HIS BLIND OBSESSION.

Chapter 1: The price of sight

The fundraiser smelled like money.

Lisa knew that smell. It was champagne that cost more than their rent, and perfume that lingered long after the women wearing it had left. It was the smell of doors that would never open for girls like her.

She sat perfectly still.

The silk dress itched at her wrists. It wasn’t hers. Nothing she wore tonight was hers. Annabelle had borrowed it from Mrs. Delgado “for the cause,” and the cause was always Annabelle.

“Smile, Lis,” Annabelle whispered, her hand gripping Lisa’s elbow a little too tight. “People are looking.”

Lisa smiled. She’d practiced it. Soft. Grateful. Not too wide, not too sad. The smile that made people reach for their wallets.

Around her, voices swirled. Crystal clinking. Heels on marble. Laughter that was too loud.

She hated loud. Loud meant she couldn’t hear the important things. Like the way Annabelle’s breathing changed when she was lying. Like the way their landlord’s voice had sounded last week on the phone. _Three months, Ms. Carter. Then I have to evict._

Blind didn’t mean helpless. It meant she listened harder.

“...and this is my sister, Lisa,” Annabelle said, bright and practiced. The same voice she used for i********:. “She’s blind, you know. Since she was seven. But she’s such an inspiration.”

There it was. _The line._

Lisa felt the familiar shift in the air. Pity. It rolled off people like heat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” a woman cooed, touching Lisa’s hand. Her rings were cold. “You’re so brave.”

“I’m okay, ma’am,” Lisa said quietly. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

That was the other line. Gratitude. It made the donations bigger.

Annabelle squeezed her elbow again. Approval.

Lisa couldn’t see the chandeliers Annabelle had described on the car ride here. _Crystal, Lis. Like stars trapped in glass._ She couldn’t see the designer gowns or the way Annabelle’s eyes darted around the room, calculating who was worth talking to. But she could hear it. The hunger.

Their family wasn’t poor. They were _broke_. Different thing. Poor was when you never had. Broke was when you remembered having.

Their dad used to take them to the ice cream shop on Fridays. Their mom used to sing while cooking. Then the accident. Then the hospital bills. Then Mom was gone. Then Dad worked two jobs and still couldn’t keep up.

Annabelle decided she wasn’t going to be broke.

So Annabelle used Lisa.

Not in a cruel way. At least, that’s what Annabelle said at 2am when Lisa cried. _“I’m doing this for us, Lis. For Dad. You’re helping.”_

Helping meant sitting in borrowed dresses. Helping meant being the “blind sister” at charity galas. Helping meant letting strangers touch her hand and tell her how inspiring she was.

In return, Annabelle paid the rent. Sometimes.

“One more hour,” Annabelle murmured. “The Voss Foundation people are here. If we can get them to notice us—”

Lisa didn’t know who the Voss Foundation was. She knew the name Voss from the news. Damien Voss. 32. Billionaire. Tech. Real estate. And, according to the tabloids Annabelle read aloud, _the man who hates women._

“He had a fiancée,” Annabelle had said last night, scrolling on her phone. “Cheated on him with his business partner. Took half his company. Now he won’t even look at women. Fires any female assistant who wears perfume.”

Lisa didn’t care. She just wanted to go home.

But home was a small apartment with peeling paint and an eviction notice on the door.

So she sat.

An hour passed. Her feet hurt in the borrowed heels. Someone spilled red wine and the smell made her nauseous.

Then the room changed.

It wasn’t louder. It was quieter. Like someone had turned the volume down on the world.

Conversations dipped. Heels stopped.

Annabelle inhaled sharply. “He’s here.”

Lisa didn’t have to ask who.

Footsteps. Measured. Expensive shoes on marble. No perfume. Just something clean. Cold. Like winter air.

“Mr. Voss,” someone said, voice trembling. “Thank you for honoring us with your presence.”

Damien Voss.

Lisa kept her hands folded in her lap. She could feel him. Not see him. _Feel_ him. The way the air got heavier. The way Annabelle’s grip on her arm went rigid.

“He doesn’t talk to anyone,” Annabelle whispered, but it wasn’t for Lisa. It was for herself. “He just donates and leaves.”

Good, Lisa thought. Then this could be over soon.

But the footsteps stopped. Right in front of her table.

Silence.

Lisa lifted her chin. She couldn’t see him, but manners were manners. “Hello,” she said softly.

A pause.

Then a voice. Low. Deep. And so cold it made her shiver.

“You’re blind.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir,” Lisa said. “Since I was seven.”

Another pause. She heard him breathe.

“What’s your name?”

Lisa. Just Lisa. Not _inspiring Lisa_. Not _brave Lisa_. Just Lisa.

“L-Lisa Andrew, sir.”

Damien Voss didn’t respond. But she felt his attention on her. Like a weight. Like he was studying her with eyes she couldn’t see.

Annabelle jumped in, voice sugary. “Mr. Voss, it’s such an honor. Lisa volunteers with me at the—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” he cut in.

Annabelle went silent.

Lisa’s heart started to race. This was bad. Annabelle hated being embarrassed.

“Can you see anything at all, Ms. Andrew?” Damien asked.

“Light and shadow, sir. Sometimes.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

More silence. Then, quieter, like he was talking to himself: “Perfect.”

Lisa frowned. “Sir?”

“I’ll be in touch,” Damien said. And then the footsteps moved away. The room exhaled.

Annabelle was shaking. “What was that? What did you say to him?”

“Nothing,” Lisa whispered. “I just answered his questions.”

Annabelle let go of her arm. For the first time tonight, her voice wasn’t bright. It was calculating. “Do you know what that was, Lis?”

Lisa shook her head, even though Annabelle couldn’t see it.

“That was opportunity.”

---

They didn’t talk on the ride home. Annabelle was on her phone the entire time, typing furiously. Lisa stared out the window she couldn’t see through and listened to the city pass by.

When they got home, mom was asleep on the couch. The eviction notice was still on the fridge.

At 3am, Lisa woke to Annabelle sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Lis,” Annabelle said. Her voice was different. Soft. The way it used to be when they were kids. “What if I told you there was a way to fix everything? The rent. The bills. Everything.”

Lisa sat up, clutching her blanket. “What kind of way?”

“A marriage,” Annabelle said. “To Damien Voss.”

Lisa laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Annabelle, he hates women.”

“He hates women who want his money,” Annabelle corrected. “You don’t care about money, right? You can’t even see how much he has.”

The words landed like a slap.

“You want me to marry him?”

“I’m not asking,” Annabelle said. And now her old voice was back. The fundraising voice. “I’m telling you. He sent an email. He wants to meet. A contract marriage. One year. You live in his house. You don’t ask questions. And he pays off all our debt. Plus 2 million.”

Lisa’s mouth went dry. “Why me?”

“Because you’re perfect,” Annabelle said. “Because you’re blind. Because you won’t fall in love with him. Because he won’t hurt you.”

Lisa pulled her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Annabelle said flatly. “It’s this, or we’re on the street next month. Dad too.”

The room was dark. Lisa couldn’t see Annabelle’s face, but she could hear it. No guilt. No hesitation. Just math.

Her sister was selling her.

And the price was sight she’d never had.

Outside, a car engine started. Black. Tinted windows. Parked across the street.

Lisa didn’t know it yet, but Damien Voss was watching.

And his obsession had already begun.