Broken Vision, The Substitute Bride's Exit

I'd just been recognized by the wealthy Hayes family when I was forced to become a stand-in bride for the real heiress, Sarah.

Her fianc, Peter Knight, had been in a car accident on their wedding day, leaving him blind and quadriplegic.

The doctors gave him a slim chance of recovery.

Two years later, Peter made a full recovery.

Then Sarah reappeared, sobbing that I'd somehow schemed to steal her wedding.

Peter believed her, vowing revenge.

He claimed his eyes hadn't fully healed and pressured me to donate a cornea.

After the surgery, while my vision was still blurry, he dragged me to a flashing, throbbing nightclub.

He was thrilled when I started crying tears of blood from the sensory overload.

Friends urged me to leave, but I stayed.

Until he ignored my three-month pregnancy and took me bungee jumping.

I miscarried. Peter complained about the smell of blood.

After I was discharged, I took a legal document to Peter's uncle, Patrick: "The three years are up. Please honor our agreement and let me go."

......

Patrick took the agreement, tossed it aside, and kept reading his own papers: "Sign for another three years. I'll add another three hundred thousand to your foster mom's medical fund. That way, if she needs a kidney transplant, you won't be so stressed."

Patrick, head of the Knight family, was a businessman through and through.

I needed money, but I needed out more.

"No. The deal was three years with him, and then I'm free."

My voice was firm. Patrick finally looked up.

"Peter's been giving you a hard time again, hasn't he? He lost his parents, then the accident it changed him. He's better these past three years. Don't be too hard on him."

He picked up the phone and called his assistant.

The assistant appeared with a signed check.

"If you stay, fill in any number you want."

The slip of paper felt heavy in my hand.

I thought of my foster mom in the hospital. I wavered.

Then my phone auto-answered. Peter's cruel voice filled the room.

"Summer, where the hell are you? Skipping out on your hospital room? Guess I haven't taught you your lesson yet."

"Actually, I found a new bungee spot. We'll have to try it sometime."

Sarah giggled in the background. "Peter, you're so awful! She was pregnant with your baby! Oh, wait, she lost it"

"You complained about the smell, remember? You didn't see how ugly she looked crying. I'd have killed myself if I were her, not just hang around being an eyesore."

More laughter erupted from the phone.

"Summer, you're so good at taking it, why don't you come down to the club and play clown for my friends? Give everyone a laugh."

My hands clenched. The check crumpled in my fist.

I fumbled to end the call, meeting Patrick's sharp gaze.

"I don't want the money. I just want to leave."

Patrick took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Peter's gone too far. I'll talk to him. Think it over."

Before I could refuse, the hospital called.

I rushed there. My foster mom was in surgery.

I collapsed onto a chair in the hallway, staring at the red light above the operating room door, feeling utterly alone.

Why was the world so cruel? Id never hurt anyone. Was I going to lose the only person who loved me?

The elevator dinged.

Medics rushed a pregnant woman toward the OR.

Moments later, the doctor came out. Stillbirth.

The family's wails tore through me. They cried for the doctors to save the mother.

I touched my stomach, grief welling up.

There had been a life there, connected to me.

Even if his father was a monster, I'd wanted him.

I'd even started to accept a life with Peter, for the baby's sake.

But the accident had broken more than his body.

Peter believed Sarah. He saw me as a gold digger.

So he took me to the bungee platform, as revenge.

His men held me down. He strapped me into the harness himself.

He saw my tears, heard my pleas. It just fueled his excitement.

He didn't push me right away. He poked my shoulder, relishing my screams.

Despair washed over me. I felt like I was losing my mind.

I begged him. Theres a baby! Please dont do this!

His eyes flashed. He shoved me off the platform.

The world dropped away. Pain ripped through my abdomen.

They pulled me up after the blood started flowing down my legs.

I was white as a sheet, numb with shock.

Peter waved his hand in front of his face. My blood was offending his delicate sensibilities.

Sarah leaned against him, snapping pictures. "Smile for the camera, sis!"

I passed out.

As I slipped away, I saw flashes of my past.

Five years old, my mom took me to the carnival. I was snatched away, sold for a thousand bucks.

Eight years old, I ran away, ended up in an orphanage, finally had a full meal.

Ten years old, my foster mom adopted me. She couldn't have kids of her own and treated me like I was hers. I finally had a home.

Fifteen years old, my birth parents found me, paid my foster mom, and took me back.

I knew my foster mom was sick, needed the money. I didn't complain.

The Hayes family already had Sarah.

My mother told me they adopted her to comfort themselves after losing me.

But their favoritism showed me I was the outsider.

When Peter had his accident, they dropped the pretense of fairness and ordered me to marry him in Sarah's place.

I refused. They threatened to withhold the money for my foster mom's treatment.

I agreed to the marriage and signed papers cutting ties with the Hayes family.

On my wedding day, seeing Peter broken, my anger faded.

Maybe it was my own past, but I felt sorry for him, orphaned and injured. I tried to connect with him.

With my care, he recovered in two years.

But his eyes still tired easily.

So I believed him when he asked for my cornea.

He just wanted to use me and our baby.

I lost the baby. I lost any love I had for Peter.

My foster mom's surgery was over. She was in ICU.

The doctor handed me the bill. Her funds were gone.

I looked at my four-digit bank balance. My heart sank.

I asked Dr. Zhao to look after her and walked out, phone in hand.

He stopped me. "It's no use."

"What?" I stared blankly.

His eyes softened with pity. "Your mother she might not make it. There's no point adding more money to her account."

It was like a thunderclap. I couldn't process it.

No point.

Patrick heard about my mom from the doctor.

After a long pause, he said: "They say she has maybe seven days. That's when Peter's surgery is scheduled. Stay until then. I'll ensure your mother has the best care possible for those seven days, and I'll take care of the arrangements afterward."

A practical transaction. How could I refuse?

After I agreed, he was silent again.

"I'm sorry, but to guarantee Peter's surgery goes smoothly, I have to eliminate all risks."

"I understand. No need to explain."

He sent a car to take me home.

As soon as I walked in, I went on high alert.

Sarah was with Peter, so he wouldn't be back for a while. I could relax, just a little.

Then the front door was kicked open.

Peter's voice echoed before he even stepped inside: "Summer! Get your ass down here!"

He'd fired all the staff after Sarah complained about them.

I was his maid now.

I unclenched my hands and went down, kneeling to change his shoes.

He stepped on my shoulder, forcing me to my knees.

I obeyed. He smirked. "That's it, good dog. Talking to my uncle has consequences."

He'd put broken glass under my knees. Sweat dripped down my face, but I didn't make a sound.

He seemed bored with my silence. He stepped into the living room. "Get up. Take care of me and I'll give you a two-fifty raise."

I was Mrs. Knight in name only. I hadn't seen a dime.

But being his maid paid seven grand a month.

I used to cherish that money, for my foster mom.

Now I just said, "Whatever."

His face darkened. He grabbed my throat, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Still haven't learned your lesson, have you? Why can't you be more like your sister?"

Like Sarah? A bully? A backstabbing two-face? Someone who'd spread her legs for cash and power?

I scoffed. "I wouldn't know where to begin."

My hoarse voice and lack of resistance seemed to spark his interest.

He dropped me, watching me crumple to the floor.

"We'll have some fun after my surgery. Enjoy these last few days of peace."

His eyes were sharp. I looked away, silent.

My lack of reaction bored him again. He kicked me and left.

I got up, treated my wounds, and said goodbye to him in my heart.

I had two days of peace.

On the third night, Peter called me to the club.

The lights and noise were overwhelming.

Peter had his feet up on a table, Sarah draped across his lap. He gestured with his sunglasses toward a glass.

"Sarah wants to bury the hatchet. Drink this."

He knew I couldn't drink alcohol after the miscarriage. He was just being cruel.

Sarah glared at me, snuggling closer to Peter. "Honey, is she still mad at me?"

He frowned, tilted her chin up, and kissed her. "Smile. I like it when you smile."

"You're terrible!"

Their public display of affection meant nothing to me.

"Last chance. Drink."

Peter was losing his patience.

I stayed silent.

"Fine. You want it the hard way?"

He smirked and signaled to his guards.

The next moment, the bungee jump video played on the big screens.

He'd even edited it for comedic effect. The crowd roared with laughter.

Everyone stared. I was a clown in the spotlight.

Peter watched me intently.

I felt nothing, just a vague appreciation for the club's sound system.

"Shut up!"

Peter exploded, kicking the table over. Glass shattered.

Silence fell.

He stalked toward me, kicking shards of glass out of his way.

"Summer Hayes!"

I met his furious gaze.

I didn't understand. I was complying. Why was he still angry?

He stared, then started to laugh.

"Fine. If you won't drink it, then give us a live reenactment of the video."

I still didn't react. I just wanted to leave.

My defiance enraged him. He gestured. The guards grabbed me.

He ground my face into the floor. I choked out, "Get off me!"

"Finally talking! Too late!"

He let me go after one last stomp, ordering the guards to pour the broken glass and spilled liquor into my mouth.

My eyes burned. I tried to scream, but couldn't.

Peter watched from the sofa. "Ready to give up yet?"

This was his usual tactic.

I'd begged for mercy before, just to make it stop.

Not today. I closed my eyes.

The glass tore at my throat. When the guards paused to refill the bottle, I coughed up blood and alcohol.

Sarah looked at Peter.

He frowned. She strutted over to me.

She crouched down, spitting venom. "Think playing dead will work? Trash like you should just die."

I ignored her. She kept pushing.

"Your real parents love me, the fake. Your foster mom's probably dead from kidney failure. Your husband loves me. Why even bother living? Let me help you out. Itll be quick.

She grabbed the bottle, ready to continue.

I looked at her and smiled. "You know the owner of DingSheng Enterprises' wife is a real piece of work, right?"

Her hand shook. Her eyes went wide. What do you know?

Before I could answer, Peter pulled her away.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Pour it down her throat!"

The world went dark again. The pain intensified.

I stopped fighting. I closed my eyes and passed out.

Peter thought I was faking.

Then he saw the blood coming from my mouth and between my legs. He dropped his sunglasses, scooped me up, and ran to the hospital.

Through the haze, I heard doctors yelling orders, Peter screaming for them to save me.

I was so tired. I slipped away again.

I woke up three days later.

Peter looked relieved.

"Thought you were so tough. It's just some booze. Took you three days to wake up."

I closed my eyes. He softened his voice. "Rest up today. My surgery's Monday. I need you there."

I opened my eyes and looked at him.

I was finally free.