Chapter3

I bit down hard on the tip of my tongue.

The second the metallic taste of blood exploded in my mouth, a surge of scalding energy shot up from the base of my spine. When you're on the verge of death, the body wakes up before the brain does.

The fingers on my right hand suddenly twitched, regaining mobility.

Just as the nurse's thumb hovered over the syringe plunger, I wrenched my head to the side with every ounce of strength I had left and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva right at her.

"Ah!" The syringe slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.

I ripped the IV needle out of the back of my hand. With my free hand, I grabbed a glass medicine bottle from the nightstand and smashed it against the metal IV pole.

Glass shards exploded across the floor.

I snatched up the sharpest piece and pressed it directly against my carotid artery.

"Don't come any closer," I said, staring dead into Evans's eyes. "You want a healthy heart, right? I'll count to three. If it dies from severe blood loss, do you think the lady outside—the one who donates thirty million to your hospital every year—will skin you alive?"

The nurse shrieked and bolted from the room. The clicking of high heels on the hallway tiles grew louder, drawing closer. Evans's neck was slick with sweat. His eyes darted nervously between my hand and the shattered glass on the floor.

"Madam... she heard everything..." Evans took a half-step back.

"Heard what?"

Diana walked in. Her eyes swept over the blood on the floor, the broken glass, and the syringe that had rolled into the corner. Then, she looked at me.

"Chloe," she called my name, her tone as gentle as if nothing had happened. "What are you doing? Put the glass down before you hurt yourself."

My grip on the shard didn't waver.

"Diana," I stared her down. "I heard everything from outside the door. Brain death, the organ donation consent form, and the operating room next door prepping for a heart transplant."

Her eyelashes fluttered. Just once.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Her voice even carried a hint of helpless amusement. "That must have been a nightmare. None of it is true. How could Mom ever let you die?"

"A nightmare?" I let out a bitter laugh. "Evans just said, 'The deep anesthesia will take effect in one minute, and she'll lose all consciousness.' Did I hear that in a dream, too?"

Diana glanced sideways at Evans. He didn't dare meet her eyes.

"You misheard. What we were talking about is a minor valve repair."

"Is 'brain death' also part of a valve repair?"

Her smile finally faltered for a beat.

"You're overreacting," she said. "It's common for patients to mishear things right before surgery."

"Then what's in that syringe?"

"Evans, tell me. What's in it?"

Evans's lips trembled. He remained silent.

Diana sighed. "Chloe, you know Bianca's condition. She can't hold on much longer. Just bear with it for a little bit, and once your sister is better..."

"Hold on. A second ago you said, 'You just need an artificial valve,' and now you're saying 'Your sister can't hold on much longer.' Diana, you can't even keep your lies straight anymore."

The corners of her mouth finally dropped. "What exactly do you want?" she asked. All the warmth had vanished from her voice.

"I want you to admit it."

Richard stood in the doorway, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something. But he kept his mouth shut.

"Admit what?" Diana's voice turned ice-cold.

"Admit that you've never, ever seen me as your daughter."

The muffled rolling of a wheelchair against the floor tiles drifted in from the hallway. Bianca's voice carried through the wall. "Mom? What's going on in there? I heard someone scream."

"It's nothing," Diana called back, raising her voice. Her tone turned sickeningly sweet again. "Your sister is just a little nervous. Mom's comforting her."

With that, she turned back to me, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. "How can you be so incredibly selfish? Your sister is dying. You're just getting an artificial valve—it won't kill you. Did you really have to make such a scene?"

"If you lie down right now, everything stays the same. Throwing this tantrum changes absolutely nothing. It just makes things ugly for everyone."

"You mean, if I lay down on that table, they live. And if I choose to live, they die. You never once considered a third option, did you?"

The corner of her mouth twitched.

"The blood in your veins, the food you've eaten, the roof over your head—this family gave you everything. What exactly do you think you can rebel against?"

"And what about my bone marrow? My liver? My corneas?"

She didn't answer. She only averted her eyes.

"From the day you were born, you existed for this family." The words slipped out so effortlessly, as if she had rehearsed them a thousand times.

I didn't ask any more questions.

Gripping the glass shard, I swung my legs over the edge and dropped down from the bed. The second my bare feet hit the floor, a sharp, piercing pain tore through my soles—the floor was covered in broken glass. Blood seeped out from under my feet, leaving crimson footprints with every step. I didn't look down. I didn't even feel the pain. I just walked two steps forward.

Diana instinctively took a half-step back.

I bypassed her. Richard leaned against the wall and shuffled to the side, as if terrified I might stain his tailored suit.

"I'm done with this family."

Clutching the dripping glass shard, I stumbled forward and shoved open the ward door.

Outside, Bianca sat in her wheelchair, her eyes wide with terror as she stared at the bloody footprints beneath my feet.

"Stop her." Behind me, Diana had completely torn off her hypocritical mask. "Even if you have to break her legs, pin her back on that operating table."

I watched the two bodyguards closing in from the hallway. I didn't step back. Instead, I charged straight at them.