Chapter 6
The color drained from Eugene’s face as understanding crashed over him like a tidal wave.
Seven years together, and I’d never spoken of my family, artfully deflecting his questions with carefully crafted excuses about their unavailability.
“Victoria… a Montgomery…” The words fell from his lips. Recognition flickered in his eyes as pieces of a puzzle he’d never known existed clicked into place.
The Montgomerys had three sons, each wielding immense power in Boston’s elite circles. And a daughter, kept hidden from society’s prying eyes.
Now, facing Dempsey’s thunderous expression, Eugene watched his carefully constructed empire begin to crumble.
His eyes fixed on my face, hands clenching into white–knuckled fists as I whimpered in my delirium.
“No… please… my eyes…” My broken whispers echoed through the cathedral’s vaulted ceiling, each word a testament to his betrayal.
Dempsey’s face darkened as he cradled my head, lifting me into his arms with devastating gentleness. He moved past Eugene as if the man had become invisible, heading for the exit with measured steps.
The sound of his retreating footsteps seemed to shatter something in Eugene’s carefully maintained facade. The realization that he was losing me – truly losing me – carved itself across his features like a physical wound.
He lunged forward, desperation stripping away years of practiced sophistication.
“Mr. Montgomery,” his voice cracked with barely contained panic, “Victoria is my fiancée. Brother or not, you can’t simply take her. This is our wedding day I promised her magnificence…”
“I can arrange a funeral instead.” Dempsey said coldly.
His foot shot out, connecting with Eugene’s knee joint. The mighty Eugene Thorne crashed to the marble floor, all pretense of power
stripped away.
“The Montgomery name carries weight for a reason, Thorne.” Each word dripped with centuries of aristocratic menace. “Don’t make me demonstrate why Boston’s elite still whisper our name in fear.”
As the car engine hummed to life outside, Dempsey held a glass of water to my lips, supporting me as if I were made of spun glass, and warmth slowly returned to my frozen limbs.
Dempsey’s fingers ghosted across the tablet, his expression darkening with each medical report.
When he reached the details of my forced corneal “donation” and hysterectomy, something primal and dangerous flickered behind
his eyes.
His hands trembled with barely contained fury, but his touch remained gentle as he adjusted the blanket around my shoulders.
A sound escaped him something between a growl and a sob.
“Dempsey?” I turned my face toward the noise, reaching out in the darkness.
“I failed to protect my only sister,” his voice cracked. “I’m a failed brother. Victoria, I’m so sorry… I should have found you sooner…”
What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You St
Chapter 6
As his shoulders shook with suppressed rage and grief, tears carved silent paths down my cheeks.
Cold fingers brushed away my hot tears as Dempsey’s voice carried the promise of violence. “Let me handle this, Vic. Let your big brother make this right.”
I shook my head slowly. “No. Some debts can only be settled personally.”
Hours later, our Gulfstream touched down at the Montgomery estate.
“Victoria!” My other brothers, Adrian and Brody, had been waiting. Their carefully controlled breathing couldn’t quite hide their shock at my condition.
I reached toward their voices, hands finding empty air. “I’m alright. Don’t worry.”
The unrelenting Montgomery brothers – known throughout Boston for their ruthless business dealings – gathered around me with uncharacteristic gentleness.
Their voices thick with emotion as they clasped my hands: “Welcome home, baby sister.”
Later, in my childhood bedroom, now silent except for the ticking of a grandfather clock, our family physician delivered his prognosis with careful precision.
“Miss Montgomery, regarding the hysterectomy…” Professional detachment couldn’t quite mask his outrage. “The damage is permanent. Your body has been severely compromised. Extended bed rest is essential to prevent chronic complications.”
He paused, papers rustling. “However, your sight could be restored with suitable corneal donors. Ideally, we’d need almond–shaped eyes with healthy tissue…”
Eugene’s dark, elegant eyes flashed through my mind. I wondered if there had been any truth in them when he’d promised to be my eyes forever.
Though I’d excised him from my heart, the wound still bled. Perhaps only his complete destruction would finally cauterize it.
