Juan Pov.

She jumped away from me immediately. Her reaction was a mixture of shock and what appeared to be reluctant attraction.

"You're--" she began, but stopped abruptly. Apparently reconsidering whatever she had been about to say.

Her expression reflected internal conflict. It suggested my advances weren't entirely unwelcome despite their inappropriate timing and context.

Several family members had reached us by this point. My brother helped me to stand while Sunny maintained a careful distance. Her cheeks were still flushed from our encounter.

I raised my eyebrow questioningly. I was deliberately provoking her to complete her thought.

"I'm what?" I challenged. Curious what label she had been about to apply to my behavior.

The public setting added pressure to her response. It forced her to navigate between honesty and social appropriateness with multiple family members now watching our interaction.

"Finish your sentence, Sunny. What exactly am I?"

The slight smile playing at my lips suggested I already knew the answer but wanted to hear her say it.

She frowned disapprovingly. Though her eyes retained a spark of amusement despite her attempt at seriousness.

"Asshole Alpha," she declared finally. The insult was delivered with more affection than genuine anger.

The nickname managed to be simultaneously disrespectful and endearing. It acknowledged my position while calling out my behavior.

The balance she struck impressed me. Not completely deferential despite my status. Yet not truly disrespectful despite the language.

I chuckled appreciatively at her boldness. I enjoyed this glimpse of her personality that combined youthful directness with emerging maturity.

"But you love that Asshole Alpha, right?" I countered. I was deliberately pushing for confirmation of feelings I suspected but hadn't confirmed.

The question hung between us. More serious than my teasing tone suggested. It sought clarity about where we stood with each other after years of separation and changed circumstances.

She gasped audibly and covered her face with both hands. Her embarrassment was obvious to everyone present.

The reaction itself provided answer enough. Her feelings for me remained strong despite everything. Perhaps even transitioning from childhood attachment to more adult affection.

Everyone around us laughed at her transparent response. The family's amusement suggested they'd been aware of her feelings for some time.

And me too. But I didn't take my eyes off her. My newly restored vision allowed me to catalog every detail of her expression, her posture, her reactions.

I was very bad. Really. Maybe because I was so happy that I could see Sunny again! She looked perfect and grown up!

Every time I watched her without her knowing felt like finding treasure. I could study how she had become a young woman. She didn't know I was staring at her.

"Give me that towel," I would ask. I watched through my fake blind eyes as she reached up high. I could see how graceful she moved.

"Tell me what you're wearing today," I would ask like I didn't know. I compared what she said with what I could really see. She wore nice clothes that looked beautiful on her small body.

"Your voice sounds different when you smile," I would say. I watched her lips smile. I pretended I could only hear the change.

The little lie made me feel bad sometimes. Especially because Sunny was always honest with me. But I told myself I needed this time to watch. To get used to my new life.

I never thought I would live as a blind Alpha forever. Getting my sight back still felt fragile. Like if I said it out loud, the darkness might come back.

Every morning I woke up scared. I would blink fast to make sure I could still see colors and shapes. That they hadn't gone away while I slept.

"Will it stay?" I wondered quietly. I was afraid to ask doctors. They might tell me it was only temporary.

"Or will I lose everything again just when I'm starting to hope?"

Not knowing made me want to see everything around me. To remember faces and places in case darkness came back without warning.

But I think she always brought me luck and life. Sunny being there seemed connected to good changes in my health.

She came back to my life when I woke up from the coma. Her support matched my body getting better. And now my sight came back while she was taking care of me.

"Do you believe in magic connections?" I asked my mother one afternoon when Sunny wasn't there. I kept my voice casual even though the question was important.

"Sometimes I wonder if there's something special about how Sunny helps me heal."

My mother looked at me thoughtfully before answering. "The Moon Goddess works in ways we don't always understand, Juan. Some bonds can't be explained."

Her mysterious answer didn't confirm or deny what I thought. But her knowing look suggested she had seen the same things I had.

But it was so fun pretending to be blind. Having this secret gave me unexpected fun during my recovery.

I could watch pack politics happening around me without people knowing I saw their faces and movements.

"Alpha Gregory seems worried about the treaty," I said after one meeting. I enjoyed my father's surprised reaction.

"How could you tell? He barely spoke."

I shrugged casually. I said my hearing was better instead of the nervous eye twitch I had seen. This happened whenever certain parts were mentioned.

I was twenty-eight years old after all, not so young! A man according to Sunny. The age difference worried me a bit.

Even though she was emotionally mature, the twelve-year difference between us created real concerns about our possible relationship.

"She's still figuring out who she is," I told my brother Akon during one of our private talks.

"I've lived through experiences she's never had. Is it fair to tie her to me before she's had a chance to discover herself?"

Akon's answer was thoughtful. "Age matters less than respect and shared values. Besides, she's known exactly what she wanted since she was six years old. That kind of certainty is rare no matter what age."

She looked cute and sweet. But she was only sixteen years old.

Her youth showed in adorable ways. Sometimes she would giggle like a girl when nervous. She talked about teenage things I barely knew. And she had innocent excitement for simple things that my more cynical adult view had forgotten how to fully appreciate.

I asked her to help me take a bath. She said yes right away. I wanted to see what she would do in the bathroom.

The request was partly real need. Moving safely on slippery bathroom floors while supposedly blind needed help. And partly a deliberate test of how comfortable she was with intimate situations.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" I asked as we went into the big bathroom. I noticed how she carefully avoided looking directly at me even though she thought I couldn't see her hesitation.

"I could ask one of the male servants instead if you're uncomfortable."

Her immediate response was reassuring. "No, I'm fine helping you. We're...well, we're practically mates anyway, right?"

The slight question in her voice showed uncertainty about our exact status. Something we'd need to talk about directly soon.

I mean, would she look at me? Would she touch my private parts? Would she take off her clothes and stay naked?

These questions showed both curiosity about her limits and real concern about potential awkwardness.

While I had no plan to create inappropriate situations, I needed to understand how she saw our relationship. As medical caretaker and patient? As potential mates with physical attraction? Or somewhere complicated in between?

How she acted would tell me a lot about her maturity and expectations. Information crucial for figuring out our future together.

I wanted to see her face reactions! I wanted to know what happened in the past years for her. Not by hearing words, but by watching her and others too for sure.

Face expressions often showed truths that carefully chosen words hid. The slight tightening around her eyes when talking about her years at boarding school suggested experiences more difficult than her cheerful spoken accounts showed.

"It wasn't so bad," she'd say with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I made friends, learned a lot, kept busy."

But I noticed how her shoulders got tense when mentioning certain teachers or students. I saved these observations for future gentle questioning when she might feel ready to share more completely.

The bathroom situation would give particularly unguarded reactions. People rarely watch their expressions as carefully in supposedly private moments as they do in social situations.

Once we stepped inside the shower room, she pulled my arms away from her shoulders. Damn! I was too heavy. She really suffered but didn't complain. How sweet.

Despite her small size, she had insisted on physically supporting me from bedroom to bathroom. Her arms shook slightly with effort by the time we got there.

"You should have let me use the cane," I scolded gently. I was worried about her straining herself. "I'm not exactly light."

Her stubborn determination to help me personally rather than relying on walking aids showed both her caring nature and perhaps something more possessive. A desire to be my main support rather than sharing that role with others or objects.

"I'm stronger than I look," she replied with a touch of pride. She rubbed her shoulder quietly when she thought I wasn't paying attention.

She coughed nervously. Clearly uncertain how to proceed now that we'd reached this intimate setting.

"Um, can you take off your clothes by yourself?" The question came out with obvious discomfort. Her gaze was fixed firmly on the tiled floor rather than my body.

Her blush went beyond her cheeks. It colored her neck and ears with sweet embarrassment. This contrasted with her determined attempt at practical caregiving.

The conflict between her teenage shyness and her desire to provide mature help created a charming contradiction. I couldn't help but find it both amusing and touching.

"What? I thought you were going to bathe me?" I wondered aloud. I deliberately played confused to watch her reaction to this more intimate interpretation of "help."

I watched her eyes get slightly wider. Her fingers played with the edge of her shirt as she processed my question.

"That would mean actually washing my body, wouldn't it?" I pressed. I kept my innocent tone while secretly checking her comfort limits.

"I just thought since you offered to help..."

The deliberate misunderstanding helped clarify her intentions and expectations about physical intimacy between us.

She coughed again and nodded her head while blushing even more deeply. Clearly flustered but determined to fulfill her caregiving role despite her obvious discomfort.

"Oh yes, just take your clothes and get into the bathtub then--" Her voice trailed off as she apparently thought about how to do this. How to bathe a grown man without crossing inappropriate lines.

The tension between her desire to help and her natural shyness created visible internal conflict. Her expression shifted between determination and uncertainty. She looked between me and the large bathtub taking up the room.

I cut off her spreading imagination with an exaggerated scenario. One designed to make rejecting her help difficult.

"I just hit my head and my body. What if I stumbled and fell off the floor and died this time by hitting my head on the bathtub?"