Chapter 2

(Elena’s POV)

I pressed my chest, the immense sadness and pain nearly suffocating me, tears streaming down my face. I bit my lip so hard I nearly tasted blood.

Just then —

Gabriel opened the door.

In his hand was the syringe, thick as a baby’s arm, the needle glinting coldly.

When he saw my tear-streaked face, he froze, then hurried forward:

“Elena? Why are you crying like this? Who bullied you?”

He pulled me into his arms, his voice gentle as if comforting a scared child:

“Did you have a nightmare? Don’t be afraid, I’m always here for you.”

His embrace once made me feel incredibly secure.

But now, his hand still held that syringe.

I felt my stomach churn.

For the past seven years, every month, he had used that syringe to draw blood from me.

He said my blood type was rare, and he needed to store some extra blood while I was still healthy.

It was for my own good, to ensure I wouldn’t die from blood loss in an emergency.

But he knew full well I had been depressed ever since my parents died, and every month when he took my blood, my health worsened.

Yet he still found ways to coax me into agreeing, constantly saying it was for my own good.

Now, I had been drained of blood for eight years.

At the time, I felt pain but also thought it was out of care.

Until today, I finally realized that he was drawing my blood for Lily.

Though I felt heartbreaking, I couldn’t help but grow a flicker of hope.

I gathered my courage and hesitantly asked:

“Gabriel, I’m pregnant now, can you stop drawing my blood?”

“It hurts every time you take my blood.”

“And I’ve given so much, isn’t it enough?”

I looked at him, my eyes shining with hope, as if just one word from him would change something.

But Gabriel didn’t hesitate to respond: “Not enough!”

Seeing me stunned, he quickly realized his expression was wrong and softened, saying:

“Elena, please hold on a little longer, this is for your own good.”

“What if you’re giving birth and start bleeding a lot, where will I find this rare blood? We still have to rely on ourselves.”

“Be good, okay?”

His words were noble, as if he were a loving husband, deeply concerned for his wife.

But all I could feel was a bone-chilling cold.

— Then why doesn’t he let Lily rely on herself?

— Why is it only me who has to give blood, my body, and my life?

He is the top doctor in Chicago.

He knows that excessive blood drawing during pregnancy can cause the fetus to develop poorly, even directly leading to death.

But he still did it.

As long as he could keep Lily Carter safe, he was willing to risk the life of the child that shared half his blood.

My heart died, and I allowed him to push the cold needle into my arm.

Blood was drawn inch by inch, and I felt increasingly nauseous, dizzy, and sick.

My face turned pale, terrifying to look at.

When he drew the last drop of blood, he didn’t even glance at me.

He hurriedly took the blood and rushed out to store it.

Blood oozed from the wound, and the scene before my eyes began to twist.

In the end, I couldn’t hold on any longer and fainted.

When I woke up, I felt like a discarded corpse, still lying on the couch.

The room was warm, but I was still shivering.

It felt like my blood had been drained too much, my body hollowed out.

I leaned on the couch to stand up, but a wave of dizziness almost brought me to my knees.

But I still heard the constant laughter downstairs, warm and lively.

I closed my eyes, forced myself to go downstairs.

The downstairs dining room was brightly lit.

Lily had arrived at some point, sitting between Gabriel and his mother, Angela Mancini, smiling sweetly.

Angela looked at Lily with affectionate eyes, as if she were her own daughter.

Gabriel, too, gently peeled her favorite nuts, placing them one by one into her palm.

Their laughter was warm and intimate, like a family.

And I was like an outsider.

Lily was the first to see me, her smile sweet:

“Elena! You’re here?”