The Blind Angel Turns Out To Be A Sweet Demoness

Lindsay trailed her fingers along the wall for a long while, her cheeks still flushed with lingering embarrassment.

Before everything had fallen apart, Lindsay had often accompanied Matthew to society galas and exclusive dinners, where she'd crossed paths with Anthony more than once. Every encounter had been strained, electric with unspoken tension. No matter the situation, she'd always stood by Matthew and confronted Anthony.

Looking back now, Lindsay felt it seemed fate had a wicked sense of humor.

The memory of what her hand had grabbed moments earlier sent another wave of heat rushing up her neck.

She covered her face with one hand, mortified, then forced herself to breathe and pulled her collapsible white cane from her bag. Instead of calling Vera to guide her, she steadied herself and followed the path stored in her memory, tapping her way toward the ninth‑floor VIP burn unit.

When Lindsay reached her brother's hospital room, she thanked the nurse quietly, waited until the footsteps faded, and then eased into the chair by the bed. The steady rhythm of the monitors filled the silence, and her nose stung as tears threatened to spill.

Years back, when the fire had swept through the Gordon estate, her brother, Louis Gordon, had barely survived the flames since he had been lounging in the bathtub at that time. He had been pulled out alive, but the massive dust inhalation had left him in a coma ever since.

Lindsay reached out and wrapped her fingers around her brother's hand, tracing the skin that had been rebuilt over endless surgeries. The rough scars of old burns had faded, replaced by smooth grafts that barely hinted at what he'd endured.

Two years ago, outside the operating room, Matthew had stayed by her side, patient and calm, when she had struggled to hold herself together. "Linds, your brother's burns are severe, and infection is a constant threat. We can't afford to wait for him to wake before we operate. I've found the best surgeons. I promise, I won't let you lose your brother too."

She had agreed. Since she had become unable to see any of it for herself, he had described each surgery performed on her brother, every new graft, every faint sign of healing, turning every sliver of progress into hope she could cling to.

For three long years, she had clung to every word he had uttered. She had assumed his profound love for her had been the reason behind his insistence on marrying her after her family's downfall, that he had pulled her out of the darkest moments in her life out of concern, and that she could lean on him without hesitation.

But the bitter truth was that the man she thought had rescued her was the very source of her worst memories.

He had planned every gesture with one goal in mind—he wanted her grateful and devoted, so she would never dig into her family's tragedies. He was utterly unscrupulous and shameless.

Her grip on Louis' hand tightened before she even realized it.

Louis's fingers gave the slightest twitch in return.

A rush of hope spilled through her. "Louis!" she called his name again and again, yet he remained still. The steady rhythm of the machine never shifted.

Unable to hold back anymore, Lindsay pressed her face against the back of his hand while sobs tore at her throat. "I promise I'll avenge our family. Kyra and Matthew won't escape what they did," she whispered between sobs.

She stayed beside him for a long while before she forced herself to step away.

Once she reached the corridor outside the emergency room, she pulled out her phone to call Vera.

Just as she was about to hit the button, a voice she recognized swept through the corridor.

"Matthew, please don't be mad at me. I intended it as a surprise. Aren't you happy that I returned a little earlier than schedule?"

The phone slipped out of Lindsay's grasp, bouncing loudly against the floor. Shock opened her unseeing eyes wide. No mistaking it—she knew that voice anywhere. Kyra was back.

Although Kyra's tone had dropped, the way she sang her words was something Lindsay could never forget.

"Miss, you dropped this. Are you okay? Do you want some help?" A gentle hand picked up Lindsay's phone and returned it to her.

Lindsay grabbed it quickly, heart pounding so hard that it hurt. Hugging the wall for support, she shuffled her way to the stairwell, backed into a corner, and tried to steady her frantic breathing.

Meanwhile, inside one of the small ER rooms, Matthew let Kyra cling to him, patting her back dotingly.

"Ever thought about my feelings if something serious had happened to you? You should have called me as soon as you landed. Don't just hop in a cab next time. I'm glad you only got a little banged up. Is your head still hurting? Here, let me carry you to the bed. You're not going anywhere until the test results are back."

Though his words were strict, he spoke to her with real concern.

The nurse sorting through a tray of supplies glanced up, recognized Matthew, and offered a smile. "Mr. Riley, you and your wife look so loving together."

Matthew faltered for a heartbeat, and Kyra, dressed in her thin hospital gown, looped her arms around his neck with a bashful grin. "Of course, we are," she answered as she nestled against him. "My husband cares about me more than anything."

Three years of restraint shattered in a single instant, and Matthew's voice slipped into a low, heated rumble. "Not now, babe."

Back in the stairwell, Lindsay stayed rooted in place, biting her lip so hard that the taste of iron filled her mouth. Every gentle gesture Matthew had ever given her twisted inside her like thorns tearing through skin. The pain kept building.

The whole thing seemed absurd to Lindsay. If Matthew adored Kyra that deeply, why had he walked into the Gordon home and offered marriage to her instead? When had their affair even begun? Had Matthew been at the Gordon residence on that fateful day, watching her family die in the flames?

Cold dread crept through her limbs. Her breath hitched as the rising panic tightened around her neck like a vise.