Outgrown His Shadow

Is she your girlfriend, or just your maid? a woman's tearful voice echoed from inside the VIP room.

Tristan let out a soft chuckle. A maid.

My hand froze on the icy brass handle. Harsh, grating laughter erupted inside the room.

Through the crack in the door, I could see his precious first love leaning into his chest, her eyes rimmed red.

Eight years of my life, drained for him, reduced to a single word.

Maid.

I stood in the hallway, my gaze locked on that ajar door. My fingers uncurled from the eighth-anniversary gift I had been clutching so tightly my knuckles ached.

It dropped straight into the nearby trash can with a hollow thud.

Three months later, fireworks shattered the night sky.

Tristan blocked my path. "Tessa, I know now. I can't live without you."

I gave him a cold smile and slowly raised my left hand. The massive diamond on my ring finger caught the light, flashing brilliantly in the dark.

"Sorry. I'm getting married."

Chapter 1

Tristan wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin against the nape of my neck. "Tessa, let's make this official."

His voice was cool, laced with a heavy, unshakeable exhaustion. The small patch of skin on my neck warmed, sending a tiny prickle of heat through me. It was his signature moveholding me like this. Dripping with intimacy, yet always stopping right there.

He had specifically told me to dress up tonight, claiming he had something huge to announce. The way he looked at me had suddenly shifted, carrying a weight of utter seriousness. My pulse kicked up, thudding hard against my ribs. I had been in love with Tristan for eight years.

From a silent crush to this blurry line we walked, every step toward him had been a brutal climb. Was he finally going to make it official in front of everyone? It felt like floating inside a soap bubblefragile and unreal.

The car ride was suffocating. I stayed dead silent, my hands gripping the fabric of my dress. Tristan kept checking his phone, a tight crease forming between his brows. The screen's glow cast shadows across his sharp, painfully perfect profile.

The tension rolling off him was palpable; he was definitely on edge today.

Tristan led me into the VIP room at the club. We were the last to arrive, and his crew was already loud and buzzing.

"Look who decided to show up. Superstar Tristan, making us wait as usual."

"You dragged us all out here saying you had big news. Don't tell me you're finally going public."

These were his childhood friends. Even though they hadn't hung out in a while, the banter flowed instantly, as if they were trying a bit too hard to bridge the gap of time. I stood awkwardly a half-step behind Tristan. For a second, it felt like high school all over again.

In this circle, Tristan was always the golden boy, reckless and glowing. And I was just the invisible shadow clinging to his heels.

Cassian was the only one who actually noticed me, his dark eyes locked onto mine with a steady intensity. "Tessa. You look gorgeous tonight."

I almost broke out in goosebumps. Did I hear that right? The arrogant rich kid who never missed a chance to mock my boring outfits was actually complimenting me?

Before I could process it, Tristan yanked me into his side, his grip tight, almost territorial. "Yeah. Formal introduction: my girlfriend, Tessa."

The entire room froze, then stared at me in unison. One of them let out a forced, awkward laugh. "Holy shit, no way! Well, congrats. You finally made the cut."

Made the cut? Like I was some intern finally getting a full-time offer. My jaw tightened, but I managed to force a stiff, polite smile.

The atmosphere shifted, the air growing heavy. A familiar, grating voice shattered the quiet.

Genevieve was already flush with alcohol, swaying slightly as she approached with a cocktail glass in hand. Her gaze flicked over me, dripping with undisguised contempt, before snapping back to him.

"Tristan. It's been a while. I'm so sorry. Leaving you back then was all my fault."

"Let me drink to my own stupidity. Can you forgive me?"

My stomach plummeted. The puzzle pieces snapped together. He only wanted to make us official tonight because Genevieve was back in town.

A flash of ice crossed Tristan's eyes. He grabbed my hand, brushed right past Genevieve, and pulled me down onto the leather sofa.

As the drinking games started, Genevieve kept losing. She downed shot after shot as a penalty, shooting pathetic, teary glances at Tristan.

Genevieve stumbled, pitching forward dangerously, and collapsed right into Tristan's chest.

He didn't push her away. Instead, his arms wrapped around her protectively.

He snatched the glass from her trembling hand and roared, "Enough! Don't you know your stomach can't handle this?"

His fingers dug tightly into her shoulders.

In that split second, he had forgotten that his actual girlfriend was sitting right next to him.

"Tristan, I had no choice but to leave please forgive me. Please." Genevieve pressed herself deeper into his embrace, tears spilling over her lashes, her voice a broken, raspy whisper.

Chapter 2

I sat there, wedged between them, feeling like the villain who had torn apart true lovers. The proximity made me nauseous. I pushed myself up and left the room. I had zero interest in witnessing this tragic reunion.

I didn't know how long I had been walking when I realized I'd left my purse behind. Trudging back, I heard Genevieve's voice filtering through the door: "Is she your girlfriend, or just your maid?"

Tristan was clearly drunk. He let out a lazy, amused chuckle. "A maid."

Harsh, grating laughter erupted inside the room.

I stood in the hallway, my hand frozen on the brass handle. I stared blankly at the door. Slowly, I unclenched my fingers, letting go of the eighth-anniversary gift I had been clutching so tightly. I walked over to the hallway trash can and dropped the small box inside.

It hit the bottom with a hollow thud.

A maid.

Tristan and Genevieve had only dated for a year. Even though he supposedly hated her for leaving without a word, he had never forgotten her.

Meanwhile, I had grown up with him, stayed by his side through his absolute lowest point over the last three years.

And in the end? I was just the help.

Actually, this wasn't the first time Tristan had called me a maid. Back when Tristan's family was still sitting on top of the world, my mother genuinely was their maid. Celine, Tristan's mother, treated me well and even paid my tuition to the city's most elite private school.

That place was crawling with rich kids. Tristan was always the center of gravity wherever he went. I was the anomaly.

Countless times, I was backed into stairwells by girls demanding I transfer out. One time, I zoned out and stared at a guy a second too long. The girls instantly mocked me, spreading rumors that I was obsessed with him.

Tristan's voice cut through the noise. "Cassian, knock it off."

Tristan was always the tallest guy in the room.

He walked over and flicked the guy hard on the forehead. "My maid has my taste. She'd never settle for you."

The guy flushed crimson. Right. That was my first introduction to Cassian.

Tristan warned me that day to stop avoiding him like the plague at school. From then on, I just quietly trailed behind him. No one dared mess with me after that.

My mother constantly drilled it into my head: You must take good care of the Young Master at school. Thinking of everything Celine had done for us, I tolerated every bit of his spoiled entitlement.

Gradually, taking care of him became my reflex. Relying on me became his habit. Whenever he saw me, he'd naturally expect me to run errandsbuying water, grabbing snacks, doing his homework, carrying his bag, scrubbing his sneakers

Whenever classmates raised an eyebrow at our dynamic, Tristan would just wave it off lazily. "Don't overthink it. She's just my maid."

Chapter 3

When Tristan and Genevieve officially started dating, he kept his distance to avoid "misunderstandings." But he still treated me like his personal assistant. I stayed up all night fighting for movie tickets online, stood in line for hours for viral boba tea, and even drafted his love letters for him.

I told myself it didn't matter. I was getting paid; a job was a job.

But every time I saw him wrapped up in another girl, my chest would tighten so hard I could barely pull in a breath. I had spent years quietly suffocating under the weight of my own crush.

Right when I was finally ready to pack up and move on, Tristan's family went bankrupt. Genevieve vanished without a word, jetting off overseas at her parents' command. Tristan lost his mind trying to chase her down.

He didn't catch her.

Instead, he crashed his car and nearly died.

After that, he just shut down entirely. When I finally couldn't take the rotting smell of his apartment anymore, I kicked his door open and ripped back the blackout curtains. The harsh sunlight hit him. He cursed, trying to bury his face under the heavy duvet.

I grabbed his shoulders and yanked him upright.

"Stay out of my business," he snapped, shoving me hard.

I hit the mattress, and his weight pinned me down. I stared up at his sunken, unshaven face. My throat locked up. I wanted to scream at him, but all I could do was gasp for air as tears spilled hot and fast down my temples.

It was the first time he had ever seen me break. Panic flashed in his eyes. He scrambled off me and retreated back under the covers.

I showed up every single day after that. I stopped treading lightly. "Celine told me to check on you. If you want me gone, get your act together."

I cooked his favorite meals, letting the smell fill the cramped space until hunger finally forced him out of bed. One afternoon, while I was carefully shaving the rough stubble off his jaw, he locked eyes with me. "Are you in love with me?"

My hand jerked. The razor nicked his skin. I thought I had buried it so well, but clearly, I hadn't.

Eventually, Tristan pulled himself together. He went back to college, ignoring the whispers and the side-eyes about his family's ruin. Then, a random ID photo of him went viral online. A talent scout found him, and overnight, he was dragged into the entertainment industry.

He never formally asked me out, but we ended up living together anyway. We were careful, but the paparazzi still caught a blurry shot of us walking into his apartment building. I was dragged mercilessly all over Twitter.

Tristan immediately posted a video to clarify. "It's a misunderstanding. She's just my maid."

His crazed fandom instantly breathed a collective sigh of relief.

[Like our boy would ever have such terrible taste! We trust you!]

No one could fathom that a flawless superstar would ever look twice at someone as painfully ordinary as me.

The sharp shatter of glass against the VIP room floor jolted me back to the present. The harsh laughter inside abruptly died.

Cassians voice cut through the silence, vibrating with barely suppressed fury. "If you don't love her, why the hell keep stringing her along?"

The heavy door swung open. I stumbled forward, completely unprepared, and crashed face-first into a broad, muscle-corded chest. Cassian looked down at me. Red wine stained his expensive tailored shirt, but his dark, deep-set eyes blazed with a terrifying, aggressive intensity.

"How much longer are you going to stand out here and let them humiliate you?"

Inside the room, Genevieve stood gripping an empty wine glass, glaring at him. She had clearly just thrown her drink right in his face. Without waiting for my response, Cassian pushed past me and strode quickly down the hallway.

I walked into the dead-silent room, ignoring the staring eyes, and picked up my purse from the sofa next to Tristan.

Tristans hand shot out, his fingers wrapping tightly around my wrist. "What I said earlier it was just a joke."

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "I'm going to check on Cassian."

"Don't you dare."

I paused, my back still turned to him. Then, without a single word, I kept walking.

Chapter 4

I knew Tristan better than anyone. I knew he was genuinely pissed. If I walked away right now, he would ice me out.

So what?

Over the years, I had rehearsed our eventual breakup a thousand times. In the beginning, just the thought of it felt like swallowing glass. Now? It felt as mundane as crossing an item off a grocery list.

Tristan had no idea. He didn't know I had been meticulously stockpiling every letdown, every slight, using them to scrub away the memory of anything good he had ever done. All so I could finally walk away clean.

Cassian was leaning against the brick wall outside the club, one long leg braced against the stone, dragging aggressively on a cigarette. The harsh neon light hit him, casting sharp shadows over his rigid posture.

Cassian had a secret. For as many years as I had loved Tristan, Cassian had been obsessed with Genevieve. They grew up together. Their wealthy families had practically arranged their marriage when they were still in diapers.

Too bad childhood history couldn't beat a sudden, explosive spark.

Back in high school, during the state basketball championship, Cassian had finally convinced Genevieve to come cheer for him. She was even bringing him a bottle of water. But she ended up crashing right into Tristan in the bleachers. The two of them almost threw hands the second they met.

After that, every time they crossed paths, it was a warzone. Theyd drop their polished rich-kid personas and practically get into screaming matches in the hallways. Id have to hold Tristan back by his backpack straps, while Cassian dragged Genevieve away.

Nobody expected those two to suddenly fall insanely in love. The night they went Instagram official, the social feeds for both our prep schools exploded. Everyone called them the ultimate power couplethe golden boy of our school and the untouchable queen bee of hers.

Tristan forced me to sit next to him and read through all the comments for a whole day. My eyes burned until tears leaked out. I looked up and saw Tristan sitting inches away, grinning at his phone like an absolute idiot.

"Why are you crying? Ruining the vibe," he muttered.

I faked a yawn. "I've been staring at a screen for hours. If you want me to keep reading, my hourly rate just doubled."

Right then, I knew he was entirely gone for her. He wanted the whole damn world to know she was his. Any old rumors about him liking me instantly evaporated. His army of fangirls finally breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Before that, whenever a girl tried to slip him a note or ask him out, Tristan would just wave them off and say, "Can't. My maid gets jealous easily." I still remember the literal death glares those girls shot at me in the cafeteria.

I was so pathetic back then. I locked that stupid sentence in my head, overanalyzing it, twisting it into some secret, intimate confession.

Cassian flicked his cigarette into the gutter and stepped directly into my space. He looked down at me. His rough thumb brushed against the corner of my eye, the friction carrying a hint of punishment.

He forcefully wiped away a stray tear, his voice dropping into a low, authoritative gravel. "Crying over a blind piece of trash? Tessa, where the hell is your spine?"

There was the Cassian I knew. I rolled my eyes at him. He was obviously talking to himself as much as to me. Stubborn billionaire ego.

The corners of his sharp eyes were slightly flushed from the alcohol, a glassy sheen masking his dark irises. "Tessa. I'm done waiting."

The heavy bass of a heartbreak track thumped through the club walls behind us, the muffled lyrics bleeding into the alleyway: Blame it on me / Let the heavy rain wash it out / So you can't see me breaking down / Just let it end

For the first time in my life, twenty-seven-year-old Cassian shed a single tear right in front of me.

Chapter 5

Watching him, I could see the rigid line of his jaw. Caught between his childhood best friend and the girl he'd been obsessed with for years, he had spent a decade burying his own instincts, forcing out tight-lipped congratulations while swallowing the rest.

If he hadn't gotten absolutely trashed that one night and spilled it to me, no one would have ever guessed. Cassian was an even better liar than I was.

"Hey, loser," he had slurred, his head heavy against the wall. "You know I've been hooked on a girl for years, right? But she only ever looks at Tristan."

That night was the first time Tristan and Genevieve threatened to tear each other apart. Ever since they started dating, they thrived on explosive fights that always ended in them being more obsessed with each other. But that specific blowout? It was because of me.

A womans intuition rarely misses. Genevieve had instantly smelled my pathetic little crush on Tristan. It didn't matter that I stayed perfectly in my lane and kept my distance. To her, just breathing the same air was a threat.

Tristan dragged me out to the bar in the middle of the night to prove his innocence. "Genevieve, how many times do I have to explain? Tessa is literally just my maid."

Watching Tristan practically begging to distance himself from me, I let out a cold laugh. I straightened my spine, meeting Genevieve's probing, hostile glare head-on. "Relax. I have zero interest in someone else's leftovers."

The humiliation had burned the back of my neck. Cassian was the one who grabbed my elbow and dragged me into the shadows, pulling me out of the blast radius. It was in that dark booth, reeking of expensive scotch, that he leaned in and confessed his heavily guarded secret. Across the room, Tristan and Genevieve had already made up, practically swallowing each other in a frantic kiss.

"What the hell are you two doing?"

Tristans icy voice cut through the alleyway behind us, ripping me back to the present. I flinched backward on pure instinct, pulling away from Cassians touch.

I whipped around. Tristan stood silhouetted against the blinding neon sign, dressed entirely in black, the sharp angles of his face making him look incredibly dangerous. But his arms were wrapped around Genevieve.

She had guzzled too much liquor on an empty stomach. Cold sweat beaded on her pale forehead, her fingers gripping his shirt like a drowning victim.

"Tristan if you don't forgive me, I'd rather die," she gasped, her knuckles turning white.

He barely even looked at me. He dropped his gaze to Genevieve, his jaw tight. "Genevieve, are you done acting crazy?" he snapped, but his voice was laced with pure panic.

Tristan barked at one of his friends to pull the car around. He scooped Genevieve up and practically shoved her into the backseat. Tires squealed against the asphalt as the black SUV sped off into the night.

I watched the taillights bleed into the dark. A sharp, phantom pain flared in my chest before quickly turning to ash. The pathetic fantasy I had clung to for nearly a decade was finally cracking, splitting wide open.

It was time. Time to cut him out.

Thinking back, the very first time I fell for Tristan, he had been holding me with that exact same frantic panic.

The truth was, I always had a sharp tongue. I never learned how to kiss up to the trust-fund brats at our prep school. Naturally, they despised me. They made a sport out of torturing me.

The worst time was when a group of them shoved me into the campus lake. The harder I thrashed in the freezing water, the louder they cheered.

Right as my lungs started burning and I went under, Tristan dove straight into the freezing water. He dragged my dead weight onto the muddy shore. He was the one slamming his hands against my chest, forcing air into my mouth.

That day, Tristan had lost his mind, radiating absolute violence. "You dare touch what's mine?"

Chapter 6

Tristan kicked those bullies into the lake, one by one. He scooped my soaking wet body into his arms and sprinted to the campus clinic. The freezing water against my skin, the frantic, burning thud of his heartbeat against my cheek.

The summer sun was blinding that day. A boy that radiant, protecting me with such reckless, undeniable possession. It was impossible not to fall for him.

The memory faded. Cassian drove me back to the apartment. When the car idled at the curb, he gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.

He looked at me, a rare, volatile hesitation in his dark eyes. "Tessa, I actually lied to you earlier. The truth is"

My phone buzzed, shattering the heavy silence. It was Tristan.

I answered, and his voice came through the speaker, tight and commanding. "Tessa, go home and wait for me. I will be back late."

I didn't even blink. "Wait for you? Go to hell."

I hung up before he could take another breath.

A beat of silence filled the car before Cassian let out a low, rough laugh. "What is your plan now?"

"I don't know. Moving out is step one."

It was past midnight. I packed my life into boxes with methodical, mechanical precision. On the sofa, my phone screen kept lighting up the dark room, buzzing relentlessly against the leather. Tristan.

I didn't even glance at it. After the eighth missed call, the screen finally went black, plunging the room back into total silence.

I thought I had barely left a footprint in this place. But as I pulled things from the closets and the bathroom counters, my presence was everywhere. It took two massive suitcases and two duffel bags to erase myself from his life.

In the bedroom, a faded stuffed bear sat quietly on the reading chair. It was the first gift Tristan ever gave me, right in the middle of our worst cold war. Back then, we were completely broke, surviving on our last few hundred bucks. Even when we fought, we had nowhere to escape to in that cramped, dingy studio apartment.

We were practically breathing the same air. During the rainy season, the tiny room smelled like damp drywall.

We laid in bed, back-to-back, listening to the relentless rain hitting the cheap window panes. Tristan had awkwardly pressed that giant bear against my back. He pressed the hidden button inside its paw, and his low, recorded voice played, sounding uncharacteristically fragile. "Tessa, please look at me. Okay?"

During the countless nights Tristan was away on tour, I slept with my arms wrapped around that bear. A petty, vindictive part of me wanted to leave it behind. Let it sit there and rot. Let it make him and Genevieve sick to their stomachs.

Tristan had once sworn he would never throw it away. But then a dry, bitter sneer escaped my lips. He could toss it for all I cared.

By the time I zipped the last bag, it was 1 AM. I booked a moving truck on my phone, but my adrenaline was still running too high for sleep.

I walked into the bathroom and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My skin was pale and exhausted from years of draining myself to serve a man. A wave of disgust hit me. I pulled my lips into a bitter sneer.

To hell with being a maid. From this second on, I belong to absolutely no one but myself.

I grabbed the heavy styling scissors from the drawer. Without a single flinch, I sliced right through the long hair Tristan had always loved so much.

The dark strands hit the floor in a dead heap.

Meredith, Tristan's manager, texted me a few minutes later. Her message was overly cautious. "Tessa, have you seen Twitter yet?"

A notification from a tabloid account flashed across my screen. "Superstar Tristan's Secret Romance Exposed with Heiress."

Attached was a blurry, zoomed-in shot of Tristan holding Genevieve outside the club. Tristan had always been a magnet for rumors. Every rising actress tried to manufacture a PR relationship with him, and his rabid fanbase always tore them to shreds, calling them shameless clout-chasers. But tonight was different.

Internet sleuths had dug up his prep school history with Genevieve. Instead of going on a rampage, his entire fandom was having a collective meltdown of tragic romance. The timeline was flooded with tearful blessings. They were practically throwing a parade, celebrating him finally reuniting with the lost love of his youth.

Chapter 7

"Tessa, don't overthink this. Someone obviously bought the trending topic to start rumors. Our PR team is already working overtime to scrub it." Meredith's voice buzzed through the phone speaker.

"Meredith. It doesn't matter anymore." I kept my voice flat, executing a clean, mechanical break. "Do me a favor and pass a message to Tristan. The spare key is in the cardboard box on the bottom shelf of the shoe rack."

"I've packed all my things. I won't be coming back."

"Tessa, please don't do anything rash. I know Tristan messed up tonight, but I've watched you two struggle for years to finally get to this point. Can you just"

"I wish him and Genevieve a very happy reunion," I interrupted, and immediately hit end call.

At 6:00 AM sharp, the doorbell rang. I swung the door open, expecting the moving crew, but froze. A tall, overly familiar figure stood in the hallway.

He was wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his forehead, a black face mask, and oversized sunglasses. But despite the ridiculous tactical disguise, his arrogant posture and the impeccably tailored bespoke suit gave him away instantly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

The tips of his ears flushed red. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. "Uh. The moving guy called in sick. I'm filling in."

Cassian stood there, visibly frustrated that his flawless disguise had been instantly compromised. The truth was, I had years of practice. For all his toxic banter, Cassian was fiercely loyal. Back when Tristan and I hit rock bottom, Cassian constantly showed up in the most bizarre, over-the-top disguises.

He wanted to bail Tristan out financially, but Tristan's shattered ego wouldn't accept pity. Cassian exhausted himself trying to secretly funnel money to us while protecting Tristan's pride. But he was just an arrogant billionaire heirhe didn't understand subtlety, and his clumsy schemes were exposed every single time. After years of him orbiting my life, I could recognize his broad-shouldered silhouette in my sleep.

I crossed my arms and eyed his expensive suit suspiciously. "Are you actually going to lift anything?"

Cassian let out a low chuckle. Completely ignoring his bespoke suit, he effortlessly grabbed the handles of the two massive, lead-heavy suitcases with one hand each. The explosive, powerful muscles hidden beneath the expensive fabric instantly pulled taut, radiating a dangerous, undeniable physical dominance. "Tessa, are you seriously underestimating my stamina?"

I watched him easily load the heavy bags into the back of the moving van he had somehow acquired. Over the years, the meat-grinder of reality had changed all of us. We grew cynical, cold, and calculated.

Tristan changed the mosthe mastered the art of weighing pros and cons, plastering on a flawless, fake smile for the cameras. Cassian was the only one who kept that reckless, stupidly pure loyalty. He was literally shedding tears in front of me hours ago, and now here he was, acting like nothing happened.

Even with his gym-built physique, carrying boxes up six flights of stairs to a walk-up apartment tested his billionaire patience. Once the last box hit the floor, he pulled out his phone and made a single call. Within twenty minutes, a premium six-person cleaning crew flooded the apartment. They were ruthlessly efficient, scrubbing every inch of the place until it sparkled.

Cassian sprawled lazily on my faded couch, dictating orders to the crew while mercilessly tearing apart the aesthetics of my cramped, rundown new place. Moving was supposed to be a grueling, soul-crushing nightmare. But with Cassian throwing his weight around, I ended up being the most relaxed person in the room.

By the time I ushered the cleaning crew out the door, the sun had already set, casting long shadows across the floorboards. I turned around and realized Cassian had passed out on the sofa.

His chest rose and fell with a steady, quiet rhythm. His lips were parted slightly, and that absurd pair of oversized black sunglasses was still resting on the high bridge of his nose. His dark hair was messy, pushed back and damp with sweat. All day, those sunglasses had been his absolute boundaryhe swatted my hand away every time I got near them.

Driven by a sudden, irresistible curiosity, I stepped closer. I leaned over his sleeping frame, my fingers grazing his temples, and slowly pulled the sunglasses off his face.

I took one look and burst out laughing. Both of his eyes were ringed with obvious, dark purple bruises. Someone had beaten the living hell out of him. He looked pathetic, like a dumb, kicked puppy.

Cassian jolted awake at the sound of my laughter. Seeing the sunglasses in my hand, the tips of his ears burned a furious red. He snatched his baseball cap and yanked the brim down hard, obscuring the volatile emotions shifting in his dark eyes.

"Tessa, you have such beautiful eyes, but you're completely fucking blind."

I watched him practically flee the apartment, my brow furrowed in utter confusion.

Chapter 8

Later that night, I sank into the scalding water of the bathtub. Through the heavy, suffocating steam, I stared blankly at my distorted reflection in the mirror. And then, it finally clicked.

He was calling me blind