"Maud, please, you have to save Odette. She suffered so much as a child, she only just came home to us. We can't lose her now."
Maud's face was bloodless as paper, yet she still managed a weak little smile.
"It's all right. Clay, take as much as you need, as long as it saves her. Mom, Dad, you raised me all these years. This life of mine was yours to begin with."
She turned her head toward me, a flicker of triumph buried so deep in her eyes it was almost invisible, her voice soft as a sigh.
"So it turns out I have the same rare blood type too. That means I'm the only one who can save you now."
The whole room dissolved into grateful tears for Maud.
For one instant even I fell for it, as if refusing to be grateful to her would make me an ungrateful animal.
A tear slid from the corner of my eye. Not from the pain. From the cold.
I understood at last.
Understood why the "me" from five years in the future had fought so desperately to stop me from trying on that wedding gown.
This blade, this wound, was meant to chain me to Maud — the walking blood bank kept alive to treat me — and lock us together for good.
From now on she would be the whole family's savior, the mark of longing pressed into Clay's heart.
In the years to come, no matter how many times I caught them in the act, no matter how they flaunted their love in front of me.
What could I do?
I had taken her charity. I owed her my life.
I could already see it. In all the years ahead, every tonic, every jewel, every ounce of favor would pour toward her without end, restitution for the wronged fake heiress Maud Henson.
And I would go from cherished treasure to unwanted burden.
I looked at the crowd of relatives circling Maud, and at the man who stood there with red eyes, panicked over nothing but my blood.
Word by word, quietly, I severed every debt between us.
"Maud Henson's blood."
"I refuse it."
The room went dead silent in an instant.
Clay whipped around and stared at me, disbelieving. "Odette! Have you lost your mind? Do you want to die?"
I dragged out a smile, pale and cold, my voice clear and calm.
"I'd rather die than owe Maud Henson anything."
I lifted my eyes and looked straight into the eyes that had once doted on me, that had once favored me above everyone. Now there was nothing in them but shock and panic.
"Clay, Maud Henson's blood isn't clean."
"Once it touches me, I'll never wash the filth off as long as I live."
