88 Floors in the Sky, My Fiancé Asked Through the Glass if I Regretted It

Three years after they took my cornea, I was cleaning the windows on the 88th floor of the Ford Resorts Tower.

The wind howled around me, slamming my body against the bulletproof glass with a deafening crash.

Inside, Ethan Ford was feeding grapes to his favorite girl.

The moment he saw my face—pale as death, a black patch over my left eye—pressed against the glass, he jolted in shock and spilled his red wine.

The electric window slid down slowly. A violent gust rushed into the room, whipping through the office.

His eyes locked on mine, burning with fury. "Clara Sullivan, do you have no shame coming here like this? You're the eldest daughter of the Sullivan family, and you've turned yourself into this pathetic ghost—who are you trying to humiliate?"

I tightened the safety rope that had nearly slipped loose. My one good eye remained calm and flat. I even smiled at him. "I'm just a spider worker risking my life for money. If my eye offends you, Mr. Ford, feel free to close the blinds."

His body trembled with rage. His knuckles went white from clenching his fists. But his voice, oddly enough, softened. "Come inside... Apologize to Lila. If you can just admit you were wrong, I'll take care of you."

He looked at Lila Ross, nestled beside him, her wide, sparkling brown eyes filled with concern.

But he must have forgotten—those beautiful eyes were once mine.

Three years ago, he pinned me to a surgical table and carved the cornea out of my eye. For her.

"No need, Mr. Ford."

I secured my harness and turned back toward the sky.

---

Behind me, I heard a delicate gasp. Lila curled into Ethan's embrace. Those eyes—my eyes—were brimming with fear and "worry."

She tugged softly at Ethan's sleeve, her voice trembling. "Ethan, it's so dangerous out there... What if her rope snaps in this wind? Shouldn't we let her come inside to rest, just for a bit?"

Her tone was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with venom. Even from several feet away, I caught the twist of her lips. That smug little smile. The victor, gloating over the fallen.

Ethan's hand, which had been reaching for the lift controls, froze midair. He lowered it and patted Lila's back with gentle reassurance.

When he looked at me again, that fleeting moment of pity was gone. Only cold, ruthless judgment remained. "Dangerous? She brought this on herself."

He grabbed the intercom on his desk and pressed the button. His voice, sharp and frosty, cut through the wind and slammed into my ears.

"Clara Sullivan, if you want to work this job, you follow the rules. You haven't finished cleaning this level yet. That's your penance today. If it's not spotless, don't even think about coming down!"

As soon as he spoke, the sky turned. Dark clouds rolled in. Raindrops the size of marbles slammed down, mixed with furious gusts.

By safety code, all work should've stopped immediately. I reached instinctively for the descent button.

Red light.

Inside, Ethan had locked the system. My only way down—gone.

The basket swayed violently in the storm, tossing me like a dead leaf. My right eye stung, rain pouring into it. The black patch over my left eye was soaked, scraping painfully against the hollow socket beneath.

"Do you hear me, Clara?" His voice came through the speaker again, arrogant and commanding. "If you beg me now... Say you were wrong. Say you regret your cruelty back then, and I'll let you down. How hard is it? Just bow your head."

I clenched my teeth. My fingers tightened around the rubber squeegee until my knuckles turned pale. Beg him?

Not in this lifetime.

The thing I regret most isn't being "cruel." It's being blind enough to love a man who couldn't tell right from wrong.

"Don't worry, Mr. Ford. I'm being paid." I shouted back, though the wind shredded my voice into tatters. "I'll finish the job!"

I adjusted the suction cups. Once. Then again.

Each movement slammed my body against the cold, unyielding glass. My elbow scraped against the wall, skin tearing open. Blood oozed out, mixing with rain, trailing down the window in long, crimson streaks.

Inside, Ethan's face twisted as he stared at that blood. He slammed his fist into the glass. "Are you trying to gain sympathy by hurting yourself? Clara Sullivan, you're insane! Is your pride worth more than your life?"

I didn't have the time to care about his rage. All I could think about was the number—five thousand. I still needed five thousand dollars.

In the past three years, I'd washed dishes, hauled bricks, even worked in a morgue. If I finished this job today, I'd finally have enough to pay off that outrageous "surgical redemption fee." I could get my mother's ashes back. And take her away from this hell.

The storm grew worse. Lightning split the sky.

Thunder cracked. The basket dropped suddenly. One of the aging support ropes had snapped.

"Ah!" I screamed as my body pitched sideways, slamming into the corner of the wall. My forehead hit the metal frame. Warm blood trickled down, blurring my vision.

Through the haze, I saw Ethan jump up, red wine glass shattering at his feet. He rushed to the window, pounding on the glass, his lips moving—calling my name, I think.

But I couldn't hear him anymore.

As my consciousness slipped away, the memory of the operating table from three years ago surfaced like a nightmare.

Gripping my throat. Refusing to let go.