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The Billionaire's Blind Bride: No Mercy

Chapter 2 No.2

Word Count: 916 | Released on: 15/01/2026

er of eyelashes. There was just a sudden, violent return to c

t they wouldn't open. There was weight. heavy

her chest. She sat up too fast. Her

ble. The sound of shattering glass echoed in

the foster homes before Gertie, breaking s

was only

throat was dry, like

e ans

knees to her chest. She was blind. S

led themselves. The surgery.

. Her mind, untethered by visual input, drifted backw

-two. Waitressing a

. Don Douglas, her biological father, had handed her a cup of tea. He looked at he

he stairs. She was perfect. Blonde, polished, radiant. She h

c, Annabella had w

dislodge the memory. The movement

tal room opened. Rubb

voice said. It wasn't unk

aid. I didn't know

I'll get a broom

ed. Just like

onference room in Midtown. A table made of mah

behind him, turning him into a silhouette. H

acquired prior to the union. Page 80, p

ked at her. It w

ts the best oncologists in the sta

a transaction.

. At that moment, she respected Clive more than she respected her own p

led for the call button cord. She fou

She needed to ta

located it by sound, sliding

e. Gia. Her

night. I swear, if I see one more picture of your mother wearing t

ly. She tapped the

ust... dark. I'm pretending I'm in a sen

. A lie. Bu

bathroom. The nurse

ed. Her feet touched the cold floor. She rea

zziness hit her like

step. The

hard with something

pricked behind the bandages, stinging t

lt pat

millions of dollars with a phone call. He walked through the world

was grounding. She traced it until sh

the sounds of the hospital. The squeak of

allway, two nurs

just came up t

rington. The suit alone

eart skipp

rin

mposs

ial Times said so. He was closi

maybe she was hallucinat

burying her fac

isn't coming. He doesn'

exactly how s

Chapter End

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The Billionaire's Blind Bride: No Mercy

Emma Modern

“I married Clive Harrington, the coldest billionaire in Manhattan, under a strict contract that forbade any emotional burdens. When I needed a high-risk surgery to save my sight, I checked into the clinic alone, hiding the procedure from a husband who saw me as nothing more than a legal asset. I thought I could handle the darkness in silence. But while I was blind and bandaged in my hospital bed, my biological mother called, screaming that if I didn't produce a Harrington heir by the end of the fiscal year, she would cut off the life-saving treatments for my disabled sister. I was crawling on the cold hospital floor, desperately feeling for a cane I had dropped, when I touched a pair of expensive leather shoes. It was Clive. He was supposed to be in London closing a multi-million dollar deal, but there he was, watching his "contract wife" groveling in the dark like a beggar. He didn't walk away in disgust. He carried me to a five-thousand-dollar-a-night VIP suite and sat by my bed, listening in chilling silence as another voicemail from my mother filled the room, calling me a "useless broodmare" who was only worth the trust fund disbursements my marriage secured. I expected him to remind me of Clause 34B or hand me divorce papers now that I was "damaged goods." Instead, I felt his thumb brush a stray tear from my cheek, his presence shifting from a statue of ice into a predatory shield. "I thought I was just currency to you," I whispered, my voice trembling behind the gauze. "Just an investment." Clive didn't answer with words. He picked up his phone and called his head of legal with a single, terrifying command: "Kill the Douglas family's credit lines. Every debt, every lien-trigger them all. If they want a war, I'll give them a massacre." As he leaned down to kiss my bandaged forehead, I realized the contract was dead. My husband wasn't protecting an asset anymore; he was hunting the people who had dared to touch what belonged to him.”