"Jackson is dead. Don't use a bastard child to guilt me into hurting Jessica."
The slap echoed sharply off the sterile white walls of the hospital corridor. I stumbled back, my frail body colliding with the cold metal of a medical cart.
I slowly raised my hand to my cheek, staring at the man standing in front of me.
Just an hour ago, back at the estate, Jessica had suddenly collapsed onto the drawing-room sofa, clutching her stomach and putting on a flawless performance of agony.
She claimed the "stress" of my "attack" had caused her stomach ulcer to rupture. She wailed that she was bleeding internally, that she felt faint, that she was dying.
It was a lie. But Jackson hadn't hesitated. He had scooped her up in his arms, his face pale with genuine panic. And then, he had turned his lethal glare on me.
My blood type was a rare, perfect match for Jessica. I had been her personal blood bank since we were children.
When the nurses had tried to prep me for the draw, the sheer terror of losing the only piece of my family I had left finally broke through my frozen numbness. I had tried to stop him. I had grabbed his tailored sleeve, my eyes wide with desperate, pleading panic.
“I can’t! I'm pregnant with your—”
"And I will not let you use some bastard child from your dead husband to avoid your responsibility. You caused this. You will fix it."
"Mr. Ridge," the attending nurse interrupted, her voice trembling slightly as she looked at my pale, sunken face. "She's severely malnourished. Her blood pressure is dangerously low. Drawing the amount Miss Hollden is requesting could put her into hypovolemic shock. Especially if she is pregnant—"
"Draw it," Jackson commanded, not even glancing in my direction. "My fiancée needs it. Take whatever she needs."
I didn't fight anymore.
I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles as the thick needle pierced the fragile vein in my arm.
The machine beside me began to hum. I watched the dark red liquid travel through the clear plastic tubing, leaving my body to fill the collection bag.
It was the blood that was supposed to be nourishing my baby. It was my life force, being siphoned away to fuel the woman who had murdered my mother.
Minutes bled into hours. The bag filled, heavy and dark.
My vision began to blur at the edges. A freezing, bone-deep cold seeped into my extremities. My fingers went numb, and a loud, rhythmic rushing sound filled my ears.
Suddenly, the door to the adjacent VIP suite flew open. Another nurse rushed out, looking frantic.
"Mr. Ridge! Miss Hollden is crying. The IV needle pinched her vein when she moved, and she's very distressed."
"Jessica," he breathed.
He didn't even look at me. He didn't check the monitor to see that my heart rate was plummeting. He just turned on his heel and sprinted into her room, desperate to soothe a minor needle prick on the woman who had destroyed my life.
The attending nurse finally stopped the machine, looking at me with deep, pitying sorrow. She bandaged my arm and whispered that I needed to rest, that I shouldn't stand up yet. But she was quickly called away to assist with Jessica's "emergency."
I was left completely alone in the sterile, freezing room.
I needed to get out. I couldn't breathe the same air as them anymore.
I pushed myself up from the chair. The room violently tilted. Black spots danced across my vision, and my legs felt like they were made of lead. I stumbled out of the room, bracing my hand against the freezing corridor wall to keep from collapsing.
I made it halfway down the empty, echoing hallway.
And then, it happened.
A sharp, tearing cramp ripped through my lower abdomen.
It was a pain so sudden and so violent that it knocked the breath straight out of my lungs. I gasped, my knees buckling instantly. I hit the cold linoleum floor hard, my hands instinctively flying to my stomach.
"No," I whispered into the empty hallway. "No, please. Not you too. Please."
Another cramp hit, sharper and deeper than the last. It felt like my very insides were being clawed out.
I curled into a tight ball on the floor, shivering uncontrollably. The blinding fluorescent lights above me flickered, buzzing like a swarm of angry hornets.
Then, I felt the wet, terrifying warmth.
It slipped down my thighs, soaking into the fabric of my skirt.
I slowly pulled my trembling hand away from my legs and held it up to the harsh hospital light.
My fingers were coated in bright, fresh blood.
Not the blood they had stolen for Jessica. This was different. This was the end of my final reason to live.
I pressed my bloody hands against my face. I didn't scream. I didn't cry for help. The nurses were all in the VIP suite, comforting Jessica over a bruised vein. Jackson was holding her hand, kissing her tears away.
And I was lying on the cold, dirty floor of a hospital hallway, bleeding out the only piece of my heart I had left.
I closed my eyes, the freezing void inside me finally swallowing me whole.
