The Cold Billionaire's Stolen Blind Bride

Dayna POV

The shouting started before I even closed the apartment door.

"Dayna Melgar! You ungrateful girl!" Maxtime's voice boomed through the cramped living room. My father had never been a patient man, but lately his temper had grown even shorter. "We've been bleeding money to keep you alive, and this is how you repay us? You think you're too good to help this family now?"

My fingers tightened around my backpack strap. Three days ago, I could have seen the vein throbbing in his temple. Now, there was only blackness and the sharp edge of his fury.

"I got a full scholarship to Hudson Business School," I said quietly. "I won't need a single dollar from you."

My mother Taissa's laugh was harsh. "A scholarship? How exactly is that going to help Aaron with his private school tuition? We've maxed out three credit cards, and now your father's been laid off. The rent is due next month!"

"If you hadn't played hero that day," Maxtime snarled, "we wouldn't be in this mess. Saving some random old woman and ruining your eyes! Do you have any idea what your medical bills cost us?"

The injustice burned in my chest. I remember that day so clearly. The crack of breaking metal, the elderly woman standing beneath the scaffolding, and the construction debris plummeting toward her from above. I didn't think. I just moved. Pushed her out of the way. Then came the explosion of pain as shattered glass and metal fragments struck my face, and then... nothing. Just darkness.

Martha had been so kind at the hospital, insisting on covering my medical expenses. The doctor had explained that surgery might restore my vision, but my parents had other plans.

"That old woman gave us ten thousand dollars and disappeared," Taissa spat. "That's what gratitude looks like. A check and goodbye."

My throat tightened. Martha hadn't abandoned me. She had given them money specifically for my surgery, trustingly believing they would use it to restore my sight. Instead, they had pocketed the cash and checked me out of the hospital the very next day.

"Why waste perfectly good money on a girl's eyes?" Maxtime had said when I'd begged them to reconsider. "Aaron's education is far more important. He actually has a future."

Am I not your daughter? The question had haunted me then, and it haunted me now.

Before I could respond, Taissa's hand connected with my cheek. I stumbled, my blindness making it impossible to catch my balance.

"After everything we've spent on you!" she shrieked. "Tens of thousands of dollars, and you can't even show basic respect?"

"Worthless," Maxtime added. "Nothing but a blind burden."

I pressed my palm against my stinging cheek, fighting back tears. Crying would only make things messier. It always did.

Dinner was worse. I sat in complete darkness, fumbling for my plate while they doted on Aaron like I didn't exist.

"Mom, can I get the new PlayStation this weekend?" Aaron's voice was bright and entitled, the voice of someone who had never been denied anything.

"Of course, sweetie," Taissa cooed. "You've been working so hard at school. You deserve a treat."

He worked hard? I worked three part-time jobs through high school. I studied every night after closing shifts at the diner. I earned a full scholarship to one of the best business schools in the country. But Aaron gets a PlayStation for simply existing.

My fingers finally found the edge of my plate. Cold mashed potatoes and what felt like overcooked chicken. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning, my stomach a hollow ache I'd learned to ignore. But pride kept my movements slow and deliberate as I brought small bites to my mouth.

"Actually," Taissa said, her tone shifting, "I've been thinking about Dayna's situation. There's this man—Nathan Mitchell. Recently widowed. He's been asking for a wife."

My fork froze. A wife? More like an unpaid housekeeper and a punching bag for when he loses at poker! I knew Nathan from my shifts at the diner last year—always reeking of whiskey even at noon, hands trembling as he nursed his beer, loudly cursing about his gambling losses. I'd watched him stumble out more than once, leaving barely enough to cover his tab.

"He's fifty-three," Maxtime said. "Stable income. He'd take care of you."

"He's a gambler and a drunk," I said slowly.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Maxtime cut in. "You're a burden on this family, and Nathan is willing to take that burden off our hands. It's the perfect solution to our financial problems."

Aaron smirked, the sound cruel and young at the same time. "Can't believe someone would actually want to marry her. She can't even see where she's going."

They all laughed.

I stood abruptly. "Excuse me. I need to clean the kitchen."

At the sink, washing dishes in darkness, the decision crystallized: I can't marry Nathan. I can't spend my life in another cage.

I have to leave. Tonight.

I waited until past midnight. My "bedroom"—a converted storage closet—barely had room for my sleeping bag. I gathered my few belongings: backpack, thrift store clothes, scholarship letter, identification, cheap sunglasses, and the flimsy white cane from the hospital.

I crept toward the front door, avoiding the floorboards I knew would creak. When my fingers closed around the doorknob, I allowed myself one breath.

Then I stepped into the unknown.

The night air was cool, carrying the faint smell of rain. I stood on the apartment steps, paralyzed by one question: Where do I go?

Figure it out later. Right now, just walk.

I extended my cane and took a tentative step. The tip caught on something, and I stumbled. My second stumble was worse—my cane hooked on a raised edge, and I was falling, hitting the ground hard.

"No, no, no," I whispered, panic rising as I realized I was no longer on the sidewalk. The surface beneath me was different—smoother. And there were sounds, terrifyingly close sounds.

Car horns. Multiple car horns, blaring in anger.

"Get out of the road, you idiot!" someone shouted.

Oh God. I'm in the street.

I scrambled on my hands and knees, trying to find my cane, my backpack. Vehicles roared past, close enough that I could feel the rush of air. The horns were deafening. I couldn't tell which direction was safe.

Then a car stopped. A door opened with a solid thunk.

Measured footsteps approached. A shadow fell over me.

"I heard your eyes haven't recovered yet," a voice said, cold as winter frost. "Why did you leave the hospital early?"

The voice was male, deep and resonant, with the kind of authority that commanded obedience. But beneath the ice was something that made my heart skip.

That's the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.

"I..." My voice came out shaky. "Who are you?"

"I'm Martha's grandson. Thank you for saving my grandmother."

Yes, Martha did mention she had a grandson.

"You don't need to thank me," I managed. "Anyone would have done the same."

"It's late." A pause. "Where are you going?"

"I... I don't know," I admitted.

"You have nowhere to go." It wasn't a question.

"I'll figure something out."

"Let me take you back to the hospital. You need proper treatment for your eyes."

"No! I've already cost you too much money. And the doctor said my eyes might not recover anyway—"

"Who told you your eyes couldn't be treated?" The voice turned sharp. "Get in the car."

I flinched at the sudden command.

Then the voice softened, barely noticeable but there. "You can trust me. I'll arrange for the best specialists to examine you. Your sight can be restored."

I sat on the cold asphalt, torn between fear and desperate hope. This man was offering exactly what I needed. A chance to see again. But accepting felt dangerous.

But what other choice do I have? I can't go back home. I can't survive on the streets. And I definitely can't navigate college blind.

"Okay," I whispered. "Thank you, Mr..."

I trailed off.

"Mr?" There was a hint of amusement in that cold voice.

"I don't know what to call you."

A scoff. "Parker, help her with her belongings and get her into the car."

"Yes, Mr. Booth," another voice responded.

So that's who I'm entrusting my life with. Mr. Booth.