A timid young woman is forced to marry her sister’s blind millionaire fiancé, but in that darkness something unexpected begins to bloom, a love that dares to grow beyond lies and judgment. Do you believe that sometimes not seeing is the only way to truly see? Down the aisle, now, immediately. No one asked if she agreed.
Her mother gripped Valeria’s wrist, dragging her toward the wedding-dress that hung like a glittering trap. Her hand was ice-cold, but her voice cut through the air with fury. Celeste, isn’t coming.
You have no choice. Walk down that aisle, now, immediately. The tiny dressing-room seemed to cave in on itself.
The scent of expensive perfume, the clack of heels, whispered orders from assistants, and the frantic knocking from the wedding-coordinator, all of it hammered against her skull. Valeria said nothing, not because she agreed, but because her throat had closed under the weight of her mother’s glare. If this wedding falls apart, we’ll all be begging in the streets.
Your sister can’t marry him, so you will. You owe me that. Her mother’s voice was sharp as a blade, and Celeste, her sister, stood at the door, arms crossed, face cold as stone.
She offered only one sentence, dripping with contempt. You always dreamed of being the bride, didn’t you? Then play—the part to the end. No one asked Valeria what she wanted.
No one cared how she felt. The decision had already been made. The dress was steamed.
Her name had replaced Celeste’s on the marriage-license. And the groom, the blind man waiting beneath a hundred watching eyes, was still standing at the end of the aisle. Lucian Drake.
Blind, wealthy, proud, hand-picked by her family as a financial windfall, a man too valuable to resist, too blind to see the deception. For the past six months Valeria had spoken to him over the phone under the name Celeste. Her voice trained daily.
Her tone, her laugh, even her perfume, all rehearsed until perfect. Because, as her mother once said, Celeste doesn’t have time for sentimental nonsense. And now she was about to marry him, in a wedding broadcast live, beneath candlelight and stained glass at St. Vincent’s Cathedral, in front of the press, the elite, and a groom who couldn’t see, but who could feel everything.
She walked the aisle like someone stepping into an abyss. The gown had been shoved on to her in ten minutes, her make-up done in six, her shoes crammed. On, just as the wedding-car pulled up, Lucian stood like a statue, face serene, posture impossibly firm.
His blind eyes were half-closed, head tilted slightly as if listening. No one knew what he was thinking. No one knew if he could sense the switch, the minister asked.
Valeria Quinn. Do you take Lucian Drake to be your lawful husband in honour? In love and in duty? Until death do you part? The air turned to ice. Valeria didn’t dare look up.