"I've seen your medical report. Every single indicator came back normal. It's just a little blood draw. How much could it possibly hurt? Stop pretending to be fragile."
I collapsed face-down on the floor, too weak to even push myself up.
He'd seen my medical report — but he didn't know that every cell in my body had been destroyed.
The doctors had told me all my organs were failing.
Forget drawing blood. A common cold could kill me now.
I tried to explain, but a metallic sweetness flooded my throat.
Every organ inside me trembled with pain.
I gathered the last scrap of strength I had and clutched the hem of his trousers, my eyes begging.
"My mother was innocent. What happened back then — please, just look into it. Please."
I'd said those words countless times before.
Whenever the side effects of the drugs became unbearable, whenever I was rolling on the floor in agony, I would cry and beg him.
Every single time, he cut me off without mercy.
"Elaine Harding, if your mother was innocent, then what about Agatha's mother? Was she not innocent?"
"If your mother hadn't been shameless enough to drug Agatha's father and crawl into his bed, would Agatha's mother have gone mad enough to take him down with her?"
"Stop playing the victim. Agatha has been depressed for years, and it's all because of your family. Your mother is dead, so the debt is yours to pay."
He refused to believe a word I said. He just stared at me with that cold expression and forced me to keep taking the drugs.
Five years. Over a thousand different medications.
My body was covered in needle marks, so many they blurred together.
I'd served as a human blood bank more times than I could count.
After every session, I was so weak I couldn't leave the bed for half a month.
None of it mattered to him.
The only thing he cared about was whether Agatha Pruitt could be cured.
Even if the price was my life.
Perhaps the pain in my eyes was too obvious to miss.
A rare flicker of something like tenderness crossed Blake's face.
He leaned down and pulled me into his arms, his voice gentle.
"Elaine, just hold on a little longer. I promise, once Agatha recovers, I'll look into what really happened back then."
I looked up at him and smiled. A hollow, broken smile.
He didn't know yet. I couldn't wait that long.
The doctors had told me my bone marrow had nearly stopped producing blood. Once they drained what was left, I would die.