Chapter2

"Serena, enough." Caleb tightened his grip on the pen. "I know the risks. Lily doesn't have time to wait."

"As long as you know."

I stopped trying to persuade him. Instead, I reached into my bag and pulled out a stapled document. The bold title on the first page read: Termination of Representation and Medical Risk Liability Release.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "What is this now?"

"A liability waiver," I said, sliding the document across the table. "You sign this, and no one ever gets to hunt me down in the future demanding to know why I didn't stop him. This also serves as my formal resignation as Caleb's sports agent."

Diane’s face drained of color. "You're terminating your brother's contract?"

"He’s the one volunteering a kidney." I looked straight at Caleb. "A professional sports agent cannot represent an athlete who actively throws his career away. Sign this, and from this moment on, your body, your contracts, and your future have absolutely nothing to do with me."

Lily slowly leaned up from the hospital bed, her voice trembling like shattered glass.

"Serena... I know you’ve never liked me. You always thought I was dragging Caleb down... but I honestly never expected him to give me his kidney..."

She raised a hand to wipe a tear, her timing flawlessly calculated. "Don’t blame him. It’s all my fault. I’m the one who shouldn't be in this world..."

Caleb slammed his fist onto the edge of the mattress. "Lily, don't you ever say that."

He turned back, his eyes rimmed with angry red. The next second, he stormed over and clamped his right hand viciously onto my shoulder.

"Apologize to her."

"Your cold-blooded attitude is scaring her."

His grip on my shoulder bone flared with pain, and just as I gritted my teeth to throw him off, his other hand slammed against the back of my head, shoving me forcefully toward the ground.

"I said—apologize."

My knees buckled slightly.

It was just like my past life. They always had ways to physically break me down, to force me to my knees, forcing me to beg, forcing me to kneel and confess that everything was somehow my fault.

I had knelt before.

And they still shattered my fingers anyway.

I shot my left hand out, bracing my weight hard against the metal railing of the bed, and fiercely jammed my right elbow straight back, driving it right under his ribs.

He grunted in pain and stumbled back, releasing his grip.

I stood up straight, brushing off my shoulder.

"Caleb Hayes," I said, my voice eerily calm. "If you lay a single finger on me again, I’m calling the police. Any assault arrest record before the draft combine will get your name red-lined by every franchise board in the country."

His face paled, the reality of the threat hitting him.

I didn't linger on him. I turned to Lily in the bed and asked, enunciating every syllable:

"Lily, let me ask you: Do you confirm that accepting Caleb's kidney is entirely voluntary? That no one is coercing you, and you are under absolutely zero pressure from anyone in the Hayes family?"

Lily’s crying hitched in her throat. "I... I mean, of course I want to live. But Serena, why do you have to force me to say it like this..."

"Please answer the question."

The room was silent for two long seconds.

"...I confirm it. I voluntarily accept."

I nodded, satisfied, and turned back to my parents. "And you? You fully support your son making this decision, correct?"

Arthur glared at me with pure vitriol. "He is my son. Whatever he chooses to do, we support him."

Diane hesitated for a fraction of a second but forced a brave front. "Yes. As long as it saves Lily, we support it."

"Excellent." I pushed the waiver back to the center of the table. "Then I need all of you to put what you just said on paper."

Arthur lunged forward, trying to grab the document to rip it up, but I slammed my hand down on it first.

"Dad, you rip this one up, I have twenty more copies in my bag. You are signing this today whether you like it or not."

Arthur stared at me like I was a total stranger.

Caleb snatched the pen and furiously slashed his signature across the dotted line.

"Serena, you're fired," he sneered, tossing the packet back at me. "When I sign my eight-figure shoe deal, don't even think about asking me for nosebleed tickets."

I didn’t respond. I simply flipped to the second page and pushed it in front of my parents. "The parental witness clause needs signatures too."

Diane’s hand shook as she took the pen and scribbled a line. Arthur stared at me for a long, heavy moment before slashing his name across the bottom.

I carefully collected the documents, snapped high-resolution photos, uploaded them to my cloud drive, backed them up to my secure email, and put the originals safely in my bag.

"Good." I zipped up the tote. "You can schedule the surgery now."

I turned and walked toward the door.

From behind me, Caleb called out, "You’re going to regret this, Serena. When I win my first championship ring, you’ll be on your knees begging me to re-sign you."

I paused at the door, turning my head just slightly.

"Good luck with the surgery."

The door clicked shut behind me.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway stung my eyes. I leaned against the cold wall and slowly slid down into a crouch.

In my past life, I had spent way too much time on my knees for them.

In this life, my knees belong only to me.

I stood back up, pulled out my phone, and opened my email app.

Recipient: Mitchell Novak, Director of Recruitment, Sports Division, WME Agency (Top Global Tier).

Subject: Internship Application - Serena Hayes.

The body of the email contained only one sentence:

I want the athletes you don't need, and I see the markets you overlook.

Send.

Before I locked my screen, I checked the time. 2:47 PM. Three hours before Lily would be wheeled into the operating room.

In my past life, I had spent these three hours running frantically through the hospital corridors, cornering every doctor I could find, begging them if there was "any other way."

In this life, I walked out of the hospital, sat down at the ground-floor café, and ordered myself a hot Americano.

My phone buzzed. Mitchell Novak’s reply was a single sentence:

Bring your resume to my office tomorrow at 10:00 AM.