps followed, slow and measured.
Each one landed with quiet weight—authority in motion—followed by the faint rustle of expensive fabric and the scent of dark cedarwood and leather.
This authority figure who had just walked in was nothing like Bruno—not even close.
My spine straightened without permission.
My body reacting to something deeper than thought.
Recognition.
There was only one man in this city who carried a presence like that.
One man who didn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed: Rafael Pérez, the CEO of the company I worked for, the richest man in the city, and, inconveniently, Bruno’s brother.
But it could not be him—could it? A man like that had no reason to be in my apartment at all.
The question had scarcely taken shape before he spoke.
“Isn’t this the new intern?”
Rafael’s voice was smooth and controlled in a way that felt more dangerous than anger.
It slid through the room like aged whiskey—warm, refined... but burning all the same.
“Yes,” Bruno answered quickly.
I could easily sense the respect in his voice.
The arrogance had vanished. So had the mockery. What remained sounded... smaller.
“I came here to teach her a lesson,” he added, defensively now.
“She literally slapped me at the company a few hours ago. I was just making her understand that crossing a Pérez always comes with consequences.”
He spoke clearly, but fear was unmistakable in his voice.
“You broke into a blind woman’s apartment to teach her a lesson,” Rafael repeated, almost thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of target.”
Bruno let out a rough grunt, the sound tight with frustration.
“Another reckless display, Bruno.”
“Henceforth, spare this intern your petty games,” Rafael said calmly. “You’re done here. Leave.”
The command settled into the room like something final.
Bruno hesitated. Just for a second.
I heard it—the slight shift of his weight, the breath he held back, the anger he swallowed.
Then—
“Yes, Rafael.”
His footsteps moved quickly after that—no longer dominant, but retreating.
The broken door creaked as he passed through it, the night air slipping in behind him once more.
Then—
Silence.