Brother's Blind Girlfriend is a Secret Heiress

I woke with my whole body aching, just as the sky was beginning to gray with the first light of dawn.

I turned my head. Celeste Ross opened her eyes at the exact same moment.

She was blind—had been ever since a car accident six months earlier had taken her sight. My younger brother, Dylan Marsh, had resented her for it, calling her poor and disabled, and had tried to break up with her more times than I could count.

Her eyes, however lovely, never used to focus on anything. They just drifted, empty, toward some point in the middle distance. But for one disorienting second just now, I could have sworn she was looking straight at me.

Then, just as quickly, the blankness slid back over her expression.

"Dylan?" she rasped. "Is that you?"

[Hold on, what's going on? The cannon fodder didn't die?! Why is he in bed with Celeste?]

[I'm furious. Don't tell me he's trying to pass himself off as her boyfriend? Her eyesight came back ages ago. If he tries to fool her, he is going to regret it.]

So she really could see. She'd been able to see this whole time.

I fought to steady my racing heart and made my voice come out flustered.

"I'm sorry. I—I'm his older brother. Anders. Anders Marsh.

"My brother... he passed away.

"I meant to bring you some of his things yesterday, but I got drunk, and after that, I don't remember anything."

I glanced at the clothes torn to shreds on the floor and looked away, embarrassed.

"Did you mistake me for him yesterday? I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been drinking, but I—I was so broken up over it. I don't have anyone left now."

My voice cracked on the last words, and I let it.

[God, he's pathetic, still making excuses for her like an idiot. She's not actually blind. I saw her face the second he grabbed her last night, soaking wet—she lit right up.]

[Being hugged by a gorgeous, soaked-through guy putting on his best kicked-puppy face? What woman could resist that? This guy's a professional heartbreaker.]

I turned away, looking suitably ashamed. The thin blanket slipped down my back, baring the red marks—bites, scratches—scored across broad shoulders.

Celeste took a slow breath. It was a while before she spoke.

"It's fine. I mistook you for Dylan too."

I picked my clothes up off the floor and got dressed. Behind me, I could feel her gaze studying me, thoughtful.

I pretended not to notice.

"Since that's settled, let's just say none of this happened. I'll get going. Don't let yourself get too upset."

On my way out, I tripped over something on the floor and nearly went down. Celeste caught my arm to steady me. The instant her fingers brushed my wrist, I flinched.

[Celeste won't be upset, trust me. She's already found out Dylan faked his own death.]

[Even the debt collectors were hers. Driving Anders to the edge was just her first warning shot at Dylan.]

[Dylan has no idea his own house has already been robbed out from under him.]

[I'm so mad right now. This Anders guy, this cannon fodder, needs to just die already.]

I kept my head down and walked out fast.