Chapter 5

The days that followed were a living hell of darkness and Ethan' s cloying, false solicitude. He fed me, read to me, described the world outside my window with a poet' s detail, all the while, I knew, savoring my dependence, my helplessness.

But in the quiet hours, when he thought I was asleep, I began to move. Slowly, painstakingly, I explored my room by touch. The smooth wood of the nightstand, the cold metal of the IV pole, the rough texture of the armchair. I was mapping my cage.

And I began to purge. One by one, I found my belongings. The few clothes they' d brought from home. The small, sentimental trinkets I' d kept. I dropped them into the waste bin, hidden beneath a hospital gown. Erasing Elara Vance. Symbolically, for now.

Ethan noticed. "What are you doing, Elara? You seem restless." He' d find me fumbling with something, my hands exploring.

"Just... trying to get my bearings," I' d say, my voice carefully neutral. "It's hard, not seeing."

He' d pat my hand. "I' m here for you, my love. Always."

The engagement gala loomed. He spoke of it often, of the grand affair it would be. "Our friends, our families, all celebrating us." He was still planning his public spectacle, even if the details had changed from humiliation to perhaps a display of his "devotion" to his tragically blind fiancée.

"I' m not sure I' m ready, Ethan," I' d whisper. "So soon after... this."

"Nonsense, darling. It will be a triumph. You, radiant and brave. Me, by your side. It will show the world our love can conquer anything."

His words were like acid. My acceptance was strategic. The gala would be my stage, too. Not for his play, but for mine. My final act before disappearing.

The night of the gala arrived. Ethan helped me dress in a gown of midnight blue silk that felt alien against my skin. Diamonds, cold and heavy, clasped my throat and wrists. His "gifts."

"You look breathtaking, Elara," he murmured, his breath warm on my ear. I flinched inwardly.

He led me into the opulent ballroom of his family' s hotel, a glittering prison. The murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the scent of expensive perfume – it was overwhelming. I felt Jake Miller' s presence before Ethan announced him, his oily voice too close. "Elara, you' re a vision. So brave."

Then, Ethan excused himself. "Just need to check on a few arrangements, my love. Jake will stay with you." Jake, my keeper.

A moment later, Jake too made his excuses. "Be right back, Elara. Just saw someone I need to speak to." Leaving me alone, a blind woman in a sea of strangers. Or so they thought.

I didn't need my eyes to know the layout of this ballroom. I' d attended countless Knight family events here. I knew the exits.

I took a tentative step, then another. I could feel the shift in the air, the subtle currents of movement. I was heading for a side door, one that led to a service corridor.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Not just dimmed, but plunged into absolute, terrifying blackness. A collective gasp from the crowd, then nervous laughter. A power outage?

But this darkness was different. It was the darkness of my nightmares. The darkness of that alleyway, years ago, before Ethan "saved" me. The memory, raw and visceral, slammed into me. The fear, the pain, the hands grabbing me...

Panic, primal and overwhelming, seized me. My carefully constructed composure shattered. I couldn' t breathe. The staged mugging. It was happening again. But this time, it felt real.

"Ethan!" The name was ripped from my throat, a desperate, instinctive cry. Despite everything, despite knowing his evil, a deeply ingrained part of me, the part he had so carefully conditioned, still cried out for its captor in moments of terror.

The side door I was heading for burst open. Not with light, but with shadows. Figures. Men. Large, menacing, moving towards me. Their faces were indistinct in the gloom, but their intent was palpable.

This wasn' t part of Ethan' s gala plan. This was something new. Something terrifying.