My phone buzzed. A WeChat message from my foster mother, Queenie Fox:

Surgery fee paid. Don't worry.

Nine words. Just nine words—and my vision blurred with tears.

Aunt Queenie had been against me keeping Denise from the start. She'd never helped raise her, never so much as babysat. I hadn't dared tell her about Denise's illness. Asking for money? Unthinkable.

And yet here she was. The woman who pinched every penny, who'd never warmed to my daughter—she'd come through when it mattered most.

The truth was, I'd always known. Beneath Queenie's sharp tongue and cutting remarks, there was love. Rough-edged and reluctant, but real.

When I returned to the hospital, she was waiting outside Denise's room.

She thrust a thermos into my hands. "Chicken soup. Drink it while it's hot." Her tone was gruff, matter-of-fact. "Denise just got out of surgery. She's going to need you strong."

I clutched the warm container, my nose stinging. "Aunt Queenie, about the fifty thousand..."

"Not now." She cut me off, her voice harsh but her meaning soft. "Focus on Denise. The surgery went well—she can start the specialized treatment soon."

I was about to slip into the room when a nurse from Maureen's ward appeared.

"Miss Mason?" The nurse's voice was carefully neutral. "Miss Maureen Mason is requesting another blood transfusion tomorrow. She says she's feeling unwell."

My fingers tightened around the thermos until my knuckles went white.

Maureen knew. She knew I'd just given 400cc yesterday. This wasn't a request—it was a death sentence wrapped in silk.

But I couldn't refuse. Denise needed specialized medication post-surgery, and I didn't have a single dollar toward it.

The next morning, just as I was preparing for the transfusion, word came from Maureen's people: come to the Mason estate instead.

When I arrived, the housekeeper led me toward the main house. I'd barely crossed the threshold when I spotted him.

Denys Simmons. Standing at the entrance like a storm about to break.

His expression was thunderous. The moment he saw me, he closed the distance in three strides, blocking my path.

"Five years ago." His voice was low, dangerous. "You're going to explain everything. Now."

I met his gaze without flinching. "If Mr. Simmons has time to spare, perhaps spend it on your fiancée. I'm here to give her blood."