Two weeks had passed since the events in the medical room. Two weeks since Leah had stayed by his side through his worst moments, grounding him when the curse threatened to overwhelm him again. Two weeks since he had first seen her clearly—her bright blue eyes, the softness of her expression, the way her presence could calm him without a word.
Izana had recovered fully now. His body had returned to its usual strength, muscles firm beneath his clothing, posture sharp and precise. His reflexes were as quick as they had been before the curse's activation, and his mind was as alert as ever. He could move without hesitation, strike without warning, think without being dragged down by fear or exhaustion. In every sense, he was back.
And yet…
He still wore the blindfold.
It wasn't for him. Not entirely. The light still hurt—stubborn, unforgiving—and sometimes it reminded him of how fragile he had been. But part of it was habit, part of it was control. The world through that fabric was quieter, simpler, safer. A shield he wasn't ready to remove for long.
Leah had noticed, of course. She had teased him gently about it, a soft laugh and a "You don't have to hide from me, you know," and he had only shrugged. Words were unnecessary; the bond between them had grown in ways deeper than words could capture. Touch, proximity, presence—it all mattered more than seeing or being seen.
Still, he had seen her once without it. And that memory was lodged in his mind like a flame in darkness, burning bright and clear. Every time he thought of it, warmth bloomed in his chest, distracting him in ways he could neither control nor suppress.
It was this distraction that nearly got him killed today.
The meeting room was cold, large, and filled with smoke that curled in lazy swirls toward the ceiling. Heavy wood tables stretched along the center, lined with men in dark suits, faces hard, eyes sharper. This was not a room for distraction. Deals were being brokered, contracts negotiated, weapons counted and accounted for. Lives depended on precision, focus, and obedience.
Izana sat at the head of the table, his usual calm and authoritative posture in place. The blindfold hid his green eyes, but the people around him could feel his presence. They knew his reputation. They knew what he was capable of. And they knew, without him even speaking, that his attention carried weight.
But today, Izana's mind was elsewhere.
As the mafia members spoke, detailing the delivery schedule for the high-tier weapons, outlining contingencies in case of rival interference, explaining profit margins and logistical concerns, Izana's ears heard the words—but his mind did not.
His mind saw Leah.
He remembered the first time he had looked at her without the blindfold. How her blue eyes had caught him off guard, shining softly despite the exhaustion on her face from hours spent at his side. How her blonde hair had fallen across her shoulders just so, catching the light. How, in that moment, she had seemed impossibly… beautiful.
He hadn't thought of her like that before. Not in the romantic sense, not in words, but now the thought lingered. Her presence, her patience, her calmness in the midst of his chaos—it was all he could think about. She had become the center of everything, the only thing that mattered when he wasn't focused on the world.
And the world, as it turned out, did not appreciate his distraction.
"…I said, the rival family has requested verification for the shipment's quality," one of the lieutenants repeated, voice sharper this time. Izana blinked, and the words registered slowly.
"Do you understand, Don?" another asked, leaning forward, eyes narrowing beneath the harsh ceiling lights.
Izana blinked again, trying to anchor himself. His hand flexed against the table, fingers curling slightly. He could hear the tension in the room, smell the smoke, see the slight movements of the men around him—but all he could see clearly in his mind was Leah.
He remembered her laugh when he had brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Remembered the way she had touched his hand when he was weak, guiding him without force. Remembered the first time he had said it… "Beautiful." He could still hear the embarrassment in her voice, the blush that had warmed her cheeks. And he remembered how the world had narrowed down to just her in that moment.
And now, sitting at the head of a table negotiating weapons deals that could topple empires, he felt the same pull. That same warmth. That same impossibly human distraction.
"Don?"
The voice broke through his thoughts again. This time it carried a subtle edge—anger, curiosity, disbelief. The men around him had noticed. They had always known he was different, unshakable, but today something was off. Something in the way his shoulders shifted, the way his fingers flexed, the way he hadn't even looked at the papers in front of him.
"I… yes," he said finally, voice calm but forced. "I understand."
The lieutenants exchanged glances, uneasy. It was one thing for Don Izana to think carefully before responding, to weigh his words with the usual meticulous attention. It was another thing to appear… absent. Vulnerable, even.
One of them—older, grizzled, sharp-eyed—leaned forward. "Your behavior, sir… unusual. Are you unwell?"
Izana's jaw tightened. He pressed his lips together beneath the blindfold. His green eyes were hidden, but inside, they burned with a quiet, secret fire.
No. I'm not unwell. I'm alive. I'm just… distracted.
"I am fine," he said slowly, deliberately. "Just… considering all variables. Strategic caution."
Another man frowned. "Strategic caution is one thing. This… absence… is another. If you do not pay attention, the rival family may see weakness. And weakness in front of the Don… is not tolerated."
Izana paused. His chest tightened—not from fear, but from a gnawing pull at his mind. That same warmth, that same thought of Leah. He swallowed slowly, forcing the memory of her blue eyes, the way her hair fell, the way she had smiled at him when he was too weak to even stand, into a tight, controlled corner of his mind.
She would hate this if I failed. She would hate seeing me fail at something important.
His hands flexed against the table. "Understood," he said firmly. "We will proceed according to plan. I will personally oversee the verification of the shipment. Ensure nothing is mishandled. Nothing."
The men relaxed slightly, though suspicion lingered. They could see the difference—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the shift of his shoulders, the renewed focus despite the strange pull in his demeanor.
Izana took a deep breath beneath the blindfold, grounding himself in the physical world again. The warmth of Leah, her presence in his mind, did not disappear—it simply became a tool, an anchor instead of a distraction. For now.
But as the meeting continued, the thought of her never truly left him. Every paper, every question, every word from the mafia members was filtered through her presence in his mind. He imagined her next to him, seated calmly, eyes on him, voice a soft murmur at the edges of his consciousness.
It was almost unbearable. Almost.
But it was also… perfect.
Perfect in a way he couldn't fully articulate. The world around him—the weapons, the rival family, the men, the contracts—could wait. Because Leah existed. Because she had become real, tangible, a living warmth in the cold, calculated world he had been forced to inhabit.
The meeting drew to a close. Izana had successfully navigated the discussion, keeping control even as his thoughts drifted. No misstep, no hint of weakness—just a Don who seemed unusually introspective, but effective nonetheless.
As the men filed out, exchanging quiet words and sidelong glances, Izana remained seated, hands folded on the table. His chest was still warm, his mind still caught halfway between strategy and memory. He had survived distraction. He had survived desire. He had survived the pull of his own heart.
And he knew, as he adjusted his blindfold against the light that still hurt, that nothing would ever be the same again.
Because he could see her now. Even through the blindfold. Even when the world demanded his attention, she existed. And she was beautiful.