Chapter 3 The Price of Sight

Dayna POV

The examination room felt cold despite the warmth of the heating. I sat stiffly on the examination table, my hands gripping the edge as I replayed the last sound I'd heard.

"Just a few minutes, Miss," the doctor had said earlier, his voice warm and professional. "I'm Jamie Bhatt. You can call me Dr. Bhatt."

That had been at least ten minutes ago.

I waited, trying not to panic. The scanning device was still positioned over my eyes, and I couldn't move without risking damage to the equipment—or so Dr. Bhatt had warned me.

"Dr. Bhatt?" I called out tentatively. Nothing.

I tried again, louder this time. "Dr. Bhatt? Are you there?"

Footsteps rushed toward me, and I heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Dr. Bhatt's voice was suddenly close, his hands working quickly to remove the device from my head. "I was just—I got caught up chatting with some friends and completely lost track of time. I'm really sorry about that."

The scanner lifted away, and I felt the pressure release from my temples. I managed a small smile, even though my heart was still racing. "It's okay."

"You're very understanding." He guided me by the elbow toward what I assumed was his desk. I heard the creak of a chair, papers rustling. "Please, have a seat."

I settled into the chair, my hands folded in my lap. The leather was soft and expensive—everything in this hospital seemed expensive. I thought of the ten thousand dollars Martha had given my parents, money that should have gone to my surgery. Money that was now gone, spent on God knows where.

"So," Dr. Bhatt began, and I could hear him pulling up something on his computer, "the good news is that your condition is treatable. The damage to your optic nerves isn't permanent."

Relief flooded through me. "Really? That's wonderful."

"However," he continued, and my relief evaporated, "the delay in treatment has caused significant complications, requiring a far more complex and costly procedure now. We'd need to bring in some specialists. The procedure itself, plus the recovery care, medication, follow-up appointments..." He paused. "We're looking at a minimum of three hundred thousand dollars."

The room seemed to tilt.

Three hundred thousand dollars.

I couldn't breathe. That was more money than my parents would make in ten years. More money than I could ever hope to earn, even with my scholarship, even if I worked every day for the rest of my life.

"Miss? Are you alright?"

I forced my expression to remain calm, even as my mind raced. "Yes. Thank you for the information, Dr. Bhatt. I... I appreciate your time."

I needed to leave. Now. Before Dr. Bhatt called Mr. Booth—before he felt obligated to help me further. He'd already done too much. I wouldn't be a burden. I wouldn't be like my parents, taking and taking without shame.

I stood up, reaching for my cane. "Thank you again, Dr. Bhatt. If you could just point me toward the exit—"

The door slammed open with such force that I jumped.

"Jamie!" A woman's voice, sharp and furious. "Where is she? That woman who's trying to steal what doesn't belong to her?"

"Marisa," Dr. Bhatt said, his voice tight with alarm, "I told you not to come here. This is completely inappropriate—"

"Don't you dare tell me what's appropriate!" The woman—Marisa—was getting closer. I could smell her perfume, something expensive and cloying.

Even though I couldn't see, I felt her gaze sweep over me. A chill ran down my spine.

"So this is the blind girl, isn't it?" Marisa's voice was contemptuous.

"Marisa, you need to leave," Dr. Bhatt said firmly. "Now."

"Get out, Jamie." Her voice dropped to something dangerous. "This is between me and her."

I heard Dr. Bhatt protest, but footsteps retreated. A lock clicked.

We were alone.

I heard her heels click purposefully across the floor toward me, each step deliberate and threatening.

"Dayna, is it?" Her voice was right in front of me now.

Before I could respond, pain exploded across my cheek. The slap sent me stumbling backward, my hip hitting the desk. I gasped, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth.

"Look at you," she sneered. "I feel like I've seen you at some bar before, you pampered little princess. But those cheap clothes?" She laughed cruelly. "What happened? Did your rich daddy lose all his money, so now you're reduced to this? Pretending to be blind, playing the victim to hook a wealthy man?"

I tried to speak, but my voice came out as barely a whisper. "I don't know what you're talking about—"

Another slap, harder this time. My head snapped to the side, and I tasted more blood.

"Don't play innocent with me!" She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back so violently I cried out. "You think because you have a pretty face, you can just waltz into places where you don't belong? You want to marry into wealth so badly, is that it?"

Tears leaked from behind my sunglasses. The pain in my scalp was excruciating, but the humiliation was worse. I felt small, helpless, exactly like I had all those years at home. "I wasn't thinking about marrying into the wealth..."

"I'm warning you," she hissed near my ear, her breath hot against my skin. "Stay in your lane. Or I'll make sure you regret it. One phone call from me, and you won't even know how you died."

"I haven't done anything," I managed, my voice breaking.

"You're already done enough with that pretty little face," she snarled, and I heard her hand rising again. "I'm gonna ruin it."

The door burst open.

"Stop."

Mr. Booth's voice. Cold as winter, sharp as broken glass. Even without seeing him, I could feel the fury radiating from him.

"Mr. Booth!" Marisa's voice changed instantly, becoming sweet and concerned. "Oh thank goodness you're here! I heard you were at the hospital and I was so worried something had happened to you. I had to come make sure you were alright."

"Thank you for your concern," came his flat reply. "As you can see, I'm perfectly fine. Dr. Bhatt, escort her out."

"But Mr. Booth, I was just—"

"Now."

I heard him cross the room, his footsteps measured and controlled. Then he was close enough that I could smell that familiar scent of sandalwood.

"Why didn't you defend yourself when you were attacked?" His voice was gentle, making me bit my lip hard. What could I say? That I was used to it? That fighting back had never helped before?

"I... I didn't know how," I whispered, hating how broken my voice sounded.