Page 10 of Wrong Marriage. Right Groom
The violent thud against the door hit like a gunshot in a closed room.
I jerked so hard the armchair scraped beneath me, my balance tipping dangerously before I caught myself.
My cane slipped from my fingers and clattered against the floor, the sound loud in the sudden chaos.
My heart slammed straight into my throat.
No.
No, no, no—
“Open this door,Empty Eyes!”
The voice tore through me, thick with mockery and smug authority.
Bruno Pérez.
Of course it was him.
My body went rigid, every muscle locking as if stillness alone could make me disappear.
My nails bit into my palms, sharp and grounding, a pain I welcomed because it kept me anchored here—kept me from spiraling.
Empty Eyes.
The name burned hotter now than it had in the office.
He’d said it a few hours earlier at the company for the first time, his voice low and amused as his open palm cracked down hard on my ass—right where the curve of my cheek met the top of my thigh, like I was something he owned.
Like I was something he could test, touch, take.
My reaction had been immediate and instinctive.
The crack of my palm against his face had echoed through the entire office floor.
A room full of silence after.
A room full of people who suddenly couldn’t breathe.
Because no one—no one—touched Bruno Pérez like that and walked away.
Especially not a blind intern.
My jaw tightened at the memory.
I hadn’t seen his face.
But I had felt it—the heat of his skin under my palm, the sharp turn of his head from the impact, the stunned stillness that followed.
For one second... he hadn’t been in control.
And men like Bruno?
They didn’t forgive that.
“Empty Eyes!” Bruno shouted again from behind the door, louder this time, his rage breaking through in a raw, unrestrained edge that rattled the wood between them.
He slammed another heavy blow into the door, shaking it violently, the wood’s vibration echoing through the apartment, the floor, and into my bones.
