Brother's Blind Girlfriend is a Secret Heiress Chapter 2

When I got back, the debt collectors who'd been circling around downstairs were gone.

My stomach dropped. So it really had been Celeste who'd sent them.

I shut the door behind me and slid down against it, exhausted.

I hadn't actually been drunk, of course. I'd only meant to scrape together some sympathy from Celeste, get her to go easy on me. I hadn't expected her to react the way she had—dragging me through an entire night of it.

I smiled.

Celeste had lost her sight in a car accident, hurt while saving Dylan's life. But once she became "disabled," he hadn't wanted to look at her twice. He never answered her texts. He left her standing out in the rain for three hours one winter night while he video-chatted with some other girl upstairs. He called her gifts cheap and threw them in the trash right in front of her.

I used to think she deserved better than that.

Now, I figured it was all just a rich girl's little game.

[I don't see anything wrong with what Dylan did. Who wants a blind, broke girlfriend when they could have money instead? Even if Celeste wanted to test him, this whole charade was pointless.]

[Honestly, sure, Dylan's selfish, but the guy's just lucky. Once he and Celeste made up, she gave him shares in the company, a mansion, and catered to his every whim. He's basically living the dream.]

[Exactly. Good men get a reputation. Bad men get everything.]

Reading that, all I felt was disgust.

My parents had always favored Dylan. He took my toys, my clothes, my scholarship money. Once I started working, I stayed late every night, and they took my paycheck and handed it to him to blow on parties and girls. I was supposed to prop him up, hand him everything on a platter.

And now, they'd won three hundred million dollars in the lottery. Not only had they abandoned me without a word, they'd left me holding a mountain of debt and were using my life as a stepping stone to build his.

Why did he get everything, while I was left to die with nowhere even to be buried?

Resentment coiled around my heart like ivy, tightening.

I'd spent my whole life picking up whatever Dylan didn't want.

If Celeste was something he'd thrown away too, then I'd pick her up as well.

…

I ran into Celeste again sooner than I expected.

I'd just come off a shift at the hotel where I worked part-time, dead on my feet, when I looked up and saw her across the street. Big sunglasses, a white cane in hand, making her slow way down the tactile paving.

The idle rich really did have a boundless capacity for boredom. Dylan was long gone, and the great Miss Ross was still out here playing her part like she'd never get tired of it.

A man not far off seemed to recognize her too, and was making his way toward her with a fawning smile.

I shouted her name—"Celeste!"—and ran to her side.

Before she could say a word, I grabbed her wrist.

"Come with me."

I talked fast, my voice low.

"I saw a man walking toward you with bad intentions. He's probably here to collect a debt.

"My brother borrowed a lot of money before he died. You're his girlfriend—they're going to come after you. You can't see them coming. It's dangerous.

"You got hurt saving him. Let me protect you in his place. I promise you, as long as I'm alive, I won't let them hurt you. I'll never abandon you."

I sounded so sincere I might even have fooled myself.

"Will you trust me?"

Something in what I'd said seemed to reach her. Celeste hesitated, then let her steps go slack, allowing me to lead her wherever I wanted.

I took her home.

And true to what I'd promised her, I threw myself into treating her well. When her stomach ached, I got up before dawn to go buy her medicine. Since she couldn't "see," I took her hand again and again, guiding her fingers over every object in the house until she knew them all by feel. I went hungry so I could save enough to take her back for another eye exam, even as my own stomach cramped with hunger.

Through all of it, Celeste watched me with the same detached expression, sometimes with the faintest trace of mockery in her eyes.

At the hospital, the doctor shook his head—no improvement.

My disappointment must have shown plainly on my face.

Walking out of the exam room, Celeste let out a short laugh.

"I heard you sigh. Is it really that serious? I'm the one who's blind, not you. What is there for you to be upset about?"

I stopped walking and cupped her face in my hands. For one unguarded second, real shock flickered across her expression before she could hide it.

"You matter to me," I said, studying her eyes with real focus. "So when you hurt, I hurt too. Your eyes are beautiful. I'm not giving up on them."

Celeste pressed her lips together, watching me with an unreadable expression. My own face was a picture of sorrow, though I forced a smile into my voice.

"I mean it. I keep thinking—I'd do anything for you to be able to see again."

Back at the house, my eyes still red, I poured her a glass of water and spilled half of it down my front. The thin fabric of my shirt went transparent where it clung to me, outlining a lean waist and the faint shadow of abs underneath.

Something shifted in Celeste's gaze.

I noticed the change immediately. Carefully, I drew her closer and kissed her, testing the waters. She went still for two seconds—then, to my surprise, kissed me back.

The next morning, I woke to find Celeste already up and dressed. She tossed a watch onto the bed beside me.

"Picked it up off a street vendor. Not worth much, but it's nice-looking. It's yours now."

[I give up. How did Celeste end up tangled up with this cannon fodder? Does she even know Dylan's been conned into gambling and he's in real danger right now?]

[Isn't that the one-of-a-kind Patek Philippe from the auction? Why is she giving it to this cannon fodder? That was obviously supposed to be the peace offering she gives Dylan after locking him in that room made him furious!]

[Something's wrong with this guy. Who told him he could put his hands on Dylan's girl!]

I ignored the hysterical insults and stared, stunned, at the piece in my hand.

A one-of-a-kind Patek Philippe. That had to be worth a fortune. If I sold it, would the rest of my life finally be secure?

Right then, more comments rolled in.

[Don't worry about the earlier comments. Can't you tell Celeste's already planning to dump this cannon fodder?]

[Her dad heard she's been running wild all year and he's furious. He's ordered her home.]

[Celeste's worried this cannon fodder won't let go, so she's staging a whole scene—having herself "kidnapped," then thrown into the sea right in front of him, to kill any hope he has for good.]

[This idiot's still dreaming. Can't he see the way she looks at him—like a dog she's about to abandon?]

Celeste was going back?

My grip tightened around the watch. Suddenly, none of it felt like enough.

I'd spent all these days playing my part flawlessly, and all I had to show for it was a watch.

Dylan didn't have to do anything at all. All he had to do was come back, and he'd have everything handed to him.

That wasn't fair.