Chapter 4

Before I could move, a heavy, incredibly warm cashmere coat was draped over my shivering shoulders. The residual heat of a man's body seeped into my frozen skin, sending a violent shudder through my spine.

"You are bleeding."

The voice was deep, smooth, and laced with a dangerous, simmering fury. It wasn't Nathan's sharp, impatient bark. It was Israel.

He didn't hesitate in the filth. He dropped to his knees right into the freezing puddle. Strong, uncompromising hands gently gripped my arms, pulling me away from the jagged concrete.

"He made the biggest mistake of his pathetic life," Israel murmured.

Without another word, he scooped me up into his arms. He lifted me effortlessly, cradling me against his solid chest with a fierce, protective gentleness that Nathan had never, not once, shown me.

I buried my face in his neck, surrounded by absolute safety. I was no longer a discarded prop. I was something precious.

The stark contrast between the two men made my chest ache. Nathan had thrown me onto the concrete to appease a liar. Israel was ruining his bespoke suit in the mud just to make sure I didn't catch a chill.

He carried me to his car, placing me inside the heated leather interior. He buckled my seatbelt himself, his fingers brushing my jaw.

The drive was a blur of exhaustion and the quiet, steady hum of the engine. I felt the car pass through heavy iron gates, the tires crunching over gravel. We had arrived at his private, heavily guarded estate.

Inside, the air was warm and smelled of woodsmoke and old books. Israel didn't call for maids or staff. He carried me directly into a massive bathroom and set me on a plush velvet stool.

I heard the running water. I felt the soft, warm dampness of a towel as he carefully wiped the mud and blood from my scraped knees and ruined palms.

His touch was feather-light, reverent. He treated my wounds as if I were made of fragile glass, not the heavy burden Nathan claimed I was.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked into the darkness, my voice trembling.

"Because you are done being a martyr, Maureen," he said softly, wrapping a crisp bandage around my hand. "And I am done watching from the sidelines."

He guided me to a leather sofa in what felt like a vast study. A heavy silence settled between us, broken only by the crackle of a grand fireplace.

I heard the crisp rustle of thick paper sliding across a mahogany desk.

"A contract," Israel stated. "I promised you a wedding at city hall. But I don't do things halfway."

I reached out, my bandaged fingers brushing the edge of the paper. "What is this?"

"It is your weapon," he replied, his voice a dark velvet promise. "I will give you the absolute power to crush Nathan. I will give you the resources to dismantle your toxic family piece by piece. They will beg for mercy, and you will give them none."

He stepped closer. The heat radiating from his body was a comforting anchor in the dark. "But in exchange, you must be my wife. Not a fake arrangement. Not a paper bride. Be my wife for real. Stand by my side, and I will burn their world to ashes for you."

My heart pounded against my ribs. A few hours ago, I was a discarded, blind cripple begging for scraps of affection. Now, the most dangerous man in the city was offering me a crown forged in vengeance.

"I agree," I said. My voice was steady, stripped of all its former weakness. "But on one condition."

"Name it."

"I don't want you to ruin Nathan," I demanded, gripping the heavy gold pen he placed in my hand. "I want to be the one to destroy him personally. I want to break him."

Israel’s low, dark chuckle vibrated in the quiet room. It was a sound of pure, wicked approval. "I wouldn't have it any other way, darling."

I signed my name on the dotted line. The scratch of the pen felt like the sealing of a sacred vow.

"Now, for my wedding gift," Israel said softly, taking the pen from my hand. "I told you I don't do things halfway. I have my private medical team on standby. We secured a top-tier cornea donor match hours ago. You won't fight them in the dark, Maureen."

The breath left my lungs. Tears finally pricked my useless eyes.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of sterile rooms, anesthesia, and quiet, steady reassurances from Israel, who never left my side.

Now, I sat upright in the recovery room. I felt the doctor gently snip the heavy gauze wrapped around my head.

"Open slowly," the doctor instructed.

I froze, my hands trembling in my lap. I slowly blinked.

The suffocating, absolute darkness that had been my prison for three years began to fracture. It faded into a blinding, hazy white.

Then, shapes began to form. Colors bled into the edges of my vision.

I blinked again. The blurry light snapped into sharp, breathtaking clarity.

I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth.

For the first time in three years, I could see.

I looked up. Standing right in front of me was Israel. He was stunning. He possessed a sharp, aristocratic jawline, dark, messy hair, and eyes so intensely dark they looked like midnight. His gaze was locked onto mine, burning with a possessive, consuming fire.

He saw the shock in my eyes. He saw my pupils dilate and focus directly on his face.

A slow, devastating smirk spread across his perfect lips.

"Welcome back to the light," he murmured.