Chapter 4

Stella's POV

The sharp, pungent stench of hospital disinfectant burned my nostrils.

Everything around me was quiet, broken only by the rhythmic, monotonous beeping of medical monitors.

Consciousness slowly seeped back into my spinning head.

My throat was still raw and agonizing; every swallow felt like scraping down broken glass. I struggled to pry open my heavy eyelids, and a stark white ceiling dominated my entire field of view.

I survived.

That was the very first thought that crossed my mind.

I tried to shift my body, but a sharp prick on my left arm stopped me, accompanied by a cold sensation of fluid draining away.

I slowly turned my head.

A thick needle was buried deep in my vein.

Dark red blood was steadily flowing down a clear plastic tube, gathering in a blood bag hanging beside the bed—a bag that was already nearly half full.

My mind went completely blank.

A blood draw?

I had just survived anaphylactic shock and emergency resuscitation. Why was someone drawing my blood?

"Oh, you're awake?"

The door clicked open, and a nurse in a white coat walked in carrying a stainless steel tray. Seeing my eyes open, she stepped forward to check the flow rate on the IV tube.

I parted my lips, my voice raspy and dry like sandpaper: "Why..."

The nurse glanced at the blood bag, her tone entirely nonchalant, even laced with a matter-of-fact indifference. "Oh, the gentleman who brought you in said your constitution is strong, so you're fine. The other young lady who came in with you was diagnosed with mild anemia. You two share the same blood type, so he told us to draw some of yours for her transfusion."

Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning straight to the skull.

In that fraction of a second, I forgot how to breathe.

Anemia?

Elena Miller had mild anemia, so they were draining blood from someone who had just suffered an allergic shock and narrowly escaped death, all to give that woman a "quick boost"?

Was this what Nicholas called "not a big deal"?

I stared fixedly at the bag filled with my own blood. The disbelief in my eyes curdled into a bottomless, hollow despair, followed by a chill that froze me to the bone.

Suddenly, I reached out with my right hand and grabbed the tubing on my left arm.

"What are you doing?!" the nurse shrieked.

I ignored her. Gritting my teeth, I jerked my wrist back with all the force I had left.

*Rip!*

The thick needle tore violently out of my vein!

A spray of dark crimson blood erupted like a broken spring, splashing across the pristine white sheets, a few droplets even spattering onto the nurse's white coat.

"Are you insane?! Do you want to die?!" The nurse turned pale with horror. She dropped her tray with a clatter, grabbed a fistful of sterile gauze, and pressed down desperately on my torn flesh.

My face was paler than paper. My body shook violently from blood loss and sheer exhaustion, but my eyes remained glued to the door of the room, burning like a trapped beast pushed to the brink of death.

Right at that moment, the door swung open.

Nicholas strode inside, wearing his long black wool coat. His features were as chiseled and aloof as ever, carrying the effortless, unshakeable arrogance of someone born to rule over others.

The moment he saw the blood-soaked sheets and the ripped-out IV line, his brow furrowed deeply.

"What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?" Nicholas walked over to the bed, towering over me. There wasn't an ounce of concern in his eyes—only pure disgust for my "irrational scene."

I didn't resist the nurse. I let her press down on my bleeding arm.

I tilted my head back, looking up at this man.

There was no redness around my eyes, yet tears streamed down like severed pearls, silently tracing paths down my pale cheeks before dripping onto the blood-smeared back of my hand.

Nicholas's gaze wavered slightly, as if that single tear had scalded his vision. But he quickly masked it, his voice dropping another few degrees into freezing territory.

"Elena is anemic. Her health is fragile. You grew up tough in the countryside, your body is strong, and you have the same blood type. What’s the harm in donating a little blood to her? Do you really have to make a scene over this?"

So natural.

So dripping with condescending entitlement.

I stared at him. That handsome, sculpted face had once been the center of my entire youth. I used to foolishly believe that beneath that cold exterior lived a heart that would protect me.

At this moment, I suddenly felt that the person standing in front of me was a complete stranger.

Or rather, I had never truly known Nicholas Vance at all.

"She has anemia," I whispered, my voice so frail the slightest breeze could shatter it. "Then what about me?"

I just went into shock. I almost died in your car. You gave the only medicine to her, and now you want to drain my blood to feed her?

Nicholas seemed to find my question utterly absurd. He loosened his silk tie with an irritated tug.

"Aren't you awake and perfectly fine right now? Why are you crying? It’s not like it's a big deal."

With that, he walked around the side of the bed and stepped up to the blood bag.

He lifted the bag containing nearly 400cc of my crimson blood. Without sparing me another glance, he turned to the nurse. "Process this blood and get the transfusion started for Elena right away. She’s waiting in the next room."

"Yes, Mr. Vance," the nurse stammered nervously, pressing down on my wound, terrified to utter another word.

Carrying the bag of blood, Nicholas strode briskly out of the room.

His tall, commanding back never paused for a fraction of a second. He didn't even bother to pull the door shut behind him. The icy draft from the corridor rushed straight inside.

I sat on the hospital bed, utterly alone.

The nurse finally managed to stop the bleeding, taped down medical gauze, and practically fled the room like she was escaping a ghost.

I looked down at the blood-stained tape on my left arm, then at the sickening red smears on the sheets.

My tears had dried completely, leaving my eyes raw and burning.

I didn't throw another fit, nor did I cry.

Somewhere in the deepest corner of my heart, I heard the sound of something shattering into dust.

A destruction so complete that not even debris remained.

In my past life, I had always lied to myself, convincing myself that Nicholas was just a man of few words. I thought that as long as I was obedient enough, submissive enough, he would turn back and look at me one day. Even until the moment I died, I clung to that pathetic illusion.

But now, staring at that open door, I smiled.

The smile was pale, broken, yet washed clean with the absolute clarity of someone setting themselves free.

Nicholas Vance, I don't owe you anything anymore.

These four hundred ccs of blood—consider them repayment for the five years of tuition and shelter you gave me.

From this day forward, nothing about you has anything to do with me ever again.

Propping up my weakened body, I slowly slid off the hospital bed, stepping barefoot onto the freezing tile floor.

I had to get out of here.

I wouldn't stay in this place a second longer.