Rebirth: The Blind Heiress Makes A Deal With The Devil

The silence inside the heavy black town car was suffocating. Outside the tinted glass, the city blurred into streaks of rain and neon lights, but inside, the only sound was the shallow, uneven rhythm of Isabella’s breathing.

She sat curled on the soft leather seat, her body shaking so hard her teeth clicked together.

The truth about the poisoned eye drops was out. Kian’s lies had been ripped open for her to see.

Yet all Isabella felt was a vast, hollow ruin inside her chest.

For a foolish, embarrassing moment back in that courtroom, when she reached out into the dark and felt the broad lines of Kian’s chest beneath her hands, a small, quiet part of her had wished for a miracle.

She wished she would just wake up. She wanted to open her eyes in their old bed, feel the heavy warm weight of Kian’s arm thrown over her waist, smell the familiar scent of cedar and rain on his skin, and realize the last few weeks were nothing more than a horrific nightmare.

She hated herself for it. The shame burned hotter than the tears streaming down her face.

How could she still love a man who had systematically stolen her sight? How could her heart still ache for someone who had laid in bed beside her, whispering sweet promises while planning her ruin with Alice?

And then there was the baby.

Isabella’s hand crept down, pressing flat against her stomach under her thick wool coat.

For years, more than anything else in the world, she had wanted to bear Kian’s child.

She had imagined it a thousand times, telling him the news, watching his eyes light up, building a home together. Now, the dream had come true in the most twisted way possible.

The baby resting inside her was the most precious thing she had ever carried, yet it was also tied to the man who had torn her life to shreds.

A ragged sob broke from her lips. She buried her face In her hands, her shoulders heaving as the grief finally caved in on her.

"Am I horrible, Aaron?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper against the hum of the engine.

Beside her, Aaron shifted. He didn’t offer empty reassurances right away. He simply reached over, his long fingers closing gently around her wrist, pulling her hands away from her wet face.

"Why would you be horrible, Isabella?" his deep voice was low, grounded, and steady in the dark car.

"For... for still feeling like this," she wept, her words tumbling out in a messy, broken rush.

"For still loving him even after everything he did to me. For wanting to keep his baby when he used it like a weapon against me back there. I feel sick. I feel so disgusted with myself."

Aaron didn’t pull away. He didn’t tell her to get over it, nor did he use her weakness to push himself onto her. He reached out, his broad, warm palm resting against the side of her pale face, his thumb gently brushing away the hot tears on her cheek.

"No," Aaron said softly. "You’re not horrible. You were just too pure for a filthy man like Kian."

He shifted on the seat, catching her around the waist and pulling her small frame toward him. Isabella didn’t fight it. She collapsed into him, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, her hands clutching at the heavy fabric of his coat as she wept out all the pain she had been holding inside.

Aaron held her tight against his chest, resting his chin lightly on top of her head. As he listened to her cry for another man, his gaze drifted out the wet window, his mind slipping back through the years.

’Three years ago.’

The air inside the private cigar lounge was thick with the rich scent of aged whiskey and mahogany.

Lance Kingston sat in a deep leather armchair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass while looking out over the private courtyard. Across the small table, Aaron sat back, a quiet smile playing on his lips as he took a slow sip of his own drink.

"She turned you down," Lance said, shaking his head with a tired, affectionate sigh. "I swear, that girl is going to drive me to an early grave."

"She did," Aaron replied smoothly, his blue eyes gleaming with light amusement. "She made it very clear that her heart was set on Kian Carter."

Lance winced, looking genuinely apologetic.

"I’m sorry, Aaron. I really thought she’d have the sense to see what’s right in front of her. I’ve spoiled her too much, I know it. She’s too stubborn for her own good. Takes right after her mother."

"I think she takes after you," Aaron drawled, setting his glass down with a soft click. "Especially that stubborn confidence."

Lance let out a dry, mirthless laugh, his gaze dropping to the floor. "That’s just a front, Aaron. Deep down, I’m a coward."

Aaron raised an eyebrow, sensing the heavy, quiet regret hanging in the old man’s voice.

He knew better than to push when Lance took that tone, so he kept his silence, waiting.

Lance looked back up, his face hardening with concern. "She’s making the wrong choice. I don’t care how much she insists she loves Kian. There’s something dishonest about that boy. A dark air he carries around like a shadow. You, though... you’re different."

Aaron chuckled, leaning back. "Don’t paint me as a good man, Lance. You know what I’m capable of."

"You’re honest about who you are," Lance countered firmly. "You don’t hide behind a polite smile while hiding a blade behind your back. I respect that. And I know you’d protect her."

Lance set his glass down on the table, leaning forward until his eyes locked onto Aaron’s with desperate intensity.

"Promise me something, Aaron," the older man said, his voice dropping into a solemn, heavy tone. "If anything ever happens to me... take care of my daughter. Keep an eye on her, no matter how stubborn she gets. No matter how much she pushes you away or hates you for it."

Aaron looked at Lance for a long, quiet moment, seeing the deep love and fierce worry a father had for his child.

"You have my word," Aaron said simply. "I’ll watch over her."

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