The Walking Blood Bank Has Left the Chat

Inside the study, Vincent Arnault and Dr. Andrew Linacre were still arguing, not even bothering to keep their voices down.

"I care about Sophia's health too," Vincent insisted. "That's why I called you. You're my most trusted friend and a top doctor. If anything happens, you'll handle it."

Andrew sighed. "If Sophia ever finds out you married her just to use her blood for Emma... that you're planning to use your future kid's umbilical cord blood to cure Emma's leukemia... Do you have any idea how much that would destroy her? She actually loves you."

"She'll never find out," Vincent said, shutting him down.

"And when Emma's better? You gonna divorce Sophia and marry her?"

"We'll deal with that later." This time, his voice wavered.

Silence.

Andrew popped open a bottle of wine and poured himself a drink. "Sophia's fiancé ditched her the second he learned about her rare blood type.

"Then, by some sick twist of fate, he found your post on the dark web looking for her blood. So, he just handed her over—like a transaction.

"She really can't catch a break, huh? One scumbag after another."

Crash!

Glass shattered. Vincent's furious voice followed.

"Don't compare me to that bastard! I gave Sophia a dream life—luxury, love, everything! I didn't have to marry her, but I did. I've given her my whole life. Isn't that enough? She's happy with me. As long as she never finds out the truth, nothing has to change."

Andrew sighed. "Then you better keep lying forever. And keep it down—don't wake her up."

"She drank the milk. She's out."

"Still, watch it. Too much sleeping medication builds tolerance. Enough talk—go draw the blood."

Their words cut through me like a blade. My legs nearly gave out.

As their footsteps neared, I forced myself to stumble back to the bedroom.

So that milk Vincent gave me? Laced with sleeping pills. But tonight, my stomach had been off—I'd thrown it up not long after drinking it.

And those mornings I woke up groggy, my arm covered in tiny puncture marks? Vincent always blamed mosquitoes. He was so convincing—I actually believed him.

But now I knew the truth.

Our so-called love story had never been fate.

It was all a lie.