CHAPTER 7 — FORCED CHOICE

The world always seemed to fall apart on Thursdays.

Arielle had begun to think this was some cosmic joke, problems piling on the one weekday nobody respected. But nothing, not even her worst fears, compared to the moment she walked into the hospital and saw the nurse’s expression.

Not pity.

Not sympathy.

But the quiet, careful look people gave when they were about to deliver news that could rearrange someone’s life.

“Ms. Lawson,” the nurse said softly, guiding her toward the small family consultation room. “We need to talk about Emma’s condition.”

Arielle’s legs felt like they were packed with wet sand. Her breath stuttered, chest rising too fast. “Did, did something happen? Is she worse?”

The nurse inhaled sharply. “Emma collapsed during morning rounds.”

Arielle’s heart stopped.

The world didn’t spin, it plunged. Her vision blurred, her pulse roaring in her ears. She gripped the table to keep herself from crumpling.

“She’s stable now,” the nurse added quickly. “But her liver is deteriorating faster than expected. The doctor will come to you to explain.”

Door closes. Nurse leaves.

Silence, cold, suffocating, merciless, fills the room.

Arielle covered her face with trembling hands. “Oh God… Emma…”

Eight years of raising her little sister. Eight years of being mother, sister, guardian, nurse, teacher, every role their mother’s early death had forced her into. Emma wasn’t just family. She was her purpose, her anchor in the chaos, the little girl with too bright smiles and soft freckles who trusted her with everything.

The door opened and Dr. Wilson stepped in, eyes serious.

“Arielle,” he greeted gently. “Sit, please.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, gripping her elbows. “Just tell me.”

He took a breath. “Emma’s liver function is declining rapidly. At this stage, we need to move forward with transplant preparation.”

Arielle nodded weakly. “Okay. Preparation. What does that,”

“You’ll need to make a major deposit,” he continued, his voice steady, clinical, devastating. “A substantial one, to secure her place on the priority list and begin immediate interventions.”

Arielle swallowed. “How much?”

Dr. Hayes hesitated. That alone told her it was bad.

“Around eighty thousand dollars,” he said.

Her knees nearly buckled.

Eighty.

Thousand.

She couldn’t earn that in five years, much less immediately. Her breathing quickened, short, fast, panicked. “I, I can’t pay that. I don’t even have a job right now. Isn’t there assistance or,”

“We’ve already applied for everything available,” he explained, compassion but no solutions in his tone. “But with her rate of decline, time is our enemy. If the deposit isn’t made soon, we can’t begin the procedures she needs. I’m truly sorry.”

He rested a hand on her shoulder, light, sympathetic.

But sympathy didn’t save lives.

Money did.

After he left, she sank onto the small chair, elbows on her knees, hands knotted in her hair. She didn’t cry loudly, there was no sound left in her. Just silent, choking sobs that shook her entire body.

How was she supposed to do this?

What was she supposed to do?

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She ignored it.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Different numbers. Hospital billing. Insurance. Social worker. Each call another reminder of the wall closing in.

“I can’t lose her,” she whispered. “Please… I can’t lose her.”

She didn’t know how long she sat there, minutes, hours. Grief blurred time. By the time her tears dried on her cheeks, she felt hollow, scraped out, barely human.

She stood, wobbling toward Emma’s room.

Inside, machines beeped rhythmically, cold and indifferent. Emma lay asleep, her small face pale, lips dry, tiny frame swallowed by the hospital bed. She looked so young, too young to be fighting something this monstrous.

Arielle touched her hand gently.

“I’ll fix this,” she whispered. “I swear I will. I’ll find a way.”

Even if she didn’t know how.

Even if the world didn’t care.

Even if the options were impossible.

She kissed Emma’s forehead and stepped out of the room before her tears could fall again. Just outside, the hallway lights flickered softly. Nurses walked past, murmuring to each other.

And that was when Arielle broke.

Her knees hit the wall first, then the floor. Her hands pressed against her forehead as sobs tore free, messy, panicked, uncontrollable.

“Why?” she gasped. “Why is this happening? Why now? Why like this?”

She didn’t cry pretty. She didn’t cry quietly. She cried like someone watching their last lifeline slip away.

And nobody noticed.

Nobody except…

A pair of expensive black shoes stopped in front of her.

For a moment she didn’t process it, just kept crying, shoulders shaking violently.

Then a familiar voice, low and cold, cut through the haze.

“Arielle.”

Her blood froze.

She lifted her head slowly, her breath catching.

Damian Blackwood stood over her.

Impossible.

Impossible he was here. In her hospital. In this hallway. In this moment when she was the weakest, the most unguarded.

He looked different outside the skyscraper of his empire, darker somehow, sharper. His charcoal suit looked painfully out of place among the faint antiseptic smell and humming fluorescent lights. His expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes…

Something flickered.

His gaze swept over her, her red rimmed eyes, shaking hands, ruined composure. For a heartbeat, she saw something like hesitation touch his features.

But then it was gone, replaced by his usual frost.

“What happened?” he asked.

His voice was deep, steady, precise, like he was used to extracting information quickly, efficiently. But there was no cruelty in it. Just an unexpected seriousness.

Arielle’s throat burned. “Wh...why are you here?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crouched down, slow, controlled movements, until he was on her eye level.

Her breath hitched.

“The hospital called you earlier,” he said. “Multiple times. You didn’t answer.”

She blinked. “How do you…?”

“I made sure any calls involving Emma’s ward were forwarded to my assistant as backup.” His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of panicking instead of answering your phone at critical moments.”

Her mouth fell open.

“You… what? Why? You don’t even know her.”

“No,” he said. “But I know you. Enough to know that something was going to go wrong.”

His words shouldn’t have hit her as hard as they did.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe.

“I told you to stay out of my life,” she whispered.

“I tried,” he replied simply. “It didn’t work.”

She shut her eyes, new tears falling. “Emma needs eighty thousand dollars. They won’t start treatment until I pay it. I can’t, I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice cracked. “She’s all I have.”

Silence.

Damian’s expression didn’t soften, but his eyes did. Barely. A flicker. A fracture in his armor.

“Arielle,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

She did.

And that was when he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a slip of stiff, folded paper.

He set it gently, almost carefully, on her lap.

A check.

Her breath stilled.

He didn’t hand it to her.

He laid it on her, like something fragile.

“Fill in the number,” he said.

Arielle stared.

Not breathing.

Not thinking.

Just staring.

The check was blank.

Her shaking fingers touched the edge of it.

“You, no, Damian, I can’t,”

“You can,” he said. “And you will.”

Her heartbeat thundered. “Why would you do this for me?”

His jaw tensed, muscles ticking. “Because you’re running out of choices.”

“And what does that make me?” she whispered. “A charity case? A project? A convenient problem to fix?”

“No,” he said.

Then he leaned in, just slightly, but enough for her to feel the power behind his presence, the controlled intensity radiating from him.

“It makes you necessary.”

Her breath caught.

“To what?” she whispered.

His gaze didn’t falter.

“To me.”

Her world spun, but she didn’t have long to process it.

Because then he stood, cold, composed, unreadable again.

“Fill in the amount, Arielle,” he said. “And consider it an advance.”

An advance?

Her eyes widened.

“Advance on what?” she asked, voice shaking.

Damian paused at the doorway, turning his head slightly, black hair catching the hallway light.

“For the decision you’ll have to make next.”

And then,

He walked away.

Leaving her on the hospital floor, the check trembling in her hands, her heart hammering, her mind spiraling.