Scarlett' POV
Half an hour later, Lorenzo strolled out of the walk-in closet at a leisurely pace.
He'd dressed himself up like a well-tailored beast.
He wore a finely tailored black silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, revealing a stretch of lean, powerful muscle.
In his hand, he held a sheet of A4 paper, which he tossed onto the coffee table in front of me.
"Rules."
I looked down at it—more than a dozen densely written clauses.
The first one read: During the service period, Party B must maintain personal hygiene, including but not limited to—
"Wait a second," I frowned. "Why would I get docked money for white vaginal discharge during sex?"
"Didn't you take health class in high school? That's normal secretion. Even if I clean up beforehand, it can still happen!"
Lorenzo sat down on the sofa, crossed his legs, wearing leather slippers without any logo.
Around the edges, an entire row of sparkling rubies was embedded.
What kind of taste is that!
It's an eyesore!
"Cut the crap. You have to meet my requirements. If you can't, money gets docked."
I forced down the urge to rush over and slap him a few times, pinching the flesh on the back of my hand instead.
Taking a deep breath, I continued reading.
Article 3: During the service period, Party B must not engage in any form of sexual relations with third parties.
Article 4: Party B must arrive at the designated location within the time specified by Party A. Being late by more than fifteen minutes will result in a 5% deduction from that session's fee.
...
Article 15: Party B must not proactively inquire about Party A's occupation, family, social relationships, or other private information.
"You've really got yourself protected airtight."
I ground my teeth.
"What about me? What if you hurt me? What if you call a bunch of people over for group sex—what then?"
Lorenzo snorted disdainfully. "I'm a germaphobe. Can't you tell?"
"Fine, add that clause in."
I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. This bastard at least had a shred of humanity.
"Add another one—after each session, payment on the spot! No delays!"
"Fine." He agreed surprisingly readily.
"Also," I pressed on with gritted teeth, "you can't use violence on me, and you can't use dangerous tools!"
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
He paused, then flashed a wicked smile.
"Fine. Then I'm adding one too—before each session, you can't breastfeed. You have to keep your milk full."
"You—are you sick?"
"If you don't agree, get lost. The door's right there."
I opened my mouth, forcing myself to take deep breaths.
Scarlett, hold it in.
Three thousand dollars, three thousand per session!
Mia and Nina are still in the PICU waiting for you—what's this little demand compared to that?!
"...Fine."
I signed my name at the bottom.
The moment the pen touched the paper, I heard myself gasp.
I, Scarlett O'Brien, had just sold myself.
Two copies of the contract—I folded mine and stuffed it into my pants pocket.
"I'll notify you in advance about the next meeting time. Now get lost!"
Cheapskate!
Worked all night and he won't even give me a glass of water!
I curse you to be childless forever！
Wearing yesterday's T-shirt soaked with milk stains and reeking of sour smell, I stumbled out of that luxury apartment.
The morning air in Manhattan carried the scent of hot dogs. My stomach growled with hunger, but I couldn't bear to spend a single dollar.
Swallowing saliva, I walked all the way to Mount Sinai Hospital.
"O'Brien, Mia and Nina, PICU, account ending in 347."
The cashier tapped at the keyboard for a while, then looked up at me.
"Outstanding balance of eleven thousand one hundred twenty-three dollars. How much are you paying today?"
"Four hundred twenty. I—I've already applied for Medicaid... It'll definitely be approved within three days!"
I pushed the crumpled bills across, not daring to lift my head the entire time.
The cashier took them expressionlessly and handed me a receipt.
"Even with Medicaid, after deductions, the remaining self-pay amount must be settled within seven days, or we'll initiate the transfer-out procedure."
Seven days?
Well, seven days... at least it's better than being kicked out immediately.
As I turned to leave, a familiar-looking nurse passed right by me.
"Here she is again, that single mom. Both daughters have congenital heart disease. She's been behind on payments since they were admitted."
Another nurse shrugged and sneered.
"Got dumped by her boyfriend, right? Who told her to get pregnant out of wedlock? When she was having fun, did she ever think about today?"
The corners of my mouth trembled uncontrollably.
Bitches!
What right do you have to mock me behind my back?
Just wait—I will cure my two babies!
The day they're discharged, I'm definitely filing a complaint against you!
Dr. Hoffman's office was at the end of the east corridor on the seventh floor.
When I knocked and entered, he was eating a bagel.
Cream cheese was stuck on his thumb.
Without hesitation, he stuck out his fat tongue and licked the sauce clean.
"Ms. O'Brien, you're just in time. I need to talk to you."
"Both children's conditions aren't looking good." Hoffman opened a folder.
"Mia's ventricular septal defect is more severe than last week's ultrasound showed. We recommend surgery as soon as possible. Nina is relatively stable, but she can't be delayed too long either."
"The surgery costs..."
"That's exactly what I wanted to tell you." He took off his glasses, his expression growing grave.
"According to the latest assessment, Mia needs a more complex repair, and the post-operative PICU care days may increase—"
I unconsciously held my breath.
"Just tell me directly... how much exactly?"
"Both surgeries combined, after Medicaid deductions, your self-pay portion will be roughly between fifty-two and fifty-five thousand."
I felt like someone had set a fire on top of my head.
"You said thirty thousand before!"
"Sorry, the situation has changed."
"But you can't just change it like that! I've already been raising money based on thirty thousand—"
"Then you'll have to move faster." Hoffman closed the file, his obese body sinking deep into the chair back.
His gaze slid from my face all the way down to my chest.
"I know you're in a difficult situation. I'll be honest with you—I'm a shareholder in this hospital and have some say..."
He suddenly stood up and came around behind me.
I felt a pair of thick hands land on my shoulders.
Then his fingers slowly moved, sliding along my shoulder blades all the way toward my collarbone.
I bit down hard on my back teeth, feeling like ten thousand ants were crawling under my skin.
"Dr. Hoffman, please take your hands off me."
"Don't be nervous," he smiled, revealing a row of neat, gleaming porcelain veneers. "I just want to help you..."
I stood up, the chair scraping backward with a harsh sound.
"Don't touch me!"
His face immediately went cold.
"Ms. O'Brien, I suggest you think clearly about your situation. If you want your daughters to live, you should know how to choose!"
My hands were shaking, but not a single tear was in my eyes.
Today's tears had already been shed on Lorenzo's expensive bed.
"Go fuck yourself!"
I put on the sterile gown, mask, and gloves, and walked into the PICU to visit Mia and Nina.
One on the left, one on the right.
In two transparent incubators lay two soft, adorable angels.
I reached my index finger through the side port of Mia's incubator, gently touching the back of her hand, then did the same with Nina's.
They were so small, so fragile, their skin so thin you could see the bluish-purple veins underneath.
How could I let them die?
I had to earn the surgery fees as soon as possible! I had to!
After leaving the PICU, I went to the stairwell, found the most secluded corner, pulled out my phone, and sent Lorenzo a message.
"Hello, it's me, Scarlett. May I ask... when is the next service?"
"If possible, I hope... as soon as possible."
After pressing send, I finally couldn't hold on anymore. I squatted down, hugged my knees, and buried my forehead in them.
Tears, like floodwaters bursting through a dam, surged out silently.
