Chapter 2

— Aria's POV —

The next morning, Sienna showed up at my bedroom door.

Behind her stood the same doctor from the private hospital.

"Aria, I feel terrible for bothering you so early."

"My transplant surgery is coming up, but my blood count has been dangerously low. Your blood type happens to be a perfect match for mine."

She rested her hand lightly on her side and rubbed it, the picture of frailty.

"For the transplant to succeed, I just need a small favor from you."

I looked at her.

"Sure. How much?"

She hadn't expected me to agree that quickly. She paused for a beat.

"Eight hundred milliliters."

The doctor behind her hesitated.

"Ms. Moretti, you just had a kidney removed yesterday. Your body is in an extremely weakened state. Drawing blood right now isn't advisable—"

I cut him off and rolled up my sleeve.

"It's fine. Go ahead."

When the needle went in, I turned my head and stared out the window.

Blood traveled down the tube, slow and steady.

Eight hundred milliliters.

A body that had just lost a kidney was already running on fumes.

Halfway through the draw, my vision blurred and went dark for a few seconds.

Sienna sat in the chair beside me, watching the bag swell with blood, her legs crossed, a satisfied look on her face.

After I sent them away, I got out of bed.

I made my way down the stairs, one hand gripping the railing the entire way.

The wound felt like it was being ripped open with every step.

By the time I reached the front entrance of the villa, I had to crouch down.

I sat on the stone steps for five minutes, waiting for the black fog in my vision to clear.

Then I called a cab.

To the funeral home.

The staff at funeral homes had seen all kinds of people.

But apparently they had never seen a twenty-eight-year-old woman walk in to pre-arrange her own burial.

"Single occupancy. The smallest you have."

I had two thousand dollars in cash left.

The cheapest urn was pine. Nine hundred dollars.

The cheapest niche for storage was in the northeast corner. One thousand dollars.

After I paid, the attendant handed me a receipt.

I folded it neatly and slipped it into my pocket.

Outside the funeral home, I sat on the front steps and deleted every social media account on my phone, one by one.

Ten years of posts and photos—erased.

Before I deactivated my phone number, I sent one last message to my college best friend, Mia Hartley.

After that, I canceled the number.

That evening, I returned to the villa.

Damien was sitting on the living room sofa. When he saw me walk in, his eyes went cold.

"You deactivated all your social media?"

"I called you all afternoon. Your phone was off."

"Are you playing the disappearing act now?"

He pulled out his phone from his jacket and flashed the screen in my face.

It showed a screenshot from his banking app.

"I froze that card. Every linked card too. You don't have a single cent to your name right now."

His lip curled slightly.

"Sienna told me—you're perfectly healthy. You never went through with the surgery. That receipt was a fake, wasn't it?"

"You think this kind of stunt is going to make me cave? Let me be clear—it won't work on me."

I didn't want to hear any more.

I pressed my hand against my side where blood was seeping through again, and walked past him toward the stairs.

Behind me, his voice rose.

"You can't survive without me. No money, no one left—who are you going to turn to?"

I shut the bedroom door behind me.

Nineteen hundred dollars had already gone to the funeral home.

I had a hundred dollars left on me.

Enough for one more day alive.