The Supreme CEO's Pampered Blind Wife

"At eight tomorrow morning, you're getting married. Don't bother packing. Old Evans will take you exactly as you are."

Brenda Miller, Chloe Miller's foster mother, stood beside her attic bed, sneering down at the twenty-year-old girl whose eyes were wrapped in medical gauze.

"I already got twenty thousand dollars out of him. You're blind now, Chloe. What man would want you otherwise? You'll be lucky if a man like Evans is willing to take you off our hands. So you'd better accept it."

Chloe's fingers tightened beneath the thin blanket.

Fifteen years ago, Brenda and her husband, Thomas Miller, had taken Chloe into their home as a foster child. For fifteen years, they had fed her scraps, forced her to work like a servant, and beaten her whenever she dared to talk back.

Now, with her eyesight gone, they had decided to hand her over to a forty-five-year-old widower from a nearby mining town.

Earlier that day, Chloe had been caught in a devastating car accident while saving the life of Madam Eleanor Conrad, the silver-haired matriarch of the powerful Conrad family. When a speeding truck came hurtling toward Eleanor, Chloe had shoved the older woman out of its path. She had taken the full force of the impact herself.

The screech of brakes, the violent collision, and the crushing darkness that followed were still painfully vivid in her memory. At the hospital, doctors had warned her that the damage to her eyes might be severe. For now, she couldn't see a thing, and no one could promise whether her sight would ever return.

The Conrad family had been deeply grateful for what she'd done. They had sent a check for a million dollars to cover her medical expenses, including a cornea transplant if the doctors determined she was a suitable candidate.

But Brenda had other plans for that money.

Outside, rain lashed against the cracked attic window of the Miller farmhouse in the Appalachian Mountains. Freezing wind slipped through the gaps in the wooden walls, making Chloe's stiff fingers tremble beneath the blanket.

"I already told you, we're not spending a million dollars on her eyes!" Brenda snapped, turning toward the attic door. "That check is from the Conrad family in Manhattan. It's ours to do with as we please!"

A whiskey bottle slammed onto the table downstairs.

Thomas Miller, Chloe's foster father, roared back from below, "The boys' college tuition and our farm mortgage depend on this windfall! She's just a blind stray we picked up fifteen years ago. What good is an Ivy League education to her now? She belongs in these mountains!"

Chloe lay motionless, listening to their voices carry up the narrow staircase. She had risked her life to save a woman she barely knew, only to discover that the people who had raised her were already fighting over the money meant to help her see again.

Chloe bit her lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

Under the blanket, her fingernails dug into the calluses of her palms.

The million dollars was supposed to cover her medical treatment, including a cornea transplant. But Brenda and Thomas had already decided that the money belonged to them.

They would rather spend it on their biological sons than give their foster daughter a chance to see again.

The heavy attic door flew open with a loud bang.

The stench of motor oil and cheap liquor filled the small room. Brenda's heels clicked toward the bedside, and a rough finger jabbed Chloe hard in the bandaged forehead.

"Old Evans from the iron-mining town is driving his pickup over to get you at eight tomorrow morning," Brenda sneered, looking down at her.

"He paid us twenty thousand dollars to make this happen. And that's not all. He's promised to help us out with the farm mortgage, too."

Chloe jerked her head away from the woman's hand.

Her throat was dry, making her voice raspy and cold.

"Old Evans is forty-five. He beat his last two wives until they were crippled. You can't just hand me over to someone against my will. That's a crime."

Thomas's heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and a moment later, he stormed into the attic. He grabbed the collar of Chloe's hospital gown, yanking her halfway off the wooden mattress.

"A crime? I fed you for fifteen years so you wouldn't freeze to death in the woods! You owe the Miller family everything! A crippled gambler is a perfect match for a blind girl!"

Chloe coughed hard.

Her chest burned from the bruised ribs she had suffered in the crash, yet her fingers reached for the cardigan folded beside her.

Sewn inside its lining were her Columbia University student ID and a single twenty-dollar bill.

Even after everything they had done to her, Chloe had never stopped studying. She was a Columbia University student, and she had earned her place there through years of hard work.

But to Brenda and Thomas, none of that mattered. They had never considered her their daughter. To them, she was simply another mouth to feed-one they could finally turn into cash.

Brenda slapped her husband's arm and spat on the floor.

"Don't leave marks on her. Evans wants to see what he's getting tomorrow morning. Padlock the door from the outside tonight. Don't even leave her a drop of water."

The solid wood door slammed shut.

The rusty bolt slid into place on the outside, locking the attic into a dark cage.

Downstairs, greedy laughter broke out as the couple counted stacks of cash.

They loudly planned to buy their oldest son, Travis, a new pickup and pay for their youngest son, Cody, to attend a private prep school.

Neither of them spared a thought for the girl they had just agreed to hand over.

In the dark, Chloe slowly sat up on the hard boards.

She peeled back a tiny corner of the gauze over her eyes.

Total darkness greeted her. A faint burning ache behind her sockets reminded her that the doctors had warned her the damage might be serious. Her vision was gone for now, but she had not yet been told whether the loss would be permanent.

Relying on fifteen years of muscle memory in this house, she held her breath and stepped barefoot onto the floor.

She carefully avoided the three rotten planks that always creaked.

Her fingertips found the cold iron latch of the back window.

Just outside it ran a rusty drainpipe, the only way down from the second floor. Inside, stacks of old cardboard boxes had been piled beneath the window, concealing the narrow space where she could reach the pipe.

She carefully moved the old cardboard boxes one by one.

A sharp cardboard edge sliced the back of her hand. She swallowed her gasp.

Downstairs, rock music blasted from the radio, followed by the thud of a bottle hitting the floor.

Thomas had drunk himself into a stupor.

Seizing the moment, Chloe pushed up the rusted window frame with one hand.

Freezing mountain wind and rain whipped her face, tangling her hair.

She leaned out and gripped the wet iron drainpipe.

Thick moss covered the metal. One slip from this two-story drop would snap her spine.

Thinking of Old Evans and his pickup truck, Chloe climbed over the sill without hesitation, hanging her legs out into the pouring rain.

Her fingernails scraped against the rusted seams of the pipe, leaving bloody streaks as she slid down the wet exterior wall inch by inch.

Her ankle struck the stone foundation hard.

Pain shot up her leg.

She rolled into the muddy grass to break her fall, swallowing the blood rising in her throat.

The yellow light on the second floor still flickered through the rain, mixed with the loud radio.

Inside, they had no idea their prey had escaped.

Chloe pushed herself up from the mud.

Listening to the wind and the faint hum of distant traffic, she stumbled toward the mountain highway.

Sharp stones and thorns tore at her thin hospital gown and bare feet.

Every step felt like walking on red-hot coals, but she did not slow down for a second.

The wind howled through the treetops.

In the pitch-black mountain storm, every step forward was a blind leap.

Her foot missed the ground.

She plunged headfirst into a deep, weed-choked ditch beside the road. Freezing mud filled her nose and mouth, making her lungs spasm.

She bit the back of her hand to stifle a cry.

Grabbing the rotting grass roots with both hands, she dragged herself out of the mud pit and onto the asphalt pavement.

At the end of the winding road, two blinding white beams suddenly sliced through the rain.

The deep roar of a powerful engine grew louder as the vehicle raced toward her along the winding mountain road.

Someone was coming.