THIRD PERSON'S POINT OF VIEW
"Let me help you with that—"
The slap landed hard across Lucian's face, sharp enough to sting and silence him in one motion. Nothing like this had ever happened to him—not from a woman, and certainly not one smaller than him, her frame delicate but held rigid with defiance.
He clicked his tongue, his gaze sweeping over her again. Her right hand braced against the wall for balance; her left hung frozen in the air, still carrying the force of her strike. Defenseless, yes. Weak? Not by a long shot. One wrong move from him would send her crumpling to the floor—and yet she'd found the nerve to fight back. A rare breed, indeed.
"You're a prideful little thing, aren't you, Seraphina?" He ran his teeth over his lower lip, his eyes tracking from her flushed cheeks down to her bare feet on the cool tile. "I offer you help, and you have the gall to slap me for it."
A smirk played at his lips as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He couldn't look away—not from the way soft light caught the curve of her shoulder, not from the fire in her stance even as she trembled. She was beautiful in a raw, unpolished way that made his blood run warm.
"I can undress myself. I'm blind, not paralyzed… sir." The steel in her voice hit him square in the chest, and something like admiration flickered through him. Her fighting spirit shone through even as she tried to wrap it in polite words.
"Oh? Is that right?" He tilted his head, his tone laced with challenge. "Then prove it. Walk into the bathroom. Show me you don't need me for a single thing."
Sera straightened her spine, chin high. "And if I do?"
"Then I'll never offer to help you with something like this again." His voice was light, teasing—but his eyes tracked every shift in her posture, every small adjustment as she found her bearings.
Everything had gone according to plan until moments ago. As expected, Sera had signed the contract—believing it was just for shelter and care while her sight recovered. But the Vitale family never played fair; deception ran in their blood. That document was more than an agreement—it was a marriage license, binding her to him legally with no ceremony, no fanfare. Buried in the fine print was another clause: she would bear his heir. His grandmother's doing, of course.
Lucian had never taken women seriously—they were distractions, diversions, background noise while he built his empire. Love, marriage, domesticity—none of it mattered to him. He had more money than he could spend, businesses thriving across the globe. That should have been enough.
But for his grandmother, it was never enough. So here they were: him, staring down a woman who had no idea what she'd signed up for, and her, about to prove just how stubborn she could be.
His focus snapped back as Sera began to move, her fingers brushing along the wall as she found her way into the bathroom. He followed, his gaze fixed on every careful step.
She needed to bathe—his grandmother had ordered him to see to her comfort. But they'd gotten stuck on the simple matter of undressing.
It was obvious she was still adjusting to her condition. Not born blind, forced into darkness overnight—he could only imagine the disorientation, the struggle to map a space she couldn't see. Most people would have given in, asked for help without hesitation. Not her.
He watched as she lowered herself to the floor, her hands moving slowly over her clothes, feeling for buttons and seams. His breath caught in his throat. He couldn't look away.
Her skin was warm brown, glowing under the soft light—neither pale nor dark, but truly and fully her. Chestnut hair fell past her shoulders, framing her face. Her body was neither too full nor too thin; every curve, every line felt right.
A low whistle escaped him as she pulled her shirt over her head. Even seated, her shape was impossible to miss—but she was too thin, her ribs just visible beneath her skin. Abuse from her family, he suspected. She'd need filling out.
Her top half was bare now, save for her bra. Next came her pants. She stood slowly, and he noticed her hands were shaking. Good, he thought. Let her struggle. Let her break and ask for me.
He watched like a predator tracking its prey, his eyes drinking in every inch of exposed skin. Her body was incredible—soft and curved and his, whether she knew it yet or not. He waited for the moment she'd crack. But it never came.
She didn't ask for help. Why? Pride? Or something deeper he couldn't quite name?
SERAPHINA'S POINT OF VIEW
My heart hammered against my ribs as I worked at the button of my pants, fingers trembling from cold and nerves. I couldn't see him, but I felt his stare—heavy, hot, pressing down on me like a blanket I couldn't shake off. I knew I shouldn't let him watch me like this, but what choice did I have? We'd be living under the same roof, and the contract said he was supposed to help me adjust to being blind.
I must have lost my mind when I signed that paper. Help from him? A man I could barely stand to be in the same room with? It wasn't right for a stranger to touch me, to help with something as intimate as undressing. And why had his grandmother insisted he be the one to care for me?
Finally, the zipper slid down. I pushed my pants off without hesitation, even as awareness of him burned at the back of my neck. I couldn't see him, couldn't chase him away—so I'd just have to endure.
I reached for the wall again, my fingers tracing its cool surface as I tried to find my way. But the bathroom was bigger than I'd guessed. Where was the sink to set my clothes? The toilet? The shower with its soaps and warm water?
I sighed, long and heavy. My pride could only take me so far.
"Lord, please let this be okay," I whispered to myself. Then, louder: "Are you still there… sir?"
"Yeah. Need something?"
I bit my lip, frustration flaring. Even his voice sounded like he was holding back a laugh. But I had to stay calm—I had no idea how many months I'd be stuck with him.
"I… I need help." The words were dragged from my throat, rough and bitter.
But silence answered me. No footsteps, no movement—like he'd frozen in place, just watching.
"Damn it! Did he leave me here?!" I hissed, turning toward where I thought he'd been standing. "He thinks I can't do this? I can! I can handle it, you bastard!"
I furrowed my brow and took another step, hand still on the wall for balance. Three steps in, I collided with something solid—but it didn't feel like plaster or paint.
"Another wall? Why didn't he tell me there was another wall?" I grumbled, gripping the surface in front of me. But something was off. It was warm. And there was a hard, long shape pressing against my stomach—what kind of wall had that?
I ran my fingers over it, and my blood turned to ice. This wasn't a wall. It was him.
I stumbled backward, feet slipping on the wet tile—but strong arms caught me before I could fall. Even blind, my eyes went wide with shock.
I could feel the hard lines of his body against mine, heat radiating from his skin. And that thing pressing into my stomach…
"W-What is that?! Is it… wood?!"
A low laugh rumbled through his chest, sending shivers down my spine. His lips brushed against my ear, his breath warm and dangerous.
"That's my hard cock."
"Asshole?!" I shrieked, my whole body going cold. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this—for his crude words, for the way his body felt so solid against mine.
I tried to push him away, but he only laughed harder, holding me steady.
"Relax. I have no intention of using it on you. You're not my type—too skinny, not pretty enough. Not even close."
"Then why don't you let me go so I can punch your face?! If I could see you right now, I'd tear you apart—even your nose holes would get an earful!" I panted, words tumbling out in a rush of anger.
I straightened up, ready to pull away—but his hand stayed on my arm. I wanted to snap at him, but I needed his help. So I bit my tongue and stayed still.
He guided me to the edge of the tub and helped me sit, then stepped back. The sound of his footsteps faded.
"I'm getting cold… just give me the soap and shampoo. I can manage from here." I called out, but no answer came. Instead, I jolted as cold water poured over my head and streamed down my skin.
"I said I'd do it myself!" I gasped—the shock of the water sending strange shivers through me. I'd never felt anything like it—unexpected, intimate, unsettling.
The water cut off, leaving silence in its wake. I strained to hear him, but there was nothing—until a hand touched my side, slick with soap.
A soft, broken sound escaped my lips before I could stop it. I clapped a hand over my mouth, heart racing so fast I could barely breathe.
His fingers moved slowly along my ribs, his touch light enough to make my skin prickle. I could feel my pulse thrumming everywhere—at my wrists, my neck, between my legs.
But I wasn't the only one affected. Behind me, Lucian stood rigid, jaw tight, lip bleeding where he'd bitten it too hard. He was fighting a battle he'd never seen coming.
For fuck's sake, he thought, his body tight with need he'd never felt so sharp. This is impossible.