Chapter 4 #3
Her head tilted against my arm as she tried to stand, legs unsteady, balance completely gone. I shifted instantly, bracing her weight against my side without hesitation.
She was light.
She sagged harder against my side, each uneven breath warm against my arm.
“It’s okay,” I whispered, brushing my fingers lightly against her hairline.
I guided her carefully toward the door.
My cane swept ahead in wide, controlled arcs, marking distance, detecting obstacles before they could become problems.
My other hand stayed locked with hers.
We moved slowly through the clinic.
Then the hallway.
The familiar echo of the school wrapping around us like a memory I had already learned by heart.
Even with worry clawing at my chest, I counted without thinking.
Twenty-two steps to the main doors. Seven more down the ramp.
Outside, the air changed immediately.
Zara leaned heavier against me now, her strength fading in small waves.
I adjusted my grip without thinking.
I reached into my pocket with my free hand, unlocking my phone through voice command.
“Request Uber,” I said quietly.
The assistant confirmed.
We wouldn’t be waiting long.
We couldn’t afford to.
Then—
Footsteps sounded from the opposite direction, firm and deliberate in a way that struck something sharp inside me with recognition.
My body tensed instantly, reacting long before my mind caught up.
My grip on Zara instinctively firmed.
The scent hit next—sharp, expensive cologne layered over something darker.
Recognition settled like a stone in my stomach.
Bruno. Rafael Pérez’s brother.
Of course.
“Empty Eyes...” His voice slithered out, laced with mock pity.
“Look at you, dragging a half-dead brat around like some pathetic prop. Don’t tell me that’s actually your child? Who in their right mind would willingly shove his cock into a useless blind whore and knock her up? Must’ve been some drunk beggar or a pity fuck gone wrong.”
He let out a low, mocking chuckle that deepened into a sharp, sardonic laugh, and my jaw locked instantly.
What in the world was he doing here—here of all places, at all times?
Zara shifted uneasily against me, her small body tensing at the shift in the air.
I kept walking, jaw tight, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Bruno’s footsteps fell in perfect sync with mine, deliberate and mocking.
“So you think you can just slink away and ignore me, Empty Eyes?” His voice twisted with feigned curiosity, sharpening into pure venom. “What a delusional, arrogant little bitch you are. Don’t worry—I haven’t forgotten how you crossed me. I’ll make you bleed for it. Slowly.”
I stopped, breath tight.
“My child is sick. She needs rest right now. Just... leave us alone. Pick your fight with me some other time.”
A beat of silence.
Then he laughed, low and ugly.
“Like I give a single fuck about your sniveling spawn?” He said flatly. “And this child... she looks very familiar.”
His tone dripped with dark realization as Zara pressed herself harder behind me. “It can’t be... “
He stepped closer, voice dropping to an intimate, threatening whisper. “I’ll come to your home tonight. And this time, I’ll finish what I started—properly. Expect me. I always collect my debts.”
Then his footsteps retreated, fading with mocking leisure.
My fingers tightened around Zara’s hand for a moment, heart hammering.
Zara let out a small, frightened whimper against my arm.
I bent toward her immediately, keeping my voice soft but steady. “Don’t mind him, Zara. Don’t listen to a single word he says. I won’t let anyone hurt you... or take you from me. Ever.”
The promise settled in the air between us.
But promises were easy to make, weren’t they?
Bruno had promised to come to my apartment tonight, and earlier, the bullies outside the company building had made their intentions disturbingly clear—declaring they would “finish what they started” as though my life were something they could simply resume at will.
Perhaps they assumed I would run. That I would hide somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere less predictable.
But Zara needed stability. Rest. A place she knew. And there was no place safer, no place more manageable for her than my home.
I would not let their fear dictate mine.
I would report it. Go home. And face whatever was waiting there.
A soft hum cut through the tension.
The Uber.
I heard the car slow, then the faint click of unlocking doors.
“Come here, sweetheart,” I murmured immediately.
Carefully, I lifted her into my arms.
Her heat pressed instantly into my chest, her fever burning through my blouse like an open flame.
I adjusted my grip instinctively, one arm supporting her back, the other cradling her legs.
She made a small, tired sound but didn’t resist.
Just melted into my hold as if she had no energy left to do anything else.
I slid into the back seat and settled her fully on my lap, repositioning her so her head rested against my chest.
“There you go,” I whispered, lowering my voice until it was barely above breath. “We’re safe now. Just rest.”
The door closed behind us.
The car started moving.
For a moment, I focused only on Zara’s breathing.
Uneven at first.
Then slowly... a little steadier.
She nuzzled closer to me, her fever-warm cheek pressing against my chest, her grip loosening slightly as exhaustion overtook her.
A few seconds passed in silence.
Then—
A familiar scent reached me, and my awareness sharpened instantly.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up.
I knew that scent.
Not exactly—but it was close enough to make my pulse stumble.
Since losing my sight, my other senses had sharpened to compensate. I recognized people by the cadence of their footsteps, the timbre of their voices, the subtle scents they carried with them.
And this man smelled like Ramiro.
Not identical. But close enough to unsettle me.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said carefully, turning slightly toward him. “Do I know you?”
He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, his voice lower than before, almost like a confession.
“It’s me, Ramiro.”
My mouth fell open.
“What the hell? How is that even possible? Since when does the assistant to the richest man in Spain moonlight as an Uber driver?”
A brief grunt escaped him.
“Let’s just say I happened to see you and decided to offer you a ride.”
I didn’t buy it for a second.
“Right,” I said dryly. “And I’m supposed to believe that? Did Rafael send you to stalk me or something? Maybe he’s trying to learn more about me now that I’ll be working as his personal assistant.”
“We already have every piece of information there is to have on you, Miss Orsini.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “There would be no need to stalk you to uncover anything.”
Then, with infuriating ease, he changed the subject.
“I mean no offense, Loretta, but is that child really yours?”
My entire body went rigid.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I snapped. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“No.” His voice remained maddeningly calm. “But she resembles a missing child. I’ll need to take a hair sample to be certain.”
My heart plummeted.
Of course Zara was a missing child.
I had known from the beginning that one day someone would come looking for her. I had known there would be questions. Investigations. People claiming rights over her.
But somewhere in the last three weeks, that frightened little girl had become mine.
Not by blood.
By choice.
By every nightmare I had soothed, every meal I had prepared, every trembling hand I had held through the dark.
The thought of someone taking her away felt like a knife twisting between my ribs.
The car suddenly slowed.
“I will not allow you to take a hair sample from my child,” I said sharply.
A brief silence followed.
Then Ramiro said, “I already did.”
The words hit me like a slap.
My breath caught.
Only then did I realize why the vehicle had slowed moments earlier.
My arms tightened instinctively around Zara.
He had taken the sample then.
Somehow.
So quickly that Zara hadn’t cried out. Hadn’t even made a sound.
A cold wave of helplessness washed over me.
If I still had my sight, he would never have been able to do that without my knowledge.
“How dare you?”
I pulled Zara closer against my chest, as though I could shield her from him now.
For the first time since entering the car, genuine remorse crept into his voice.
“I’m sorry, Loretta. I simply needed confirmation.”
The apology did nothing to soothe the panic clawing through me.
The car continued forward for several minutes before gradually slowing again.
I felt the gentle deceleration beneath the tires.
The engine softened.
Then the vehicle came to a complete stop.
“We’re in front of your apartment,” Ramiro said quietly.
The cabin fell silent.
“The sample will be tested tomorrow. If it turns out Zara isn’t the child we’re searching for, I will personally compensate you for taking the sample without your permission and for cutting her hair.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Compensate me?”
How absurd.
My fingers moved protectively through Zara’s curls before I shifted her higher in my arms, carefully adjusting her weight against my chest.
She made a small sleepy sound, not quite awake, not quite asleep.
Then she burrowed closer.
Trustingly. Seeking comfort.
Seeking me.
The simple gesture tightened something painful inside my chest. My arms wrapped around her a little more firmly.
No amount of money could compensate for the fear of losing her.
I stepped out.
One foot.
Then the other.
Cane in my free hand, sweeping lightly across the ground before me.
The world outside was familiar in its structure, even if I could never see it.
The sidewalk. The curb. The faint slope leading toward the building entrance.
The car didn’t linger.
The engine revved once before the vehicle pulled away, disappearing with startling speed.
For a man who had creepily followed me from Zara’s school, carried us home, and secretly cut a sample of her hair, Ramiro seemed strangely eager to leave.
I stood frozen on the sidewalk, Zara asleep against my chest.
Fear settled heavily in my stomach.
What if he was right?
What if Zara really was the missing child they were searching for?
The thought made my pulse stumble.
They could take her from me.
Legally. Forcefully.
And what would happen to me afterward?
I wasn’t her mother.
I had no documents. No proof. No claim.
Just three weeks of loving her.
Three weeks of feeding her, protecting her, holding her through nightmares and teaching her that not every adult wanted to hurt her.
Would that matter to anyone?
Or would they see only a blind woman harboring a child who didn’t belong to her?
A woman with no explanation anyone would believe.
The worst part was that I didn’t know.
I didn’t know whether I would lose Zara.
I didn’t know whether I would be accused of kidnapping her.
I didn’t know whether tomorrow would bring relief or destroy the fragile little life we had built together.