The day Isabelle “Belle” Knight, Weston Carrington’s first love, returned to the U.S., I set fire to The Carrington Estate. With my twins in tow, I disappeared without a trace. I had once charged into a burning building to save him, losing my sight in the process. But to him, I was just a schemer who used any means necessary to marry him and ruin his future with Belle. Now that my vision was restored, it was time for me to leave. ### Chapter 1 The kids begged Weston for days before he finally agreed to celebrate their birthday with them. The food on the table grew cold, and the twins sat by their cake, refusing to go to bed. Weston never showed up. But I knew where he was. Grabbing my cane, I felt my way out of the house. Every bump and stumble on the way added new cuts to my shins. At the door of the private lounge, I was about to step inside when I overheard the conversation from within. “Belle’s coming back. So, what are you going to do about that blind woman and the twins?” one of Weston’s friends asked. “Divorce,” Weston replied without a moment’s hesitation. Of course. If the Carringtons hadn’t forced Weston to marry a blind woman like me, Belle would have never left. On our wedding day, Weston rebelled by disappearing, leaving me to complete the entire ceremony alone, becoming the laughingstock of the town. For a year, we lived apart. Then, one impulsive night changed everything, leading to the birth of our twins. The day Ethan and Lillian were born, he didn’t spare them a glance. To him, they were the embodiment of betrayal. When he agreed to celebrate their birthday, I foolishly believed that his heart might finally be thawing. In the silence, one of his friends spoke. “To be honest, your wife’s been good to you, and she’s given you kids who are already so grown.” “Does it matter?” another friend retorted immediately. “If she hadn’t orchestrated blinding herself to trap Weston into marriage, he wouldn’t have missed out on years with Belle.” “A blind, fallen socialite being able to marry into the Carrington family was already a miracle. Now that Belle’s back, the real lovers can finally reunite.” A lump formed in my throat as Weston’s cold voice cut through the room. “Talking about her ruins the mood. Let’s drink.” The disgust in his tone was unmistakable. ### Chapter 2 I often felt like my life was perpetually derailed, heading straight into every storm it could find. When I first met Weston, I was the adored Manhattan socialite, Celeste Monroe, and he was the rising star of the financial world. At my art gala, while the powerful circled around me with empty praise, he was the only one studying my painting in silence. Dressed in a crisp white shirt, he looked like he belonged in my self-portrait, “Portrait of a Countryside Girl,” that hung just behind him. When our eyes met, he offered a small smile. “Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as these works of art.” The imagined breeze of the painted fields brushed my heart, and it raced wildly. From that moment, I fell in love, enduring six years of one-sided longing. Weston always maintained a polite distance but never explicitly rejected me. I believed I was worthy of him and clung to the hope of winning his heart. Then, tragedy struck. The Monroe legacy crumbled, leaving me the only survivor. I was alive, but only in body. Later, I ran into a burning building to save an unconscious Weston, losing my sight in the process. I lost my home and could no longer paint. The Carringtons, not wanting public scrutiny, forced Weston to marry me. That’s when I learned his heart belonged to someone else: Isabelle Knight. He resented me. One Harvest Moon Festival, a drunk Weston came home for the first time. Before I could say a word, he embraced me, reeking of alcohol. I couldn’t break free. As he tore my clothes like a wild animal, the image of the boy who once smiled at me filled my mind. “Miss Monroe, you’re as beautiful as a piece of art,” he had said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. When I awoke, pain shot through me. And then, he slapped me hard. “Celeste, there’s no end to your scheming to stay as Mrs. Carrington, is there?” I realized then that it had always been a mistake. I should have left long ago. ### Chapter 3 I returned to Carrington Manor, the cage built for me after our marriage. The twins were still awake, running to cling to my legs as soon as I stepped inside. “Mom, did Dad come back too?” Ethan asked. I heard their little feet run toward the door, only to return, their disappointment palpable. “Did Dad not want us?” Ethan asked, tears welling up. My heart clenched, a crushing pain stealing my breath. I knelt and held them close. “Mom wants you. Will you come with me if we leave?” Life might be tougher, but it would be better than living in the shadows here. Lillian’s small hand brushed the tears from my cheeks. “Mom, don’t cry. We’ll go wherever you go.” After putting them to bed, I broke down, unable to hold back my sobs. Being my children had brought them nothing but hardship. Carrying them for ten months had been difficult, even more so because I was blind. Weston knew the challenges I faced but never accompanied me to a single prenatal appointment. When he first saw them, his only comment was, “Disgusting.” Publicly, he refused to acknowledge them as his own. Even when they called him “Dad,” he scolded them. They were legitimate children, yet they were treated worse than outsiders. When they asked me if their father would come home, I would make excuse after excuse until even they stopped believing me. Leaving would free everyone. Perhaps Weston suddenly remembered his promise to the kids. Late that night, he came back. As I was packing, his cold hand grabbed my arm. His voice, sharp and void of emotion, pierced the air. “What are you doing?” The scent of alcohol brought back the memory of that night, making my body stiffen. I kept my voice steady. “The house is a mess. I’m tidying up.” The silence stretched, broken only by the chill of the wind that made me shiver. Then Weston pulled me into his arms, his tone almost pleading. “Don’t go, Belle.” He was drunk and had mistaken me for her. Before I could push him away, he kissed me, invading with the taste of whiskey. His hand trailed from my collarbone down, claiming me in his intoxicated haze. ### Chapter 4 The shame and pain crashed over me like a wave, suffocating and all-consuming. I pushed him away with all the strength I had, screaming desperately, “If you love Belle so much, why did you marry me? Why trap me here and ignore me?” There was no response. Though I couldn’t see him, I felt the rage emanating from him. Realizing my legs were cut, his tone turned harsh. “You went looking for me? What did you hear?” I didn’t care anymore. The words spilled out. “Do you really think Belle left because of our marriage? She left for her own ambitions.” “How dare you mention her!” He shoved me, and I fell back, my head hitting the ground with a painful thud, sending a sharp ache through my skull. Suddenly, a sliver of light broke through, fading the darkness into a mist. Slowly, my vision cleared. I thought I saw Weston reaching for me, but his hand retreated. He stood there, expression cold as ice. “You wanted me back. I’m here. That’s enough.” Then he disappeared into the night. I could see. I could finally see. Rushing to the bedroom, I touched Ethan and Lillian’s warm little hands to make sure it was real. Tears of joy streamed down my face. Now, I was more determined than ever to leave. The next day, Weston, sobered up, had his secretary send birthday gifts for the twins. They dumped them at the front door. Ethan scowled. “It’s not even my birthday today. Why send this now?” Lillian, equally upset, added, “We wanted Dad home so he could be with Mom. But if Mom doesn’t want Dad, we don’t either.” They were too young to have such heavy burdens, only two years old but far too mature. Lillian’s small voice asked, “Mom, where will we go?” Smiling, I replied, “Back to Mom’s old home.” The Monroe estate was long gone, sold off. Now, only Grandma Lucille’s Homestead remained—the place she had never left until her last breath, her little paradise. “There’s no amusement park, no tall buildings, but there are birds, flowers, and streams.” Their little arms wrapped around me tightly, stifling the rest of my words. “With you, Mom, anywhere is the best place.” ### Chapter 5 Lately, both Weston Carrington and I had been busy. He was preparing for Isabelle “Belle” Knight’s return to the States, while I was making plans to take the children and leave. If I wanted to slip away from the ever-watchful Carrington family, timing had to be perfect. Though the kids said they didn’t care about their father, the day before we were set to leave, they sat staring wistfully at a picture of Weston. After much hesitation, I finally dialed Weston’s number. The line connected, but his voice was as impatient as ever. “What is it?” “The kids want to see you. Would you come by one last time?” Would he come for one final goodbye? “Weston, I finally made it back, and you’re not even paying attention to me. I’m going to be upset!” Isabelle’s voice chimed in the background. He was with her. Without a second’s hesitation, he hung up. When fate has run its course, even a final meeting becomes too much to hope for. On the bedside table, my Portrait of a Countryside Girl still hung, as if the fragrance of the fields could seep out at any moment. I flicked the lighter and set it ablaze. The fire licked eagerly at everything in the room, spreading rapidly through the manor. Our marriage, which began with fire, would end in fire. As the flames roared around us, I held Ethan and Lillian’s hands and walked away, not once looking back. Weston, I’ve returned your freedom to you. The fire raged on, consuming everything, even what should have been permanent. I returned to Grandma Lucille’s Homestead. Since her passing, the house had remained untouched, blanketed in layers of dust. Brushing it away, I could almost see her offering me a big, ripe watermelon, urging me to eat. She would slice it in half, and if that wasn’t enough, she’d let me scoop it out with a spoon. Her eyes crinkled with joy as she laughed at the mess I’d make. Now, I lived quietly with the kids, emulating the simple, serene life she had once led. We tilled the weed-choked garden with small hoes, reclaiming the land inch by inch. News reports buzzed with stories of the fire that destroyed Carrington Manor, suggesting that Weston’s wife and their twin children were lost in the blaze. As the inferno devoured everything, Weston was in a hotel with Isabelle. She excused herself, claiming she needed to freshen up, leaving Weston waiting. He knew exactly what her invitation implied. ### Chapter 6 When Isabelle emerged, wrapped in a towel and looking every bit the vision she intended, Weston felt… nothing. As she leaned in eagerly, he recoiled, almost reflexively pushing her away. “I’m sorry, something came up at work. I have to go.” He left as if fleeing a fire, bewildered by his own reaction. Not even in bed with Celeste Monroe had he felt this disinterest. The news of the fire at Carrington Manor stunned him into a rare moment of silence. A pang of regret stealthily claimed space in his mind. He couldn’t help but wonder, if he had been there, would it have changed anything? Yet part of him clung to the belief that this was just another one of Celeste’s manipulations for attention. “She’s always up to some scheme,” he muttered with disdain. Until Margaret Carrington placed the charred remains on his desk. There lay a blackened wedding ring and two half-burned birthday gifts. The ring was their sole connection, one Celeste had never taken off, cherishing it as a lifeline. The gifts were the ones he had sent for the twins, their wrappings untouched, now scorched and ruined. “The fire started in the bedroom. It looks like she set it herself and locked the door from the inside. No one could have survived that.” Weston’s breath caught in his throat. “Are you saying she chose not to escape, that she stayed to die with the children in our home?”
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