Chapter 3

For a beat, I just stared back at him.

"You're... asking me to donate?" My fingers curled slightly against my sides. "Adrian, I can't. Needles terrify me, and I don't even— this is a surgery, there are risks involved, I—"

"I didn't bring you here for excuses," he cut in, his voice gone hard and flat. "Don't pull that with me."

"I'm not making excuses, I'm just scared, all right?" My voice wobbled and I hated myself for it. "Isn't there anyone else who could do it? Please, I really don't think I can go through with this—"

Before I could retreat a single step, two of his men closed in. Their hands clamped around my arms.

Tight enough to hurt.

I flinched, panic climbing up my throat. "Let go of me! What's happening?"

Adrian moved in closer, his shadow swallowing me whole. His eyes had gone dark, unreadable, like there wasn't a single opening for me to say no.

"I'm your husband," he said, voice dropping low and menacing. "So you'll do what I tell you."

My stomach hollowed out.

"You belong to me," he went on, fingers gripping my chin hard enough to force my face up toward his. "You're donating. Don't make me say it twice."

For a second the air seemed to vanish from the room. Did he even see me as a person? Or just something he'd acquired? My eyes stung but I choked it back, swallowing everything down the way I always did.

"...Fine," I whispered.

The men released their grip.

"I'll sign the papers."

The nurse held out the form. My hands trembled, but I took the pen anyway.

Letter by letter, I wrote out my name. Every stroke felt weighted, like I was carving the words straight into my own chest. I even managed a small smile, just enough to hide the tears I was fighting so hard to keep down.

Right before they wheeled me in, I couldn't stay quiet any longer.

"Adrian!"

The word came out weaker than I'd wanted. He paused and turned his head halfway, his gaze cold, as though I'd just interrupted something trivial. For a second, everything I'd meant to say just slipped away.

My lips trembled. All I managed was, "...Never mind."

Something flickered briefly in his eyes. For a heartbeat I let myself hope. But he stayed silent.

He turned and walked out. The doors sealed shut in front of me. And that was it — the second they closed, everything blurred and the tears I'd been holding back just spilled over. Quiet. Powerless.

So this was the extent of his love.

Deep enough to send me onto an operating table without a second thought. Deep enough that my own life meant nothing to him.

**

When I came to, everything felt weighted down — my limbs, my skull, even the act of breathing. I hovered somewhere between conscious and not.

The lights overhead were too harsh. My throat felt scraped dry.

"...You're up?" a nurse's voice drifted in beside me, soft.

I blinked slowly and turned my head. "Mm... yeah..."

"How do you feel? Any dizziness? Pain anywhere?"

"A little," I murmured. "Is... is the surgery over?"

She smiled at me. "It is. Went smoothly. The patient's stable and resting now."

Good.

That meant Charlotte's mother had pulled through.

I swallowed hard, my chest hollowed out in a strange way. "Where's Adrian?"

The nurse hesitated a beat before answering breezily, "Mr. Kingsley? He's with his wife and her mother right now."

My heart froze mid-beat.

His wife?

Right.

Of course.

I stared up at the ceiling, saying nothing. The nurse didn't catch it — she kept chattering away, even giggling to herself.

"Honestly, I couldn't help feeling a little jealous watching them earlier," she said, eyes brightening. "They really do look like the perfect couple!"

I didn't move a muscle.

"Mr. Kingsley was so attentive to her," she continued, sounding almost wistful. "He kept holding his wife's hand, talking to her so gently. You'd never guess he's someone with that much power."

Every word landed like another weight pressed down on me.

"And the way he looked at her," she added, smiling to herself. "Honestly, it was so touching. You could just tell how much he adores her."

I let my eyes drift shut.

"Even when the doctor stepped out to update them, he wouldn't leave her side," she went on, laughing softly. "He kept comforting her, like she was the one recovering from surgery. Honestly, if I had a husband like that, I'd never let him go."

I exhaled quietly. So that was the picture from the outside — a devoted husband, a man wholly committed.

And me? What exactly was I in all this?

I forced my mouth into a faint smile, even though there was no one around to see it.

"...That's good," I said quietly. "As long as she's all right."

**

I lay there with my eyes fixed on the ceiling, the IV line taped to my hand, its slow drip the only thing marking time. My body still felt leaden and numb, like it belonged to somebody else entirely.

The nurse had barely stepped out when the door opened again.

I assumed it would be Adrian. It wasn't.

Charlotte walked in instead.

She looked delicate, almost breakable, her eyes still faintly red as though she'd spent hours crying. She carried a basket of fruit, wrapped up neatly like this was some courteous little visit.

"Ms. Sterling..." she said softly, stepping toward the bed. "I'm truly sorry. I never meant to put you through this again."

I looked at her and said nothing.

She set the basket down and offered a small smile. "Thank you. Genuinely — if it weren't for you, my mother wouldn't have survived. You saved her life."

Her tone softened, almost saccharine, though it rang completely false.

"Thank you for being such a loyal servant to my husband — sorry, I meant, such a devoted wife to Adrian."

My fingers twitched against the blanket.

Servant?

"Would you like an apple?" she asked, already reaching for one. "Let me peel it for you."

"I'm okay," I said quietly.

She kept going anyway.

The knife slid down the apple's skin in slow, deliberate strokes. The sound was gentle, almost calming. Almost.

"I really didn't expect..." she went on, voice drifting off somewhere distant, "that after all this time, he'd still be like that with me."

My chest clenched.

"What do you mean?" I asked, though part of me didn't want the answer.

She let out a light laugh, shaking her head. "He just never changes."

The peel came away in one long, unbroken curl as she talked.

"Last year I mentioned once, just in passing, that I liked this limited-edition watch," she said, casual as anything. "I'd honestly forgotten I even said it. A week later he flew overseas just to track it down for me. It wasn't even sold here."

My fingers curled slowly.

"He showed up at my door in the middle of the night," she added, a faint smile crossing her face. "But I was still upset with him at the time, so I wouldn't even let him in. Told him to go, threw the box right back at him."

Her tone stayed light, breezy — like it meant nothing at all, like his effort was something disposable to her.

My mind went blank for a moment.

Because I remembered that exact stretch of time. He'd told me he had a business trip abroad. Three days. When he came home, he handed me a watch. Just like that. No explanation. No feeling behind it.

"Here," he'd said. "Saw it. Figured it'd suit you."

I'd been overjoyed. I never even wore it — just kept it tucked away safely, like something too precious for me to risk ruining.

And now? It was just something she'd tossed aside without a thought. I didn't even notice my nails digging into my palm until the sting caught up with me.