Chapter 3
On the other side of the screen, Acacia had been clinging to her helpless, pitiful act this whole time—until rage suddenly consumed her, twisting her entire face into a vicious snarl.
She shot up from the floor like she’d been sprung upward. Shoving her tear-streaked, snot-smeared face straight into the camera, she screamed like she’d lost every ounce of her sanity.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re a sick freak taking your twisted grudges out on innocent people! My daughter has never hurt a soul. She’s only six years old—what could she have ever done to deserve this?”
Neil snapped right after her.
He snatched the phone away, his eyes bloodshot and the veins on his neck bulging wildly as he roared at the screen, completely unraveled. “You heartless, vicious bitch! You’re just using my daughter’s life to blackmail us, aren’t you? Trying to extort money from us while we’re on our knees begging for help!”
His chest heaved with unbridled fury. He jabbed a finger straight at the camera, the cruelty blazing in his eyes so intense it felt like it could pierce the screen and clamp tight around my throat.
“I’m warning you—if you don’t bring that serum here today, I’ll hunt you out of whatever rat hole you’re hiding in and destroy you completely!”
I listened to their pointless, furious meltdowns and curved my lips into a cold, faint smile.
I didn’t have a single second more to waste on staying on call with them.
I rested my hands on the keyboard, typed out two lines in quick succession, and sent them straight to the livestream’s public comment section.
“Your daughter’s life means absolutely nothing to me.”
“Keep your money. Use it to buy her a nicer coffin.”
Send.
I ended the call cleanly right after, then yanked the tablet’s ethernet cable out entirely.
The screen went pitch black, but I already knew full well—the entire world outside had just descended into chaos.
In less than ten minutes, the internet exploded into total meltdown.
#ColdBloodedVolunteerCursesSickChild#
#ThePembrokeGroupHeiressInCriticalDanger#
#CitywideHuntForDerangedVolunteer#
The trending tags locked firmly atop every hot list, impossible to ignore.
My work phone lit up nonstop as if possessed, flooded with endless text messages from unknown numbers.
“Rot in hell, you heartless trash! Karma’s coming for you!”
“I’ve already tracked down your approximate address. You’re dead meat.”
“Scum like you don’t deserve to live. The police should break down your door and force your blood donation. This is an innocent child’s life we’re talking about!”
I sat quietly on the couch, staring at the malice-filled, murderous messages, and felt an odd, unshakable calm.
Selfish. Cold-blooded. Antisocial.
To free my mother’s soul, I’d spent twenty years using my own blood to drag one hundred and seven strangers back from the brink of death. But this family? They didn’t deserve a single drop of what I had to give.
I lifted my gaze to the gentle black-and-white portrait of my mother sitting on the table.
“Mom… did you see that?” I murmured softly. “The people who cornered you into despair and destruction back then… are finally about to taste the pain of losing someone they love.”
Time ticked away steadily. Less than four hours remained before the virus raging inside Ally’s body would fully erupt and consume her.
My phone buzzed again. A long message from Mark popped up on the screen.
“Miss Sterling, only a few hours are left before the virus fully flares up! The little girl’s vital signs are already dropping rapidly. I’ve done everything I can to calm Neil down—he’s promised to let your harsh words on the livestream slide and not pursue any trouble over it.”
“I’ve arranged the hospital’s top-tier private car and professional security detail to pick you up from your place for your safety. Miss Sterling, I’m begging you—even if you don’t do it for the child, do it for your own reputation. If furious netizens dox you right now, the consequences will be catastrophic!”
I finished reading the message, let out a sharp, quiet laugh, and deleted it without a second thought.
Reputation? If I’d ever cared about that, I would have never answered that video call in the first place.
Still, they were right about one thing.
The child didn’t have much time left.
I picked up my spare work phone and dialed a deeply hidden number, one so obscure it barely felt real.
The line went dead silent on the other end—heavy, oppressive silence.
A full thirty seconds passed before a voice finally came through, gritted out and trembling. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
I hung up the phone, rose to my feet, and walked over to my closet.
I reached all the way to the back and pulled out a custom white t-shirt. Printed across the chest in a stark black-and-white design was my mother’s portrait—her memorial photo, taken shortly before she passed away.
I slipped the shirt on, then pulled on a loose black jacket over top, zipping it all the way up to my collar to hide the print.
If the entire internet was dying to dig up my identity, if Neil and Acacia were desperate to lay eyes on me—
I’d give them exactly what they wanted.
The grand show was finally about to begin.
When I arrived at the hospital, I headed straight for the elevator and pressed the button for the resuscitation ward floor. The doors slid shut, and the floor numbers climbed steadily upward.
As the elevator ascended, a quiet, burning restlessness began to simmer in my blood.
Neil. Acacia.
Today, I would stand outside that resuscitation room with my own two feet, strip away every last one of their fake masks, and watch them plunge into a despair so crushing that death would feel like mercy by comparison.
