Chapter 4
LORETTA
Itilted my head slightly, focusing—not with sight, but with everything else. The faint shift of air behind me. The almost-there rhythm of breath held too carefully.
The absence of casual movement.
Whoever it was... they knew how to stay hidden.
And they wanted to remain that way.
Fine.
I wouldn’t chase shadows.
Without another word, I turned toward the elevator and rode it down in silence.
Soon, I was back on my floor.
My steps steadied as I moved forward, the cane guiding me in smooth, practiced arcs across the space.
Each tap, each pause, each shift in sound painted the room for me more clearly than sight ever could.
The familiar layout welcomed me back—desks, partitions, the subtle echo patterns I had memorized over weeks.
Something steady in the middle of everything that had just changed.
I sat down and resumed wrapping up my tasks.
My fingers moved across the keyboard with quiet efficiency, finishing reports, organizing files, documenting everything needed for a clean handover.
Five minutes passed.
Then my phone rang.
The sharp vibration against the desk made my hand move instantly. I picked it up without hesitation.
“Hello?”
“Miss Loretta,” a familiar voice said—gentle, professional, tinged with concern. “This is Zara’s teacher from her school.”
Everything inside me stilled.
Something was wrong.
“She’s developed a very high fever,” the teacher continued. “We’ve had the on-site doctor examine her in the clinic, but we recommend you take her home to rest.”
My chest tightened so suddenly it almost hurt.
Zara.
A high fever.
“I’ll be there shortly,” I said immediately.
The call ended, but the weight of it lingered heavily in my chest.
Two weeks ago, I had enrolled Zara in a school, believing that being around children her age would help her with her autism.
And it had worked.
More than I expected.
Zara had thrived.
Every day she came home a little lighter. A little braver.
Her small voice, once hesitant, now carried more confidence when she spoke. Even her laughter—soft at first, uncertain as though she wasn’t entirely sure she was allowed to make it—had begun to grow into something freer.
Something that lingered longer in the air after she stopped.
I stood immediately, gathering my things with practiced efficiency.
My cane found the floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Each step deliberate as I made my way to my supervisor’s desk.
He was exactly where I expected him to be.
The faint tapping of his keyboard. The subtle shift of his chair.
“Sir,” I said, stopping at a respectful distance, “I’ve just received an urgent call. I need to leave for a family matter immediately.”
My tone remained professional.
“I’ll complete the remaining handover notes remotely tonight if needed.”
A short laugh followed.
“Handover notes?” he said, amusement laced with something less pleasant. “You’ve quite unexpectedly been promoted, Loretta.”
“From tomorrow,” he continued, “you will, in fact, outrank me. It would be unwise of me to impede you from attending to this urgent family matter.”
The sarcasm wasn’t subtle.
“Go ahead.”
“I appreciate it,” I said simply.
I turned without waiting for further comment and made my way toward the exit.
The transition from inside to outside was immediate.
The city breathed differently than the building.
I stepped onto the sidewalk and paused, orienting myself.
My phone vibrated again briefly—Uber confirmed.
I stood still, listening, mapping the space around me as I waited.
Then multiple hurried footsteps followed—fast, aggressive, closing in on me far too quickly.
Before I could fully react, a hand fisted into my ponytail and yanked hard.
Pain exploded across my scalp, sharp and blinding, tearing a scream from my throat before I could stop it.
“Let go!” I cried out.
A kick slammed into the back of my knee, buckling my leg beneath me.
My leg buckled instantly.
I hit the pavement hard, gravel biting into my palms, my shoulder jolting with the force.
“You whore.”
A venomous voice cut through everything.
I recognized the voice instantly. One of my colleagues from my department.
“To think a blind nobody like you—” she continued, her grip tightening painfully in my hair, “—gets promoted to his personal assistant?”
The others let out bitter laughs.
“You’ll be with him every day?” another added, bitterness thick in her tone. “Touching him? Speaking to him? Breathing the same air?”
The jealousy in the women’s voices was palpable, as though I had taken something they believed belonged to them.
Many female employees in the company longed for Rafael’s attention, so the idea that a blind intern like me had been chosen for a position granting such close proximity to him was something they could neither comprehend nor accept.
And for that, they were punishing me.
“Hey, hey... girls.”
Another voice cut in, this one male. It was undoubtedly my supervisor’s—the same man I had asked for permission only moments earlier.
What was he doing with these women ?
“There are security cameras everywhere,” he said, lowering his voice as if offering helpful advice. “If you’re going to drag her somewhere to teach her a lesson...”
A pause.
“...at least take her somewhere private first.”
My stomach turned.
The grip in my hair tightened again, pulling my head back just enough to strain my neck.
“Do you have any idea how many of us would kill for that position? And they gave it to you?”
One of the women surrounding me spoke, her voice dripping with venom so thick it almost felt physical.
I remained still.
Breathing slow.
Without warning, one of the women struck me across the face.
The hit landed on my already injured eye, and pain exploded through my already damaged eye, sharp and blinding despite the darkness I already lived in.
A cry tore from my throat as the impact reopened the tender wound, sending a burning ache through the entire side of my face.
Tears stung instantly, and for a moment, all I could feel was pain.
But I didn’t flinch.
Didn’t give them what they wanted.
The woman who had been gripping my hair suddenly released me—only to strike me across the cheek.
The impact cracked through my face, heat blooming instantly beneath my skin.
Still, I didn’t react.
My silence unsettled them.
I could hear it—the shift in their breathing, the slight hesitation between movements.
Their heels clicked against the pavement as they circled me—three distinct rhythms, uneven but coordinated, like predators testing distance before closing in.
Their strong scents pressed into my awareness.
Expensive floral perfumes led the way.
But beneath them, threaded through the sweetness, was something else—jealousy.
“Why the fuck isn’t this bitch reacting?” the one gripping my hair demanded, frustration sharpening every word.
Because I learned a long time ago that reacting only makes it worse.
But I didn’t say that.
Didn’t give them anything.
“Girls...”
My former supervisor called to the women again, his tone careful—almost wary—as though he was afraid someone from the company building might catch them bullying me.
“How about this...” he continued, lowering his voice into something conspiratorial, as if he were offering a clever solution rather than something far worse. “Her apartment is only three buildings away.”
My heart gave a single, hard thud.
“We can pay her a little visit tonight,” he went on. “Break what’s left of her so she never shows up at this company again.”
Something inside me flared at those words.
The women murmured in agreement—low, eager, ugly.
My grip tightened imperceptibly around my cane—not from fear, but calculation. Then a sudden, violent shove sent me forward, and I hit the pavement harder this time.
My palms scraped first—skin tearing against rough concrete. My knees followed, impact jolting up my spine as gravel bit through my tights.
A sharp burst of pain shot through me.
Somewhere near me, my phone began ringing—loud, insistent, vibrating against the pavement.
I ignored everything else and reached for it.
My fingers found it after a second, brushing against the familiar shape before curling around it.
I brought it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“I’m parked right in front of you, ma’am,” the Uber driver I’d booked earlier said.
His voice was steady.
As if nothing unusual had happened.
As if I hadn’t just been on the ground, surrounded, hit.
I hadn’t even heard the car arrive.
The attack had swallowed everything else—the sound, the space, the world beyond it.
“We’ll see you tonight, bitch.”
The whisper slid close to my ear this time.
“Better not sleep in your apartment,” another warned.
Then the footsteps moved—retreating. The sharp clicks of heels fading into the distance.
Their voices lingered behind them, angry, jealous, bitter—like something rotting in the air.
They were leaving.
For now.
I ended the call without another word and pushed myself up slowly.
I brushed dirt from my palms, from my clothes—though I knew it made little difference. My tights were torn. My skin stung. My hair had fallen loose, strands clinging messily around my face.
My cheeks throbbed where they had struck me.
None of it mattered.
Zara needed me.
That was the only thing that mattered.
I adjusted my grip on my cane and began moving forward, sweeping it carefully across the ground.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Each step measured, despite the urgency pressing against my ribs.
I located the curb, the open space where the road thinned into silence, and the faint, steady hum of an engine idling nearby.
The Uber.
Before I could reach for the handle, the car door opened from the inside.
“Here, ma’am.”
The driver’s voice came again.
But this time—something in it had shifted.
Too subtle for most people to catch. Too small to question. But not for me.
My awareness sharpened instantly.
Most drivers, when they realised I was blind, behaved in predictable ways.