Chapter 3

I made it to the iron gates.

The black SUV idled just outside. Liam.

My hand reached for the latch.

Suddenly, two of Richard's security guards, men built like refrigerators, materialized from the shadows of the gatehouse.

"Mrs. Grant. Mr. Grant requests your presence back at the house."

One of them took my suitcase. The other gently, but firmly, took my arm.

There was no point resisting.

They escorted me back, not to the main house, but to the guesthouse which Richard had converted into a small, private medical facility after a health scare a few years prior.

Richard was there, pacing. Jessica was on an examination couch, a doctor I didn't recognize fussing over her.

"What is this, Richard?" I demanded.

His eyes were flinty. "Jessica had a bit of a scare. Some spotting. The doctor says she's anemic, needs a transfusion immediately. Possible pre-term labor if we don't act fast."

My blood ran cold. I knew where this was going.

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"You're O-negative, Emily. 'Golden blood,' isn't that what your fancy Boston doctors called it? So is Jessica, conveniently."

He'd always known about my rare blood type. My family had made sure he was aware when we married, due to my heart condition. It was a vulnerability he'd cataloged.

"My heart," I began, "Dr. Evans said any significant blood loss..."

"Dr. Peterson here is perfectly capable," Richard cut in, gesturing to the new doctor. "He assures me it's safe."

Dr. Peterson looked uncomfortable. "Mrs. Grant, given your cardiac history, a standard donation might carry some risks. We should monitor you closely."

"She'll be fine," Richard snapped. "Jessica and the baby are the priority. Draw a double unit. She's strong."

A double unit. That was dangerous for anyone, let alone me.

"Richard, you can't," I whispered.

He stepped closer, his voice low and menacing. "Oh, I can, Emily. And I will. Think of it as your final wifely duty. Or your first motherly one, in a way. You're saving my child."

The guards positioned themselves by the door.

Dr. Peterson approached with a tray. The needle looked enormous.

"I won't let you do this," I said, my voice shaking despite my efforts to control it.

Richard laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You don't have a choice. You're still my wife. And you're on my property."

He nodded to the guards.

They moved towards me.

I backed away until I hit the wall.

"Don't touch me."

One guard grabbed my arm. I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. The other pinned my other arm.

I looked at Richard, pleading.

His face was a mask of indifference. "Get it done, Doctor."

Dr. Peterson hesitated, his eyes darting between me and Richard.

"If there are complications, Mr. Grant..."

"There won't be," Richard said, his tone final. "Just do your job."

The needle pricked my skin. It was a sharp, violating pain.

I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping and tracing a hot path down my cheek.

This wasn't just about blood. It was about power. About him erasing me, piece by piece.

He was taking my very life force to sustain the new life he valued, while mine meant nothing.