I CAME BACK FOR BLOOD

Seraphina's POV

"She's temporary."

That was the word that stopped me mid-step.

Temporary.

It floated through the half-open door of the sitting room, light and careless, like it didn't have the power to break a person in two. Like it wasn't aimed straight at me.

I stood there, frozen, my fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain teacup I had been carrying. The tea inside trembled, tiny ripples forming on the surface as my hands shook. The Ashford mansion was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that always made me feel like I was intruding even though I was supposed to live here.

Temporary.

I pressed my back to the wall, my heart pounding so loudly I was afraid it might give me away. I told myself I must have misunderstood. Maybe she was talking about a business deal. Maybe she was talking about staff.

But deep down, I knew better.

My mother-in-law's voice came again, smooth, controlled, sharp around the edges. Margaret Ashford always spoke like that-every word polished, every tone measured, like she was permanently addressing a boardroom instead of people.

"She was never meant to last," Margaret said calmly. "We all knew that from the beginning."

Another voice answered her, softer, uneasy. Vivian Ashford, Julian's aunt. She always smelled of lavender and guilt, always smiled at me like she wanted to say something kind but never quite dared.

"Margaret," Vivian said, lowering her voice, "she's still Julian's wife."

I swallowed hard.

"And she's pregnant," Vivian added.

My free hand moved to my stomach without thinking. Flat. Quiet. Still ours. My baby. Julian's baby. The secret that lived inside me, growing slowly, patiently, like hope I was afraid to speak out loud.

Margaret laughed softly.

"For now," she said. "Pregnancy doesn't make her permanent. Blood does. Status does."

I felt my chest tighten.

"She comes from nothing," Margaret continued, her tone almost bored. "No name. No connections. No strength. She was useful when Julian needed a clean image. A soft wife. Someone who wouldn't question him."

My throat burned.

"But she doesn't belong here," Margaret finished. "She's temporary."

The word hit harder the second time.

I took a small step back, my heel brushing against the carpet.

Vivian sighed. "Julian married her. He chose her."

"Julian chooses what benefits him," Margaret snapped. "And when this stops benefiting him, she will go. Like all mistakes."

My fingers tightened around the teacup until the heat burned my skin.

I couldn't stand there anymore.

I pushed the door open.

Both women turned to look at me.

Margaret's eyes were sharp, assessing, the way they always were when she looked at me-like she was measuring my worth and coming up disappointed. She sat perfectly straight on the cream sofa, pearls resting at her throat, her silver hair pulled back neatly. Everything about her screamed control.

Vivian's eyes widened. She looked embarrassed. Guilty.

"I-" My voice came out smaller than I wanted it to. "I brought your tea."

Margaret's gaze flicked to the cup, then back to my face.

"I didn't ask for tea," she said coldly.

"I thought you might want some," I replied, forcing my feet to move forward. I placed the cup gently on the glass table between us. "You usually have tea around this time."

Margaret raised an eyebrow. "You think too much."

Vivian stood quickly. "I'll-um-I'll leave you two," she said, already heading for the door. "Julian should be home later."

She didn't look back at me as she left.

The door closed.

The silence that followed was thick and heavy.

Margaret leaned back against the sofa, crossing her legs slowly. "You heard us."

It wasn't a question.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," I said quickly. "I was just walking by."

Margaret waved a dismissive hand. "There's no point pretending. You heard exactly what I said."

My stomach twisted, though I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or something else.

"With all due respect," I said, gathering what little courage I had, "I am Julian's wife."

Margaret smiled, thin and humorless. "For now."

The word again.

"I love your son," I said, my voice shaking despite my effort to stay calm. "And I'm carrying his child."

Margaret tilted her head, studying me like an object. "Are you?"

"Yes," I said firmly. "I am."

She sighed. "Love doesn't secure a place in this family, Seraphina. Strength does. And heirs?" Her eyes dropped briefly to my stomach. "Heirs can be replaced."

My breath caught.

"That's cruel," I whispered.

Margaret shrugged. "Cruelty keeps empires standing."

I felt small standing there. Smaller than I had ever felt before.

"I should go," I said.

"Yes," she agreed. "You should."

I turned and left before she could say anything else.

The hallway felt longer than usual as I walked away, past expensive paintings and cold marble floors. Faces of Ashford ancestors stared down at me from gilded frames, all power and pride. None of them looked like me. None of them ever would.

Temporary.

The word followed me up the stairs.

My phone buzzed in my hand.

Julian.

My heart lifted despite everything.

"Hi," I said softly.

"I'm running late," Julian said. His voice sounded distant, distracted. "Meetings."

"That's okay," I replied. "I understand."

"You sound tired."

"I'm fine," I lied. "Just a little dizzy."

"Make sure you eat," he said. "I'll be home later."

"Okay."

The call ended.

I stared at my phone for a long moment before slipping it back into my pocket.

I went into our bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. The room was spotless, untouched, like a hotel suite instead of a home. I rested both hands on my stomach.

"It's okay," I whispered. "I'm here."

A dull ache formed low in my abdomen.

I shifted slightly. "It's probably nothing," I murmured to myself.

The ache sharpened.

I stood up, gripping the bedpost as dizziness washed over me. My vision blurred. Sweat broke out across my skin.

"No," I whispered. "Please."

The pain came fast and sudden, cutting through me.

I tried to take a step.

My knees gave out.

I collapse in pain.

Seraphina's POV

The pain doesn't fade.

It spreads.

It tears through me in sharp, burning waves that steal the air from my lungs and make my vision swim. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a broken sound, thin and useless, swallowed by the wide, silent bedroom.

My body hits the cold marble floor, hard.

I curl instinctively, both hands clutching my stomach, my mind screaming one thought over and over again.

Please. Not my baby. Please.

I feel something warm between my legs.

Too warm.

Panic crashes into me so fast it makes me dizzy. I shift, shaking, my fingers trembling as I reach down. When I pull my hand back up, it's smeared red.

Blood.

"No," I whisper. "No, no, no..."

My heart starts racing wildly, each beat loud and uneven in my ears. My breath comes out fast and shallow, like I'm drowning on dry land.

I try to push myself up.

My arms give out.

"Help!" I cry, my voice cracking. "Please-someone help me!"

The room spins. The walls tilt. I barely hear the sound of footsteps rushing in before hands grab me, voices shouting over each other.

"Call an ambulance!"

"Careful-she's bleeding!"

"Mrs. Ashford, can you hear me?"

I blink up at unfamiliar faces-staff, pale and alarmed, hovering above me. Someone presses a towel between my legs. Someone else keeps asking me questions I can't answer.

My chest burns.

"Julian," I gasp. "Call Julian..."

Darkness closes in around the edges of my vision.

The ambulance smells like metal and disinfectant.

The siren screams as loud as my heart feels like it's beating. I'm strapped down, lights flashing above me, hands poking and prodding, voices sharp and urgent.

"Blood pressure dropping."

"She's pregnant."

"How far along?"

"Early weeks."

I clutch the sheet with white-knuckled fingers, tears sliding down into my hair.

"My baby," I whisper. "Please... my baby."

A paramedic with tired eyes leans closer. "We're doing everything we can, okay? Just stay with me."

I nod, though fear claws at my throat.

We reach the hospital too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

They wheel me through bright hallways, my body jolting with every turn. Nurses and doctors blur past, their voices loud, rushed, detached.

"Name?"

"Seraphina Cole-Ashford."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"Who's the husband?"

"Julian Ashford."

The moment that name leaves my lips, something changes.

I feel it before I see it.

The nurse pushing my bed slows.

Another nurse glances at the chart, then at me, then back at the chart.

Their urgency dulls.

The doors swing open, and I'm wheeled into a curtained area instead of an operating room.

"Wait," I gasp. "Why are we stopping?"

A nurse with tight lips avoids my eyes. "Just a moment, Mrs. Ashford."

"I'm bleeding," I say, my voice rising in panic. "I need a doctor."

"We're aware," she replies, not sounding concerned at all.

The pain intensifies, a sharp, tearing sensation that makes me cry out.

"Please," I beg. "Something's wrong."

Another nurse joins her. She's older, stern-looking, her mouth set in a straight line.

"Has anyone contacted Mrs. Ashford Senior?" the older nurse asks.

The younger one shakes her head. "Not yet."

"Do that," the older nurse says. "And don't move her until we hear back."

I stare at them, disbelief cutting through the pain.

"Hear back from who?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

Neither of them answers me.

Blood soaks through the towel between my legs. I can feel it. Warm. Constant.

"Please," I whisper again. "I'm begging you."

The older nurse finally looks at me. Her eyes are cold. Professional. Empty.

"We've been instructed to wait."

"Instructed?" I repeat. "By who?"

She doesn't answer.

"I need help now!" I cry. "You can't just leave me like this!"

The younger nurse shifts uncomfortably. "Mrs. Ashford, try to stay calm."

"Calm?" I laugh hysterically, tears streaming down my face. "I'm losing my baby!"

The nurses step back.

They stand there.

Waiting.

Minutes pass.

Each one feels like an hour.

The pain becomes unbearable, sharp and deep, like something is being ripped out of me from the inside. I scream. I sob. I beg.

"Nurse!" I cry. "Please-please help me!"

No one moves.

I see them whispering near the nurses' station, glancing at me, then away.

I feel small.

Powerless.

Disposable.

My phone lies on the tray beside me. With shaking hands, I grab it and dial Julian.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Voicemail.

I sob into the empty air.

"Julian," I whisper. "Please... I need you."

I hang up and try again.

No answer.

Blood pools beneath me now. I can feel the warmth spreading, soaking into the sheets.

"God," I whisper. "Please..."

A doctor finally appears, a tall man with tired eyes and a rushed expression. He glances at my chart, then at the nurses.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"She's bleeding heavily," the younger nurse says.

"And why hasn't she been prepped?" he snaps.

The older nurse stiffens. "We were told to wait."

"By who?"

She hesitates. "The Ashford family."

The doctor's jaw tightens.

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and something flickers in his eyes. Pity. Anger. Helplessness.

"Get her into the OR," he orders.

The older nurse shakes her head. "We can't."

The doctor stares at her. "Excuse me?"

"We were instructed-"

"I don't care who instructed you," he says sharply. "She's crashing."

The pain spikes suddenly, violently.

I scream.

The world blurs.

Hands finally rush toward me. Voices rise. Chaos erupts.

But it feels too late.

Something inside me gives way.

The pain fades abruptly, replaced by a terrifying emptiness.

My vision tunnels.

The sounds around me stretch and warp.

I hear a beeping noise, slow and uneven.

I feel cold.

So cold.

Someone is shouting my name.

Someone is pressing on my chest.

The beeping turns into a long, continuous sound.

Flatline alarm.

Seraphina's POV

The first thing I hear when my eyes flutter open is a quiet, almost apologetic voice.

"Mrs. Ashford... I'm very sorry."

I blink against the harsh white hospital lights, my head pounding, body aching in ways I can barely process. My stomach feels hollow. Empty.

"I... what?" My voice is hoarse, small, like I'm speaking through a fog. I try to sit up, but my arms feel heavy, uncooperative.

A man in a crisp white coat steps closer. Dr. Harris. I've seen him only briefly, but his weary eyes are etched with concern though concern can only take you so far.

"Mrs. Ashford," he says again, slowly, carefully, "I need you to understand"

I cut him off with a shaky laugh. "Understand what?" My hands tremble as I press them to my stomach. "Where is my baby?"

He looks down, swallowing. "The baby... didn't survive."

The words feel unreal. My stomach twists violently, my chest tightens, and my hands clutch the hospital sheets until my knuckles turn white.

"No," I whisper, and the word is so small it almost disappears. "It's not possible. I... I was fine. I felt it. I... I was alive."

Dr. Harris shifts, uncomfortable. "I know you are, but... the bleeding was severe. We did everything we could, but..."

"You did everything?!" I cry, voice cracking, tears already streaming down my face. "I was screaming! I was bleeding! I needed help! And you-"

"Please," he interrupts gently, "I know this is hard. I..."

"No!" I scream, cutting him off. "You waited!" My voice echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls. "You all waited!"

Dr. Harris flinches, as if my anger has struck him physically. "We... we were following instructions."

I stare at him, my vision blurring with tears. "Instructions? From whom?"

He doesn't answer immediately, only looks down, jaw tight. "From... the Ashford family."

I feel my stomach drop further, if that was even possible. My hands tighten around the sheets as if I could hold onto something, anything solid enough to stop the world from spinning.

"No," I whisper, my voice breaking. "No... they can't...Julian...he..."

"Mr. Ashford was notified," Dr. Harris says quietly. "He... he hasn't arrived yet."

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels like it's being crushed from all sides. My body shakes violently, my tears wetting my cheeks, my heart pounding in a rhythm that refuses to slow.

"Not yet," I repeat bitterly. "He knew, and he hasn't come. Not even to hold me. Not even to... to care."

Dr. Harris doesn't speak. He only looks at me with those sad, tired eyes, the kind of look that says he wishes he could change the world, but knows he can't.

I press my face into the pillow. "I needed him," I whisper. "I needed my baby... and I had neither."

The door opens, and a nurse enters, her name tag reading Nurse Elaine. She's young, her hair pulled into a tight bun, her face strained, like she's uncomfortable but too professional to show it.

"Mrs. Ashford," she says softly. "How are you feeling?"

I look at her, my hands still clutching the sheet. "How do you think I'm feeling?" I whisper bitterly. "My baby is gone."

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to Dr. Harris, then back to me. "I... I'm so sorry. We... we did what we could as quickly as possible."

"You did what you could?" I say, my voice rising in disbelief. "You watched me bleed. You waited because someone said so! And my husband... my husband hasn't even come!"

The nurse's lips press into a thin line. "He was informed."

"Informed," I repeat, my voice trembling with rage and grief. "Not here. Not asking. Not holding my hand. Just informed."

Dr. Harris places a tentative hand on my shoulder. "He's a busy man. He-"

I jerk away, tears spilling faster. "Busy? Busy while my baby dies? Busy while I'm lying here, alone?" My voice breaks completely. "I trusted him!"

He sighs and steps back, giving me space. "I wish there was more I could do for you. I truly do."

I can barely breathe. I press my hands to my face, trying to hide the tears. "There's nothing more you can do," I whisper. "Because it's too late. Too late!"

I slump back against the pillows, feeling hollow. I try to think of something to cling to. But the room smells of antiseptic, cold and clean, and the machines beep steadily as if nothing has happened at all.

Minutes pass. Hours? I don't know. Time has no meaning here. The emptiness in my chest is all-consuming.

I reach for my phone with shaking hands and dial Julian's number again. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail.

"Julian," I whisper into the phone. My voice is tiny, breaking. "I lost the baby... our baby... Please... please come."

I drop the phone back onto the bed, feeling its weight like a stone on my chest. Silence answers me.

I close my eyes. I imagine a tiny crib, a blanket folded neatly, a lullaby that will never be sung. I imagine holding a tiny hand that doesn't exist, watching a small face that will never smile. My body shudders with grief.

The door opens again.

I look up automatically, hope flaring in my chest, thinking it's Julian at last.

But it isn't him.

It's her.

Margaret Ashford.

She steps into the room like she owns it. Her heels click softly against the polished floor, each sound deliberate. Her cream coat is immaculate, her pearl earrings catching the harsh hospital lights. Her silver hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

She stops at the foot of the bed and smiles.

A smile that makes my chest tighten even more cold, knowing, and merciless.