Chapter 228: Flashback – The Branding of the Blind

Author’s POV (23 Years Ago)

Violet continued tracing her precise lines with the scalpel, her focus unwavering. Morgan felt every minute tear in his tissue, every searing sting left by the blade. The pain was alive, pulsating, yet trapped within a cage of flesh that refused to heed the frantic distress signals from his brain.

Suddenly, she stopped, tilting her head to inspect her handiwork. She looked into his eyes with a sickly, triumphant smile.

"I’ve carved a single word for you," she whispered. "A word to remember every time you look in the mirror. A word that will ensure you never forget me."

She stepped back slightly, admiring the crimson lines forming that word on his chest, where the blood began to flow steadily, outlining the truth. She pulled a handkerchief from her bag, carefully wiped the scalpel, and tucked it away. "I’ll keep this blade with your blood on it. You’re the first human I’ve ever used a scalpel on... it will be a beautiful memento."

In that moment, Morgan didn’t know if he admired her twisted strength or if he wanted to kill her. His emotions warred violently within his paralyzed frame. She leaned over him once more, pressing her lips to his in a long, deep kiss.

This was the only time she reacted with genuine passion, and Morgan felt every touch, every beat, until for a fleeting second, he forgot everything she had done to him.

She pulled her lips away, but stayed so close their breaths mingled. "Is this how I kissed you yesterday?" she asked. Morgan felt a radical difference. He didn’t know how he could tell, but he sensed the vast chasm between the two kisses.

He screamed internally, desperate to ask: Who the hell did I sleep with yesterday if it wasn’t you?

Then, she hissed into his ear with a chilling tone, "When your body wakes up, you will realize that the Violet you called a whore... is the only person you have never touched."

Morgan was shattered. Never touched her? What was this madness? He watched with stunned eyes as she rose, bent down to retrieve her red dress, and stood with a lethal beauty. She slid the dress on and zipped it up with a seamless, feminine grace.

She stepped into her heels, then reached out to undo his restraints. "The injection lasts about forty minutes," she said calmly. "Fifteen have passed. It won’t be long before you regain your movement."

She grabbed her bag and added with a bizarre spontaneity, "Unfortunately, you didn’t tell me how much you paid that girl yesterday so I could take triple from you. But since you know where I live, you can bring it to me tomorrow if it’s not too much trouble."

Morgan was utterly dumbfounded. She’s asking for money after mutilating his chest? Was she mentally deranged? And worse... had he actually fallen in love with this madwoman? She glanced at his bleeding wound and added in a tone that sounded like medical advice, "Don’t leave that wound without disinfecting it, or it will get infected. See you later, my dear Morgan."

She walked out of his room and out of the house, leaving behind a man in shock, staring at the ceiling in helplessness. His heart beat for the woman who had taught him the meaning of pain and truth in a single night.

Violet arrived home to a quiet house, but a different kind of storm raged inside her. She headed straight for Meredith’s room, pushing the door open to find her sister sitting on her bed, reading a magazine with a forced air of indifference.

"Hello, dear sister," Violet said, her tone eerily light.

Meredith looked up, her eyes scanning the red dress and the still-perfect makeup. "Are you back from your date?" she asked, trying to sound casual.

Violet closed the door slowly, heightening the tension. She sat on the bed beside her sister. "Yes, it was a wonderful date, Meredith."

Meredith swallowed hard, her heart thumping with anxiety. She was dying to know the identity of the man who had transformed her sister like this. "Who was it? The man you went out with?"

Violet toyed with a lock of her hair, her eyes gleaming with a mysterious spark.

"As if you’d know him... but those gray eyes... damn, they are captivating!"

Meredith’s body froze. She nearly dropped the magazine. She knew instantly she was talking about Morgan. Struggling to stay composed, she asked in a raspy voice, "I see... and what did you do?"

Violet stood and began to pace the room gracefully, describing the scene as if in a dream. "I went to his house. There were candles and roses everywhere."

Meredith couldn’t grasp what she was hearing. Candles and roses? For Violet? After what happened yesterday? She had told him she was a whore! How could he receive her like this? "Really?" she asked, dazed. "What else?"

Violet stopped by the window. "We had dinner, we laughed... everything was beautiful. But..."

"But what?" Meredith asked, unable to hide her eagerness.

Violet turned to her, her expression turning grave. "He told me something... something that made me afraid of him."

"What did he tell you?" Meredith’s voice was trembling now. 𝒻𝑟ℯℯ𝑤𝑒𝑏𝑛𝘰𝓋𝑒𝓁.𝒸𝑜𝘮

Violet leaned into her sister’s face. "He said he tricked a girl yesterday. He made her believe he was the one being deceived."

Meredith couldn’t believe her ears. Did he know all along it was her and not Violet? Was he playing her the whole time? A chill ran through her limbs. "Explain... explain more!"

"I don’t know," Violet said coldly, heading for the door. "He didn’t explain. He just told me that."

She left the room, leaving Meredith frozen in place, devoured by doubt, trying to understand if she was the victim in the game she thought she was masterfully playing.

The moment the door closed, Meredith felt an icy draft despite the heat. The magazine slipped from her trembling hand. She wasn’t just in shock; she was paralyzed by the terrifying certainty that she had walked into a trap.

"Impossible..." Meredith whispered, wiping cold sweat from her brow. "He was deceived! I’m sure of it!" She tried to stand, but her knees buckled.

On the other side of town, in that silent luxury apartment, Morgan began to regain control.

Tingles shot through his limbs like thousands of burning needles; the return of sensation was both painful and humiliating.

He lifted his right hand it felt like it was made of lead and placed his fingers on his chest.

As he touched the ridges left by the scalpel, a sharp sting pierced his skin. He looked at his fingers, stained with his own crimson blood, then dragged himself toward the large bathroom mirror.

He stood before it, swaying from the lingering effects of the Rocuronium. He flicked on the harsh light, and his features froze as he saw the word carved clearly into his chest:

"BLIND"