Chapter 4

Lily had expected no less.

She didn't even look at him again — just turned to the real estate agent and said: "Go ahead and take the photos."

The agent all but fled inside, snapping the required shots of each room with frantic efficiency, then bolted for the stairs.

"Ms. Ashford, I'll find you a buyer as soon as possible!" she called from the doorway, and disappeared.

Lily was turning to leave when Julian caught her — his fingers closing around her wrist, Scarlett hovering just behind him.

"It's lunchtime. Now that we've run into each other, why don't we all eat together? The three of us."

The three of us.

Lily almost laughed.

The wife and the other woman sharing a table. How creative.

She was already forming a cold refusal when, without warning — crash —

Above them, an upper-floor window gave out. Ancient, rotting frame, no notice given. Glass exploded outward and rained down like a hailstorm.

In the split second before impact, Julian moved.

He lunged toward Scarlett, arms spread wide, using his body as a shield — catching the worst of the falling glass across his back.

Lily, released, had only enough time to throw her arms over her head.

"—"

The shards found her anyway. Her sleeve, her shoulder, her back — sliced open all at once. The pain arrived in a wave, savage and immediate.

Warmth soaked through her thin shirt.

Her last conscious image, before the darkness took her: Julian clutching Scarlett against his chest, checking her over with shaking hands, voice cracking with a kind of fear she'd never once heard him direct at her: "Scarlett — are you hurt? Where are you hurt?"

And not a single glance — not one — at the woman sliding down the wall behind him, drenched in blood.

It hurts.

But she couldn't tell, anymore, whether it was the lacerations across her skin that hurt worse, or the wound in her chest that had been carved open long ago, still bleeding, still bleeding.

Then the dark took her completely.

…

She came back to consciousness in movement — a gurney in motion, voices sharp and urgent around her.

"Multiple lacerations, significant blood loss — OR, now—"

"Get a blood bag — notify the surgical team—"

And then, as she was being wheeled down the corridor, the sound of rapid footsteps.

Julian.

Gauze on his temple, face tight with urgency, stepping directly into the path of the gurney. "Wait."

He turned to the nurse beside her, his voice carrying that particular quality that brooked no argument. "Scarlett was hurt. She has a clotting disorder — she's bleeding and can't stop. Lily's blood type matches hers. Hold off on the surgery. I need you to draw blood from Lily first and give it to Scarlett."

The nurse looked at the woman on the gurney — barely conscious, pale as paper — and flinched. "Sir, your wife has already lost a dangerous amount of blood. Drawing more from her now could kill her."

"Just a little. She won't die."

"But—"

"There are no buts." Julian's voice snapped, trembling with something that had crossed over into something frightening. "Don't forget who owns this hospital. If anything happens to Scarlett, every last one of you is finished — this place included."

The nurse looked at her colleagues. Saw no rescue in their uncertain faces. Felt her professional conscience buckle against the wall of his threat.

"…Prepare to draw blood."

The needle slid into Lily's arm — the one so drained the nurses struggled to find a vein.

Bright red, filling the bag.

She could feel it leaving her. Could feel herself becoming less.

Somewhere in the haze, she remembered something from a long time ago.

She'd been in an accident then too. Severe. The blood bank had run low. Julian — blood type incompatible — had grabbed the doctor by the collar, wild-eyed: Use mine. Take whatever you need. She can't die.

He'd sat outside the operating room for hours, praying to gods he'd never believed in, pressing his forehead to the floor until it bled.

When she'd made it through, he'd held her and wept like a man who'd almost lost everything that mattered, whispering: You scared me. I can't lose you. I can't.

And now?

For another woman, he had ordered them to drain the life from his wife without hesitation.

Julian…

How did you stop loving me?

…

She came back to herself in a hospital bed.

A nurse was completing some notes nearby. When she saw Lily's eyes open, she exhaled slowly — relief mixed with something else, something unspoken.

"Ms. Ashford. You're awake. The surgery's over. You need to rest and take your medication. And… there's something else you need to know." A pause. An averted glance. "Your uterus was removed during the procedure. It was done on Mr. Sterling's direct orders. You may experience some bleeding over the next few days. Please rest and follow your medication schedule."

Uterus.

Removed.

Lily blinked, uncomprehending. "What — what did you say?"

The nurse repeated the words that fell like a detonation into the hollow place where her heart had been:

"Your uterus was removed. Mr. Sterling ordered it. You won't be able to have children."