Chapter 3

The next day, Andrew drove me to a private clinic tucked away in a discreet medical building. It wasn't a hospital. There were no bustling waiting rooms, just quiet, carpeted hallways and a sense of sterile anonymity.

A doctor with a cold demeanor and empty eyes prepped my arm. I lay back in the chair, feeling the familiar prick of the needle. Andrew sat beside me, holding my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles.

"You're doing a wonderful thing, Jennifer," he said, his voice a low, soothing hum.

As the dark red blood flowed from my vein into the bag, a wave of dizziness washed over me. The room started to swim. My body, already weakened by months of trauma and recovery, was protesting.

"She's looking pale," the doctor noted, his tone flat. "Her blood pressure is dropping. We should probably stop."

"No," Andrew said immediately, his grip on my hand tightening. "Keep going. Take as much as Sabrina needs."

"Mr. Lester, she's in a fragile state," the doctor warned, glancing at the monitor. "Continuing could be dangerous for her."

Andrew leaned closer to me, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper that only I and the doctor could hear. His charming facade was gone, replaced by a chilling ruthlessness.

"Sabrina's life is all that matters," he hissed. "If you can't give enough, don't worry. Leo is O-negative, too. I'm not above bringing him in for a 'donation' if I have to. Do you understand me?"

My heart stopped. He was threatening our son. Our broken, beautiful boy. He would bleed our child dry for that woman.

The world went black. I surrendered to the darkness, the last thing I felt was the cold, unyielding pressure of Andrew's hand on mine.