Blind But Brilliant: The Pitied Bride With Hidden Faces

The Barnett family had stood as a pillar of the city of Oranbu for more than a century, and Jared Barnett guarded their reputation as though it were sacred scripture. His only son, Leo, was the pride of that legacy, so every detail of his wedding was arranged with extravagant obsessiveness—nothing less than the most dazzling spectacle the city could offer.

Corrine had thrown herself into overseeing it all, stalking through banquet halls and designer showrooms. Yet the bride she had pictured beside Leo had always been Elsie—the impeccably raised daughter of the Norris family, polished to perfection and bred for society's grand stage. In Corrine's imagination, Leo and Elsie formed an ideal pair.

Jared's stubborn devotion to settling Leo's life debt to Khloe shattered those dreams. He had ordered Leo to wed Khloe instead, and from that moment, Corrine's resentment had taken root.

To Corrine, Khloe was nothing but an opportunistic outsider—an interloper who had materialized from nowhere and derailed the future she had so carefully mapped out.

A sharp voice cut through the silence. "Hard to believe that's supposed to be a wedding dress for tomorrow. That shade of pink is ridiculous—more like something a bridesmaid would get stuck wearing. Honestly, is Mrs. Barnett trying to embarrass the bride on purpose?"

"The poor girl can't even see—how would she ever realize they didn't even give her a real wedding dress? She'll likely show up in that thing tomorrow and end up making a fool of herself in front of the whole crowd."

The household staff's voices dropped to whispers, convinced their gossip was tucked safely out of reach.

Yet every word sliced clearly through the air. Khloe caught all of it. Her hearing, already sharp since childhood, had turned unnervingly precise after the darkness claimed her vision.

She trailed her fingertips across the smooth fabric, feeling every seam and bead, and a cold, humorless smile curved at the edge of her mouth.

Footsteps thudded softly along the wooden stairs, carrying two silhouettes into view—Leo with his shirt hanging open and his bare chest exposed, and Elsie with her hair in a wild, tangled mess, draped in nothing more than a thin silk slip.

A beat of silence followed. Leo clearly hadn't expected Khloe to return so early; irritation flickered across his otherwise polished features before he masked it.

Corrine picked up on the scene instantly. With a sharp snap of her fingers, she dismissed the household staff in the hall, then shot Leo a pointed look, urging him to get Elsie out of sight before the situation could spiral.

Leo slid an arm around Elsie's waist and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. Leaning close, he murmured in a low, indulgent whisper, "Tomorrow, I'm all yours. Be a good girl and head home now."

Elsie lifted herself onto her toes, then darted down the remaining steps and vanished through the back door.

A faint, unreadable smile curving her lips as Khloe dipped her head.

Even without sight, she tracked every movement with uncanny accuracy—she knew Leo's stride by heart and could map the room by sound alone, counting each presence as easily as breathing.

What a shame she couldn't witness their guilt firsthand or catch the panic surely twisting across their faces as they scrambled to hide the evidence.

With the dress delivered, Corrine rattled off a few quick instructions and took her leave.

Left alone, Khloe settled onto the sofa with her usual serene composure. She looked silent and agreeable, a woman who seemed incapable of anger.

Across the room, Leo exhaled in quiet relief. From her expression, she clearly hadn't caught on.

He smoothed his wrinkled shirt, forcing an easy charm back onto his face before taking a seat beside her. When he reached for her chilled hand, his tone tried to sound casual. "Did you get the wine?"

Khloe slipped her fingers free with delicate ease. "I did. I brought it back… but I got thirsty and drank some."

At a slow glance toward the table, Leo spotted the bottle already half gone and the glass left behind. For a blink, something sharp crossed his expression, then he tucked it away with practiced ease. "No problem. If it makes you feel good, have as much as you like."

Khloe angled her face toward him, offering a small, airy smile. "You're really… so 'good' to me, Leo."

A warm laugh rolled out of him as he slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Don't be silly. You're about to be my wife. Who else would I treat well?"

Against his chest, a heavy wave of Elsie's perfume clung to him—sweet, cloying, unmistakably intimate. The stench curled into her senses and twisted her stomach.

Three slow seconds passed before Khloe eased out of his hold, her palm drifting across his arm as she pushed him back.

She felt disgusted.

That fleeting embrace?

For her, it already marked the end.

"We'll go file the marriage paperwork first thing tomorrow," Leo announced, tone light and certain.

Khloe lifted the corner of her mouth and dipped her head in a soft, obliging nod. "Alright."

His hand skimmed over her silky hair in a practiced pat. Then he got up, and the warmth on his face vanished in an instant. The mask snapped back into place—cold, sharp, utterly detached.

He had no doubt she would obey. She always did. She'd step right where he wanted her—an easy pawn sliding neatly into his plan.

He couldn't wait to cut her out of his life for good. Her bland, lifeless demeanor left him irritated to his core—there was simply nothing there.

By the next morning, the City Hall building buzzed beneath a sky weighed down by heavy gray clouds.

The corridor outside the clerk's office overflowed with couples pressing shoulder-to-shoulder, waiting for their numbers to be called.

On a narrow bench near the wall, Khloe sat with her hands folded neatly over the skirt of her plain white dress.

A short distance away, Leo queued at the counter, impatiently tapping his heel while securing a number slip.

When the clerk finally began verifying their IDs and skimming through the forms, they casually asked a few routine questions, barely glancing up from the papers.

Propped lazily against the edge, Leo answered in an easy, almost charming drawl.

Khloe tipped her head, straining for every word. She barely caught his voice as he explained, "The groom isn't me. His name is James Elliott. The bride is Khloe Norris. I'm her brother—I'm only here to help her with the paperwork since she's blind…"

The rest slipped away behind the surrounding noise.

Khloe's grip slowly cinched around her cane, knuckles whitening.

Her thoughts raced, pulling up every scrap of gossip she'd ever heard about that name—James Elliott.

Rumor painted him as the notorious only son of the Elliott family. His father was a long-stationed military commander, barely playing a role in raising him. Therefore, he had grown up rough-edged and untamed after losing his mother, a wild streak carved deep into him—violent temper, reckless habits, a reputation for crossing every line without hesitation. In Oranbu, his name carried a kind of dangerous infamy.

And yet, some whispered his face was too striking to belong to this world, as if heaven misplaced one of its favorites.

What mattered even more was the power behind him. His family held Oranbu's economic lifeline in their grip, a city celebrated across the world for its perfume empire. James even ran a perfumery of his own, rumored to be both lucrative and exclusive.

Khloe figured that maybe the things she had searched for endlessly in the Barnett household might finally exist within the Elliott family's walls.

As that fragile thought flickered through her mind, a low rumble echoed from outside the building.

Down the road, a parade of high-end sports cars swept in like a glossy, snarling tide. At the center, a silver Koenigsegg glided forward and swung to a stop at the gate with icy, pinpoint precision, sealing off the entrance as if claiming the entire building for itself.

The display oozed audacity—loud, showy, and outrageously opulent.

Doors swung open in perfect unison. A crowd of men in sharp black suits filed out, lining up in two flawless rows, rigid as a living barricade.

From the Koenigsegg, the gull-wing door lifted. A pair of long legs descended first, fitted neatly into tailored black trousers. Sleek leather shoes kissed the pavement with a muted tap.

A tall silhouette rose from the car, unfolding into view with slow, effortless dominance.

Black silk clung to his frame, the shirt tailored to perfection, its top buttons undone just enough to reveal the hard lines of his chest—reckless, unrestrained, and deliberately provocative.

Sunlight slid across the sculpted angles of his pretty face, catching on the faint smirk playing at his mouth as he sauntered in with an easy, unhurried sway. Each step carried a quiet command, his presence flooding the space with effortless dominance. That seamless mix of arrogance and polished danger clung to him like a second skin, challenging anyone bold enough to stand in his path.

He didn't resemble a man arriving for the marriage registration. He looked like someone ready to tear the building down brick by brick.