Clara’s POV
I really thought I had made it out.
For one fragile moment, I believed I was free.
Turns out the universe had a twisted sense of humor when it came to me, because I hadn’t even reached the edge of the estate when two men appeared out of nowhere. Black suits. Cold expressions. Private security. I barely had time to register their faces before they grabbed me—one hand clamped around each arm—dragging me back like I was a fugitive instead of the woman who once owned this place beside him.
“Mrs. Hale, you need to come back,” one of them said, already pulling me toward the main building. “Mr. Hale requested you immediately. He needs your blood.”
My chest seized.
“What? No—let go of me!” I fought against them with everything I had, panic flooding my veins—not for myself, but for the tiny heartbeat inside me. My own heart was pounding so violently it felt like it was warning me. Begging me. “Why would he need my blood?”
Why him?
Why this marriage?
Why this punishment disguised as fate?
I gave him everything. My body. My loyalty. My name. My future. I stood beside him through scandals, hostile board meetings, whispered rumors that could’ve destroyed his empire. Wasn’t that enough? What kind of cruel joke was it that I ended up bound to a man who saw me as nothing more than something useful—something disposable?
And still, he wanted more.
He always wanted more.
I didn’t know which terrified me more—that he might find out about the baby… or that he already knew and simply didn’t care.
The next thing I knew, icy metal pressed into my back.
I was strapped into a steel medical chair inside the private infirmary reserved for the Hale family. Thick restraints dug into my wrists. I forced my head up and saw Mark standing across from me, arms crossed, gaze cold and distant—like I was beneath his notice.
“So you dragged me back for this?” I laughed bitterly. “To drain me like some lab experiment?”
He didn’t even blink.
“Stop exaggerating,” he said flatly. “You’re contributing. Try to be useful.”
Something shattered in my chest.
“Useful?” I scoffed. “Is that all I ever was to you? A convenient blood donor with a marriage certificate?”
“You’re emotional,” he replied without missing a beat. “You always have been. You enjoy dramatics.”
“That’s rich,” I shot back. “Says the man bleeding his wife dry while the woman he cheated with sleeps wrapped in silk.”
In two steps, he was in front of me. His hand closed around my jaw, fingers biting just enough to hurt.
“Be careful,” he warned.
“Or what?” I whispered fiercely. “You’ll humiliate me again? Strip whatever dignity I have left?”
His mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
“You’re still alive. You should be grateful.”
“You already have her,” I snapped. “You have the child you wanted. So why am I still sitting in this chair?”
The irony nearly crushed me.
She rested comfortably in another room, surrounded by doctors and luxury, while I sat here bleeding for her sake. For the baby she carried—while my own child stayed hidden, clinging to me in silence.
I didn’t tell him.
I couldn’t.
He would use it. He would twist it into leverage the same way he twisted everything else about me.
So I swallowed the truth and stared up at the ceiling, letting the sterile lights blur through the tears I refused to shed.
“This is what loving you gets me?” I said quietly. “Defending your name in every boardroom? Standing between you and every scandal? Taking care of you like a partner, not a servant? I should’ve run the moment I realized you didn’t love me—you just owned me.”
“Then why didn’t you?” he snapped. “Because you needed me. You always did.”
“And you,” I whispered, “were too much of a coward to ever let me go.”
A slow smirk curved his lips.
“Why would I? You never stay gone.”
That was when the needle went in.
It was far too thick—more like a blade than medical equipment. The pain hit sharp and immediate, then burned as it slid deeper into my vein. I didn’t cry out. I refused to give him that satisfaction. But sweat broke across my neck, and my fingers shook violently against the restraints.
As the blood drained, memories went with it.
Our first public appearance as a married couple.
The night I stepped in front of danger meant for him.
All those sleepless nights waiting by the door, convincing myself it was love.
He watched the entire time—silent, detached—as if I were nothing more than a container being emptied.
“Mr. Hale,” one of the doctors said hesitantly, “her heart rate is unstable. Taking too much could—”
“Continue,” Mark snapped. “She’s stubborn. She’ll survive.”
My vision dimmed.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood just to stay conscious.
Eight hundred milliliters.
That’s how much they took.
I thought it was over.
Then someone cleared their throat behind the privacy curtain.
Mark straightened instantly.
“Double it,” he said. “She needs more.”
My breath hitched painfully.
“So this is for her?” I whispered hoarsely. “You’re draining your own wife to save the woman who destroyed our marriage?”
“She needs it,” he replied coldly, as if that explained everything.
I laughed weakly, tears burning my eyes.
“And what about me? Your wife? You’d bleed me dry before lifting a finger for me.”
His expression never changed.
From behind the curtain, her voice drifted out—soft, weak, perfectly timed.
“Mark…”
He moved immediately. I was barely conscious, strapped down, fading—and he was already gone.
The doctor hesitated.
“Sir… if we continue, the pregnancy—”
“Do it,” Mark barked. “Or find another job.”
I wanted to scream. To beg. But the darkness swallowed me whole.
---
When I woke again, everything felt distant and wrong.
I was lying on a narrow cot, covered by a thin blanket. A doctor sat beside me, eyes rimmed red.
“You’re stable now,” he said quietly. “Physically.”
“That’s supposed to be good news,” I whispered. “So why do you look like you’re about to apologize?”
He swallowed.
“Because there was a complication.”
My hand flew to my stomach.
“No,” I whispered. “No… please…”
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “When the blood draw was increased… the pregnancy couldn’t be sustained.”
The scream ripped out of me before I could stop it. I thrashed, knocking equipment to the floor, sobbing so violently I couldn’t breathe. I forced myself upright, dizziness crashing over me as I staggered toward the door.
“Mark!” I screamed. “YOU KILLED MY BABY!”
He wasn’t there.
Of course he wasn’t.
I collapsed to the floor, grief hollowing me out until something else took its place.
Cold.
Focused.
Sharp.
No more begging.
No more hoping.
I looked up at the doctor.
“Prepare my discharge papers,” I said hoarsely. “And every medical record. I want copies of everything.”
Because I was done surviving.
Now, I was planning my revenge.
