My Fiancé Donated My Cornea to His Mistress, Then He Regretted It

On our third anniversary, Ryland Atkinson went bankrupt and was diagnosed with ocular cancer. I walked away from the finals of an international piano competition, selling myself back into the Red Light District to scrape together the money for his treatment. I endured the daily agony of blood draws and bone marrow donations, all to prepare my body to surrender my corneas to him. My pain receptors were a hundred times more sensitive than the average person's, so the anesthesia always wore off far too soon. After the operation, I opened my eyes ahead of schedule, only to see Melanie Sanchez collapsing into Ryland's arms. "Landy, if Thea ever finds out we played her like this... will she hate me for that?" "What right does she have to hate you?" Ryland cast a bone-chilling glance toward me. "If I hadn't pretended to be at the end of my rope, would she have ever willingly surrendered her corneas? A woman from the Red Light District is soiled goods anyway. What use does she have for a pair of perfect eyes? Better she gives them to you—consider it an act of charity to wash away her sins." Melanie pouted through her tears. "But... Thea is your savior, after all." Ryland's voice dripped with pure loathing. "If I'd known back then she was a woman of the streets, I'd have rather died in that alleyway! Why do you think she agreed to the donation? She just wanted to keep me shackled with guilt so she could remain my wife. Am I supposed to let her keep her sight just so she can keep sleeping around? That kind of 'transaction' is what she does best." Tears blurred my vision as I forced my shattered body to stumble out of the hospital. ***** Three years later, a family hired me to tune their piano. As I prepared to leave, I collided with Ryland, who was rushing in. His gaze darkened, unreadable. "You vanished over a little white lie, and now look at you—living such a pathetic existence. Athena, do you finally realize your mistake? If you're willing to swallow your pride and apologize, I can let bygones be bygones and allow you back into my house." I turned my sightless eyes toward him. "Mr. Atkinson, please move. I'm going home." He had no idea that the biological laboratory transport was already on its way to collect me. My death certificate was already signed and waiting. In three days, Athena Gwyneth would vanish from this world entirely. And I would forget everything, including him. ***** "Enough!" Ryland barked, seizing my wrist, his brow furrowing deeply. "Athena, how long are you going to keep up this act?" "Mel is a painter; she needs her sight. You, being blind, will only become more sensitive to sound—it'll help your piano playing. "But at the end of the day, I suppose I owe you. Stay. I'll compensate you." "Compensate?" The depths of my eyes were as still as a stagnant pool. "Something as precious as a cornea... how exactly do you plan to compensate for that?" Once, Ryland had loved me more than life itself. Back in college, if I so much as nicked my finger, he'd carry me across half the campus just to find a band-aid. He'd stay awake all night watching over me, terrified that the pain might wake me. But now, to give Melanie those eyes, he hadn't even blinked as he lured me onto the operating table. He ignored the fact that I would feel a hundred times the pain; he let them drain my blood and marrow only to toss it in the trash, just to make his "terminal illness" more convincing. Ryland let out a cold sneer, flicking a check onto the table. "Don't women from your 'nightclubs' love money more than anything? Write whatever number you want on that check. Is that enough?" My fingers tightened instinctively around my white cane. Even after a thousand insults, my heart still gave a dull, aching throb. To pay for my mother's medical bills, I had spent my youth serving drinks in the Red Light District. I endured humiliation daily, all to build a future with Ryland. Later, when Ryland was "diagnosed" with late-stage ocular cancer, Melanie told me that if the fees weren't paid that night, he would die. I had a bright future waiting for me after graduation. But for him, I sold myself back into that hell. When Ryland "recovered," Melanie produced staged photos of me serving drinks from years ago, along with a fabricated account on a lewd website. She slandered me, claiming I'd been sleeping around for years and that marrying Ryland was just me looking for a "patsy" to take care of me. I wanted to explain, but that photo—of an old man forcing me into his lap—became a thorn in Ryland's heart that he could never pull out. Watching the man who once loved me look at me with such pure hatred, I swallowed the bitterness. "Ryland, I don't want your money anymore." He smirked, assuming I was playing hard to get. To assert his dominance, he pulled Melanie into his arms. "Athena, drop the act. As long as you admit you were wrong, the position of my wife is still yours." I shook my head slowly. "Since my mother died, I don't care about anything anymore. I just want to live what's left of my life." Ryland froze, his eyes flickering with doubt. Seeing his hesitation, Melanie quickly grabbed his arm and looked at me with a face full of feigned grievance. "Thea, do you still hate me? I've felt so guilty these past three years. I wanted to make it up to you, but you weren't at the club anymore. Please don't hate Landy, okay? I can give the corneas back to you! I'll just give up painting forever!" Before I could speak, Ryland panicked. He shielded Melanie behind him, glaring at me with open hostility. "Mel is an artist! She can't be without her eyes! I'm the one who lied to you. If you want to hate someone, hate me. Leave Mel out of this." I adjusted my dark glasses and discreetly wiped away a stray tear. "Mr. Atkinson, rest easy. I won't do anything to her. If that's all, I'll be going." Once, he had protected me just like that. When the campus bullies spread rumors about me, he fought them all alone. Even covered in blood, he had flashed me a rakish grin. "Anyone who messes with Athena Gwyneth is messing with me!" But now, he stood on the opposite side, shielding Melanie with those same words. Ryland bit his lip, watching me. "I'll walk you out." I stepped away, avoiding his touch. "Don't trouble yourself." His hand hung awkwardly in mid-air. "Athena, you..." Suddenly, the housekeeper came sprinting out of the villa, frantic. "Mr. Atkinson! It's terrible! Ms. Sanchez's eye condition has flared up again—she's fainted!" "How could you let this happen!" Ryland shot me one last resentful look before bolting back into the villa. I knew what that look meant. He blamed me. He blamed me because, years ago, my fear of the pain caused a few minutes' delay in the transplant, leaving Melanie with a "chronic" ache in her eyes. But my pain sensitivity was a hundred times the norm. That surgery to remove my corneas... it was the nightmare of my life. Even now, if I so much as dreamed of it, I woke up in convulsions of phantom pain. At that moment, my phone screen lit up.