Sophia’s POV
I thought I was finally free.
But I hadn’t even reached the estate gates when two security men stepped out of the shadows. Before I could react, they grabbed me by both arms like I was some runaway asset.
“We have to bring you back, ma’am. Mr. Steele’s order,” one of them said. “He needs your blood.”
My stomach dropped. “What? No—let me go!”
I struggled, more from instinct than strength. My heart was already racing, like it knew something was wrong before my mind could catch up.
“Why would he need my blood?” My voice cracked. “Why is he doing this?”
They didn’t answer. They just dragged me back inside.
---
The next thing I knew, I was strapped to a hospital chair inside the estate clinic. Cold metal bit into my wrists. My whole body felt exposed, helpless.
And then I saw him.
Damon.
Standing there like he wasn’t about to ruin my life.
“You really brought me back for this?” I laughed bitterly. “To drain me?”
He didn’t even blink. “Stop being dramatic. You’re helping. Be useful for once.”
“Useful?” My throat tightened. “So that’s all I am to you? A walking backup supply?”
“You always make everything emotional,” he said flatly. “It’s exhausting.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Says the man using his wife as a blood donor for his mistress.”
His jaw tightened. He stepped closer, gripping my chin. “Careful.”
“Or what?” I snapped. “You’ll throw me away like you already did?”
For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Then it was gone.
“Start the extraction,” he ordered.
The needle went in.
Thick. Sharp. Wrong.
Pain shot up my arm, deep and burning, as the machine pulled blood from me. I bit down hard on my lip just to stay still. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.
But my body trembled anyway.
“Sir,” one of the medical staff hesitated. “She’s already weak. If we take more—”
“She’ll survive,” Damon cut in. “She always does.”
Always does.
Like I wasn’t a person. Just something that kept going until it didn’t.
The room tilted slightly. My vision blurred at the edges.
And then I heard it.
A cough from the other room.
Soft. Delicate. Practiced.
“Natalie needs more,” Damon said immediately.
I froze. “You’re serious?”
He didn’t even look at me. “She needs it.”
That was it. That was all I was worth.
A bitter laugh escaped me even as tears burned my eyes. “So I’m just a spare part to you now?”
Another cough. Louder this time.
“Damon…” her voice called weakly.
And just like that, he turned away.
He left me there.
Half-drained. Still strapped in. While he walked to her.
I stared at the ceiling, swallowing the scream building in my throat.
“Continue,” he called back. “Double it.”
The staff hesitated. “Sir, if we go further, she might not—”
“I said continue.”
The words hit harder than the needle.
I turned my head slightly, barely able to speak. “You’re killing me for her.”
He finally glanced back. Cold. Detached.
“She needs it more than you do.”
Something inside me cracked quietly. Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just… permanently.
---
When I woke up again, I wasn’t in the chair anymore.
I was on a cot.
A thin blanket over me. My body heavy, like it didn’t belong to me.
Mr. Rowan sat beside me, looking like he hadn’t slept.
“You’re stable,” he said softly. “For now.”
“For now?” My voice came out rough. “That sounds reassuring.”
He didn’t smile.
Something in my chest tightened.
“What is it?” I asked.
He hesitated. Too long.
Then he lowered his gaze. “There was… a complication.”
My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.
And I already knew before he said it.
“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered. “The baby didn’t survive.”
The world stopped.
“No,” I said immediately. “No, that’s not—no.”
My breath broke. My hands shook as I tried to sit up, but my body refused to cooperate.
“No,” I repeated, louder this time. “You’re wrong.”
But Rowan didn’t argue.
That silence was worse than anything.
Something in me snapped cleanly.
I threw the blanket off and stumbled off the cot, nearly collapsing as I reached the door.
“Damon!” My voice tore out of me. “Damon, you killed my child!”
The hallway echoed with my scream.
But he wasn’t there.
Of course he wasn’t.
I laughed once—broken, sharp, empty.
He was probably still with her.
Still choosing her.
Even now.
My knees gave out. I hit the floor hard, but I didn’t feel it.
“I’ll make him pay,” I whispered, shaking. “I swear I will.”
Rowan crouched beside me, trying to steady me. “You need rest.”
I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”
My voice cracked on the last word.
Then everything went quiet.
Not my pain.
Not my grief.
Just… me.
Something colder was forming underneath it.
I looked up at Rowan, my voice barely steady.
“Prepare my discharge papers,” I said. “And give me every record you have.”
A pause.
Then I added, quieter—
“I’m done being his wife.”
