At his signal, one of the bodyguards stepped forward, holding a porcelain urn.
"Denise," Weston said coldly, "did you know? The child you lost—it was a boy."
My heart stopped. I turned sharply, eyes locking on the urn in his hands.
"You wouldn't want your son to have no peace even in death, would you?" His tone was chillingly calm as he slowly raised the urn higher.
My pupils constricted. Panic flooded my body.
"Don't! Don't touch him! I'll do it—I'll give her the blood!"
The moment I said it, a needle pierced my arm.
Cold metal against warm skin, and soon, crimson blood began to flow from my body.
I was already weak from blood loss; dizziness clouded my vision as the room tilted.
After one full bag, my face had turned ghostly pale.
The nurse reached to remove the needle, but Weston stopped her. "Draw two more bags. Keep them ready for Patricia."
"Mr. Holmes," the nurse protested softly, "Mrs. Holmes has already lost too much blood—if we continue—"
"She won't die," he said flatly.
Three light words, each sharper than a blade, slicing into my heart until it bled anew.
The nurse hesitated, then reluctantly continued. Only after three full bags did he finally stop, taking the still-warm blood himself and leaving without another glance.
By the time it was over, my lips were colorless, and the world was spinning.
I could barely breathe.
Yet despite the weakness that crushed me, one thought burned in my chest—I had to leave this place.
I staggered out of the bed, and dragged myself toward the door.
The moment I opened the door, Patricia was already standing outside.
Behind her stood a group of men dressed in black, each holding a box in their hands—eight in total.
Her lips curved into a faint smile as she stepped toward me, her eyes glinting with malice.
"Sis, where are you going?" she asked sweetly. "I heard you gave me three bags of blood. I really ought to thank you for that."
I had no intention of arguing with her. "Move," I said coldly.
Patricia's smile widened, her tone sharpening.
In the next instant, the men in black slammed the door shut behind her.
"What are you doing?" I demanded, taking a step back, my pulse quickening.
"Relax," she said with a laugh. "The truth is I never needed your blood—nor your child's umbilical cord blood."
Then, without warning, she lifted the three blood bags and poured them onto the floor, red liquid splattering everywhere.