After dinner, my private pack doctor came again, like he always did and checked my eyes.
“Alpha Thornhill, Dr. Peterson couldn’t make it today, so I came instead. I reviewed her records, and honestly… if she keeps taking the proper treatment, there’s a really high chance her eyesight will come back.”
I stood outside the door, quiet, listening. My chest felt heavy for no reason.
What would it even change… if I could see? Would I see him choosing her more clearly? Would I see every lie right in front of me?
Inside, there was a pause. Then Drake spoke. Calm. Flat.
“No.”
The doctor sounded confused. “No…? Alpha, I don’t think you understand. This is a good thing. She can recover, she can—”
Drake cut him off, his voice colder now. “Didn’t Peterson tell you? For the past five years, I’ve only had him prescribe the most basic tonics. Nothing more.”
The doctor went quiet. “You mean… you’ve been holding back her treatment on purpose? Alpha, that’s… that’s not right. She deserves to know. She deserves a chance.”
Drake exhaled, low and irritated. “And if she sees everything, what then? Have you thought about that? What happens to Chiara? What happens to her when the truth comes out?”
“Alpha, with all respect, your mate’s life should come first,” the doctor insisted. “You can’t just keep her in the dark because it’s convenient for you.”
“It’s not convenient. It’s balanced.” Drake’s voice dropped, dangerous now. “I’m keeping things stable. I’m protecting both of them. You don’t get to question that.”
My hand tightened around my ring. My fingers shook.
So this whole time… he knew. He knew I could’ve seen again. And he chose to keep me blind.
Why…? Was I really that easy to control? That easy to hide away?
A sharp crack echoed in my ears. I didn’t even realize I’d forced the ring off until pain shot through my finger. Blood slipped down between my fingers, warm and sticky.
I ran. I didn’t even know where, just back to my room, my whole body shaking so hard I couldn’t breathe.
I knocked into the table, and the framed wedding photo fell to the floor.
In it, Drake leaned forward, pressing a soft, sacred kiss to my forehead. His eyes were full of devotion. Like I was everything.
“Why…” I whispered, staring at it. “Why did you lie to me like this…?”
My tears hit the floor before I could stop them. And then I started laughing. Loud, broken, ugly.
“Hahaha… Drake… you’re amazing. You really are.” My stomach twisted, and I doubled over, gagging, bitter liquid rising in my throat. “You planned everything… didn’t you? Every day I am scared, confused… thinking I was broken… that was all you.”
I cried until there was nothing left. Then I picked up the photo, pulled it out of the frame, and shoved it into the shredder.
The machine chewed through it slowly, the sound sharp and final.
And it felt like something in my chest was being shredded too. Every memory, every moment, every time he said he loved me.
Gone.
“Honey… what are you doing?”
I didn’t even turn around. I just gathered the torn pieces, white and lifeless now, and dumped them into the trash.
“It’s nothing,” I said, my voice dry, empty. “Just… a corrupted file. Didn’t need it anymore.”
Drake stepped closer. “Corrupted? Let me see that.” He frowned slightly, staring at the shredded pieces. “Why does this look familiar… Chloe, what exactly did you—”
Before he could finish, the door opened.
“Drake,” Chiara’s voice came soft, gentle, like she belonged here more than I ever did.
He turned instantly. Just like that. Like I didn’t exist.
She walked in holding a bouquet of strong-scented white lilies, smiling shyly. “I brought these… I thought maybe she’d like them.”
Drake’s eyes softened right away. “You shouldn’t be walking around too much. What if something happens to you or the pup?”
“I’m fine,” she said, her voice light. “I just wanted to do something nice.”
He took the bouquet from her and turned to me, placing it in my arms. “Here. For you.”
“Happy birthday, Miss Brightman,” Chiara added softly.
The scent hit me hard. Too strong. Too suffocating. I started coughing, over and over, my chest tightening. Tears streamed down my face and I couldn’t stop them.
Drake frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you allergic? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Chiara suddenly came up behind me and covered my eyes with both hands, laughing softly like this was some kind of game.
“Come on, come on, just a few more steps,” she said, gently but firmly pushing me forward. “Don’t peek, okay? I prepared something special for you.”
I didn’t fight her. I just let myself be led. What was the point anymore?
“Alright… ready?” she said, voice bright. “Surprise!”
She let go.
And I saw it.
On the white marble table was raw meat, still dripping with blood, foam clinging to it like it hadn’t even been cleaned properly. The vegetables were burnt black, like they’d been left too long over the flame.
For a second, I just stared.
Was this a joke…? Or was I the joke?
Chiara suddenly gasped and slapped her forehead. “Oh no! I totally forgot. Miss Brightman can’t really see, right? I didn’t think about how this would look…”
She stopped mid-sentence and covered her mouth, like she realized she messed up.
Drake immediately reached for her hands, his movements quick, reassuring, signing gently to her. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Chloe won’t mind something like this. She’s not that sensitive.”
Not that sensitive.
Chiara lowered her head, her fingers trembling as she signed back. “Why does it feel like I can’t do anything right? I just wanted to do something nice for her, but I kept messing up… I’m useless.”
Drake shook his head, his expression soft, almost pained. “You’re not useless. Stop saying that. You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. You don’t need to be perfect.”
She sniffed, then looked up again. “I… I also made a mango cake for her. I thought something sweet might make her happy.”
Drake turned to me, his eyes full of that same gentle look I used to believe in. “Wife, come on. Don’t just stand there. She worked hard on it. At least try a bite, okay?”
I didn’t move. My hands clenched slowly at my sides.
I felt so tired. So, so tired.
“Drake,” I said quietly, “Do you even remember what today is?”
He froze. “What do you mean? It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”
“No. It’s not.”
