Faking Blindness to Destroy My Cheating Husband

"All you need to do is sign right here, Odette."

"It's that simple."

Thorne slid the pre-op consent form across the table toward me, the letterhead of the Vance Vision Clinic glaring up at me as he effortlessly twirled a Montblanc pen between his fingers.

I stared at the paper, my arms crossing defensively over my chest as I sank deeper into the sofa.

"I've told you a million times, Thorne."

"I don't want this damn ICL implant surgery."

"I have absolutely no problem wearing glasses or contacts. I don't need a piece of plastic shoved into my eyes."

"It's not plastic, darling. It's a high-tech collamer."

Thorne let out a heavy sigh and sat down beside me. He reached out, attempting to drape an arm around my shoulders, but my body flinched away on pure instinct.

His hand froze in midair for a fraction of a second before he smoothly pulled it back, acting as if nothing had happened.

"Our third-anniversary party is next month. Don't you want to ditch those clunky black frames and look absolutely flawless in that couture gown?"

"This has nothing to do with the dress!"

My voice pitched up, fueled by a sudden, rising irritation. "You know my family's medical history."

"I have a severe, life-threatening allergic reaction to PMMA—polymethyl methacrylate."

"Three years ago, I wore a cheap pair of contacts that had only a trace amount of that compound. It triggered acute corneal edema and anaphylactic shock. If they hadn't resuscitated me in time, I'd be dead."

"Any synthetic resin is literally a lethal poison to my body!"

"Odette, you're overreacting."

Thorne’s tone shifted into the coaxing cadence of someone talking down a petulant child. "Of course I remember that accident. It terrified me."

"That's exactly why I spent three solid months vetting the absolute best ophthalmologists in the city for you."

"Dr. Vance is the top authority in this field. I've confirmed with him countless times—the custom lens they're using for you is a pure silicone and collagen composite. It contains absolutely zero PMMA."

"How could I ever gamble with your life?"

I looked right into his eyes.

Thorne had captivating, deep mahogany eyes. It was that very gaze—so drowningly tender—that had convinced me to defy my family and marry a man of such ordinary origins.

But right now, there was an unfamiliar, feverish urgency flickering in the depths of them.

"If there’s a risk, why does it have to be done?" I countered coldly.

Thorne stood up abruptly, tugging at his tie in frustration, and began wearing a path into the living room rug.

"Because I want to give you the best!"

"You always do this, Odette. You're constantly defensive about anything new."

"I've already paid the hundred thousand dollars for the surgery upfront, and it's non-refundable."

"If you don't sign that paper today, Dr. Vance's operating room sits empty tomorrow, and I become the laughingstock of our entire social circle!"

"Are you worried about being a laughingstock, or are you worried about the hundred grand?" I pierced right through his excuse.

"I am worried about you!"

Thorne stopped dead in his tracks. He slammed both hands down onto the coffee table, leaning in close until his face was inches from mine.

A defensive, hurt anger bled into his voice. "I watch you deal with dry, bloodshot eyes every single day from wearing those contacts. I watch you stumble around in the dark at night, tripping over things looking for your glasses. It breaks my heart!"

"I'm doing all of this so you can have a better life, and you're treating me like a murderer out to get you?"

His accusation struck me like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Was I really just being paranoid?

Ever since my father passed away and I inherited the family's vast empire, the crushing pressure had cost me countless nights of sleep, leaving me suspicious of everything and everyone.

For the past three years, Thorne had put up with my volatile moods and faithfully managed the daily trivialities of our household.

"I... I didn't mean it like that," I said, my tone finally softening.

"Then sign it, Odette."

Sensing my hesitation instantly, Thorne slipped the Montblanc back into my hand. His voice smoothed out into a velvety whisper.

"Trust me. Tomorrow afternoon, it’ll only take a short twenty minutes. You'll take a quick nap, wake up, and the world will be crystal clear."

"I'll be right outside the operating room the entire time, watching over you."

I looked down at the dense thicket of liability waivers covering the consent form.

My heart began to pound frantically, as if some primal survival instinct was screaming at me to step back from the edge.

But meeting Thorne's expectant, waiting eyes, I finally clenched my jaw and scrawled my name on the signature line.

"There we go."

Thorne smiled as he slid the document away from me, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead. "You'll thank me tomorrow."

I didn't say a word. I just watched his back as he turned and walked toward the study.

That intense, smothering sense of foreboding coiled around my throat like a venomous snake, constricting so tightly I could barely breathe.