That stopped him. He looked over his shoulder, disbelief etched into his face. “What did you just say?”
“I’m pregnant,” I repeated, my voice shaking but loud enough for him to hear. “The doctor said it’s a miracle I even conceived. It’s a high-risk pregnancy… and it’s twins, Marshall. If you take my blood, you could kill them. Our babies.”
For a moment, silence. Then he laughed. The sound was cruel, sharp, and it echoed in my ears.
“You expect me to believe that?” His voice dripped with scorn. “You would stoop so low as to fake a pregnancy just to get out of helping your own sister?”
“I’m not lying,” I whispered.
“You’re a liar, Liora. You’ve always been a liar. You will give the blood. End of discussion.”
Something inside me cracked. “I won’t kill my children for her!”
His expression darkened like a storm. “Then you’ll watch me burn that vineyard your parents built, row by row. I’ll make you stand there while I tear down every vine they planted, grind the soil until nothing grows again. And when I’m done, there will be no bottles, no barrels, no trace of their name on this earth.”
My blood turned to ice. That vineyard wasn’t just land. It was the only piece of my parents I had left. They had poured decades into it since the eighties, tending every grape with their own hands. I grew up running between those rows, smelling the sweet crush of harvest season. It was the heart of our family and he knew it.
“Y-you wouldn’t dare!”
Marshall stepped in close, so close I could feel his breath. His eyes were sharp now, “Push me and find out.”
I stared at him, my chest rising and falling too fast. This was the man I’d once loved, the man who’d once promised to protect me. Now he was the very thing I needed protection from.
My hand found my stomach, instinctive, protective. The twins. Our twins. My tears came silently this time.
When he grabbed my arm and pulled, I didn’t fight him. Fighting him only ever ended one way. I followed, quiet, swallowing down the sobs that wanted to break out.
He took me into the VIP hospital room he’d gotten for Daphne. My twin sister lay there, pale, hooked to IV fluids, eyes red. She let out these soft little whimpers like she was barely holding on.
Marshall rushed to her side. “Daph, I’m here,” he murmured, stroking her hair back with a tenderness he hadn’t shown me in years. “You’ll be alright. I brought her.”
Her lips trembled. “It hurts, Marshall… everything hurts.”
I stood still while watching my husband treat my sister like she was porcelain. But then she cracked one eye open… and smiled. No, smirked. A quick, smug little twitch of her lips before she shut her eyes again.
Bitch!
My stomach twisted with fury.
I stepped forward to speak, but Marshall turned so fast I didn’t have time to react. His hand closed over my wrist like a steel cuff. His glared told me exactly what would happen if I opened my mouth.
The door opened. A doctor came in, glancing between us.
“She’s getting worse,” Marshall said without looking at me. “Start the transfusion now.”
“She’s stable enough to—” the doctor began, but Daphne whimpered again.
“We’re not waiting.” Marshall cut him off. “The donor’s right here.”
The doctor’s eyes landed on me. He nodded and told the nurses to prepare.
I froze when I saw the needle in his hand. My skin went clammy. I’d always hated needles, and Marshall knew that. In the early years, he’d hold my hand, whisper something soft, distract me until it was over.
This time he didn’t even look my way. When Daphne whimpered again, he left me completely, rushing back to her side.
I turned my face away as the doctor stepped closer. In my head, I was begging anyone—God, fate, even the devil—to stop this.
The needle was inches from my arm when the door burst open.
“Stop!” Another doctor ran in, clutching a file. He was out of breath. “You can’t do this.”
The room went still.
“MRS. CELESTINO IS PREGNANT!” he announced.
The needle was lowered instantly.
Marshall blinked, his face twitching. “That’s impossible. She can’t—”
The doctor stepped closer and handed him the file. “She came in this morning for an abortion appointment but cancelled. She’s carrying twins. High risk.”
The relief hit me like a wave, my knees almost giving out. Finally. Finally there was proof.
But before I could breathe for real, Marshall looked up. His voice was like ice.
“I don't fucking care! Take her blood.”
I stared at him, my mouth falling open. “What?”
His jaw clenched. “You heard me.”
The room went quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitors.
One of the nurses took a hesitant step forward. “Mr. Celestino, your wife can’t donate blood. She’s pregnant. With twins. And it’s a high-risk pregnancy. If we proceed, she could lose both babies.”
Marshall’s expression didn’t flicker. He moved closer, his voice low and sharp. “I heard you. Do it anyway.”
The doctor looked from him to me, “Sir, this could endanger her life as well. We can’t—”
“YOU CAN,” Marshall cut in, his tone like ice. “I’m paying you enough to do whatever I say.”
I felt my chest tighten. This was the man I had married. The man I had once believed would keep me safe.
Marshall’s glare swept across the room. “I am Marshall Celestino. You all work here because I allow it. Cross me, and you’ll regret it.”
