At the hospital, the doctor protested. “She’s too weak to donate blood.”
“She’ll do it,” Darren growled. “Drain her if you have to.”
The needle pierced my arm. Vial after vial emptied me, my consciousness slipping.
****
Two days later, I woke up.
Alone.
They’d gone on a picnic. The family photo Sally posted online looked… perfect. Like I’d never existed.
I packed my suitcases. On the coffee table, I placed three documents Darren couldn’t ignore. Then I called a realtor.
“Yes. Sell the house. Immediately.”
By the time I checked into a hotel, the deed was done. I watched from the balcony as Darren’s car pulled in below. Sally clung to his arm.
I tipped the receptionist, obtained their room number, and called the police.
“Yes, I’d like to report prostitution. Room seventy-six. The Royal Hotel.”
Then, at the airport, a private jet awaited.
The pilot greeted me with a bow. “Welcome aboard, miss. The boss has been expecting you.”
