Bleed for You No More: My Fated Rebirth

My fiancé swore he would shatter my legs if that was what it took to drag me into the operating room.

All because his first love, currently sobbing against his chest, needed one of my kidneys to stay alive. Everyone was frantically turning the city upside down to find me.

Yet, I stood barely two feet in front of him, listening to it all. Irritation hardened his features as he reached out to snatch my arm.

But his hand sliced straight through my translucent body.

I couldn't wait to see where he planned to harvest a fresh kidney once he clawed open my weedchoked grave like a madman, only to stare at a skeleton that had been rotting in the dirt for three straight years.

Chapter 1 Tristan and I had a long, tangled history.

If it weren't for the crushing weight of my student loans and my mother's astronomical medical bills driving me insane, I never would have signed that exorbitant private medical donation contract.

I possessed the Rhnull golden blood, a type shared by only a fraction of a fraction of the global population.

Five years ago, a call from a toptier private medical facility derailed my life. "Is this Ms.

Sloane?" I was right in the middle of juggling three different retail shifts, so the unexpected local call threw me off guard. "Yeah?" I answered. "What is it?" The woman on the line sounded frantic. "I'm a nurse at St.

Jude's Private Hospital. We have a critically ill patient right now with your exact blood type. They need the Rhnull blood to survive, and our reserves are depleted.

Can you come in immediately…" Before she could even finish her sentence, a commanding male voice snatched the line. "Get an Uber here right now.

We'll cover the ride, and you can name your price afterward!" My jaw clenched. That was one hell of an attitude for someone begging for a lifesaving donation.

I bit the inside of my cheek, but the thought of actually saving a life ultimately won out. I ordered a ride and rushed to the hospital.

The second I burst through the sliding doors of that ultraluxurious private clinic, I didn't even get a chance to catch my breath.

A team of stonefaced doctors shoved me into a blooddraw chair and drained a massive volume of blood—enough to practically send me into hypovolemic shock on the spot.

I lay there in the recovery lounger, completely drained. The guy who barked orders and promised a blank check never showed his face.

Just as I dragged myself up to leave, the nurse's voice stopped me cold. "There, that's Sloane!" I followed the nurse's terrified gaze and turned around.

A man in a dark, customtailored suit was striding toward me, radiating the freezing, suffocating pressure of someone who owned the world.

That flawless, ruthless face, carved like a Greek sculpture, belonged to none other than Tristan—the billionaire heir I had secretly crushed on back in college.

He closed the distance between us. My pulse hammered against my ribs, foolishly thinking he was here to thank me. "Ms.

Sloane, you aren't leaving yet," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "My sister hasn't regained consciousness. I need you on standby in case of complications.

Don't worry, you'll be heavily compensated once this is over." Without waiting for a response, he pivoted on his heel and walked away.

I slumped back into the chair and rolled my eyes. "So you have money, big deal," I muttered to the empty room. "I must have been blind to ever like him." Gross.

And that was how Tristan and I officially entered each other's orbits—all because of Genevieve. Tristan took the seven flights of stairs two at a time, not even breathing heavily.

His face was a mask of dark thunder. "Knock," he ordered. His bodyguard stepped up and hammered his fist against my apartment door. Silence answered him.

Tristan's brow furrowed in irritation. "Sloane, stop throwing a tantrum." He raised his voice toward the closed door. "Vivienne is seriously ill this time. I gave you my word.

Hand over the kidney to Vivienne, and I will marry you.

You'll be the lady of my family." I drifted a few feet away, crossing my translucent arms, and let out a cold laugh. "Are you out of your damn mind, Tristan?" I spat, fully aware he couldn't hear me.

Still trying to feed me your empty promises. Too bad I'm not biting anymore." Because I was out of love with him. The bodyguard shot a hesitant glance at his boss. "Sir, maybe Ms.

Sloane really isn't home." Tristan opened his mouth to snap back, but the rusty hinges of the adjacent door shrieked.

My neighbor poked her head out, glaring at the intruders. "What the hell is going on out here?" The bodyguard instantly switched to a polite, professional tone. "Excuse me, ma'am.

Do you happen to know if Ms. Sloane is around?" The neighbor was my landlady.

In the final, miserable days of my life, she was the only person who had actually shown me an ounce of kindness. "Sloane?" she barked. "She's been dead for three years!" At the word 'dead', a visible tremor shattered the composed lines of Tristan's face.

His head snapped up, pinning the old woman with a look of absolute refusal. "How could she be dead?!" he demanded, his voice slicing through the dim hallway. "Don't use such a pathetic lie to cover her tracks." Chapter 2 My landlady grabbed a baseball bat from beside her door, charged down to the street, and swung it with brutal force.

The heavy wood smashed into the door of Tristan's expensive Maybach with a deafening crash.

She pointed the bat right at his chest. "You're the bastard who backed her into a corner, aren't you?!

Take your filthy money and get off my property, or the next swing cracks your skull wide open!" The bodyguards immediately swarmed Tristan, shielding him from the furious old woman as they ushered him away.

He just stood there by the dented car, his face a mask of stubborn denial. Until his phone shattered the silence. The caller ID flashed: Vivienne.

He blinked, snapping out of his trance, and pulled the phone to his ear.

His tone instantly dropped into a soft, velvet murmur. "What is it, Vivienne?" Whatever she said on the other end made the muscles in his jaw tighten.

Deep concern etched lines across his forehead. "Wait right there," he ordered urgently. "I'm right here. I'm taking you to the hospital." Vivienne was already waiting by the car.

She looked like a dying leaf shivering in the wind.

She looked up at Tristan, fat tears welling in her eyes. "Tristan… does Sloane not want to give me her kidney?" she choked out. "Am I going to die?" Tristan pulled her into the luxurious leather backseat, wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders. "No," he soothed, his hand stroking her hair. "I'll find another donor.

Even if Sloane refuses, it doesn't matter." Vivienne buried her face in his chest, her tears soaking his designer shirt. "But the doctors said only Sloane's kidney is a perfect match… It's okay if she doesn't want to.

If I can just die in your arms, I have no regrets." I hovered just above the Maybach's roof and let out a cold, sharp laugh. What a masterclass in manipulation.

A toptier calculating bitch who would literally use her own life as a prop just to farm a man's sympathy. Too bad I was already dead. My flesh rotted away a long time ago.

Where exactly did he plan to find a kidney to give her now? I drifted along with the speeding car all the way to the hospital.

God, I hated the suffocating, sterile smell of this place. When I was alive, my only visits here involved needles draining my veins until my body finally gave out and died.

But I had no choice. For some twisted, inexplicable reason, my spirit was permanently tethered to Tristan. I couldn't break the invisible chain. "Hurry!

Get a doctor!" Tristan demanded, his voice echoing down the corridor as he carried the unconscious Vivienne straight into the VIP emergency wing.

The medical team swarmed them, running a full code, and barely managed to pull her back from the edge. Maybe it was karma, but Vivienne's illness was entirely real.

Back then, Genevieve—Tristan's older sister—had played matchmaker for us. Tristan didn't object, and neither did I.

Against all odds, his elite, oldmoney family accepted a penniless orphan like me as his girlfriend. Everything seemed to be falling perfectly into place.

Until Vivienne returned from abroad. The media had a field day, splashing her face across every tabloid, and that was when I found out she wasn't just a childhood friend.

She was his one that got away. "Sloane, she's strictly in the past.

Stop overthinking it," Tristan had told me, his eyes locked onto mine with practiced sincerity. "The only woman who will ever be the lady of the family, my wife, is you." Looking at that flawless, earnest face, I chose to swallow my doubts.

Everyone had a past, right? Genevieve had always been sickly, constantly in and out of the hospital. Naturally, I became her personal, oncall blood donor.

My best friend, Roxy, had seen right through it.

She slammed her coffee cup on the table one afternoon, glaring at me. "Sloane, are you completely blind? "They're treating you like a walking blood bank!

They're just keeping you close to guilttrip you.

Once you marry into that family, you'll be chained to his sister's IV pole forever." I just smiled and shook my head. "It's not like that, Roxy. Tristan treats me so well.

And his family… they genuinely care about me." Roxy had always hated his family. But seeing how hopelessly happy I was, she eventually bit her tongue and let it go.

Chapter 3 The family gala. Tristan was supposed to officially introduce me as his fiancée. I could barely feel the floor beneath my heels.

Genevieve had personally helped me pick out my couture gown.

Slipping my hand into the crook of his arm, bathed in the envious stares of everyone in the ballroom, I actually believed I was the luckiest woman alive.

Throughout the evening, Genevieve paraded me around, introducing me to the inner circle of their oldmoney dynasty and the other highsociety wives.

The champagne was flowing, the conversation was effortless. Until the uninvited ghost of his past materialized. Vivienne! She wore a white, strapless silk gown.

Her makeup was minimal, meticulously crafted to highlight the exhaustion under her tearrimmed eyes.

She looked exactly like a tragic heroine who had just spent hours crying in a limo.

Gripping a crystal flute of champagne, she glided over to me. "Congratulations, Sloane," she murmured. "I wish you and Tristan a lifetime of happiness." Without waiting for a response, she tipped her head back and downed the entire glass.

A single, perfectly timed tear slipped down her cheek, painting me as the evil usurper who had stolen her man. Which, technically, I guess I had.

She barely swallowed the liquor before a horrific wheezing ripped from her throat. Her hands flew up, clawing frantically at her own neck.

Her eyes rolled back as severe anaphylactic shock hit her like a freight train, and she collapsed onto the plush Persian rug, convulsing violently.

Tristan shoved his way through the crowd.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me down in front of half the city's elite. "What the hell is wrong with you, Sloane?!" he demanded, his face contorted in panic. "Vivienne can't touch alcohol!

It's lethal for her!" Before I could even process the accusation, he roughly shoved me aside.

Right in front of hundreds of staring guests, he scooped Vivienne into his arms and sprinted toward the exit. I stood frozen, my fingernails digging into my palms.

I locked myself in my pitchblack apartment. For three agonizing days, Tristan didn't send a single text.

Instead, my feed blew up with viral footage of him sprinting into the ER with Vivienne in his arms.

The entire internet was mocking me, tearing me apart as a pathetic, desperate tryhard.

When Roxy kicked my front door open, cutting her business trip short, I was just staring blankly at the glowing screen. "I knew it!

He's just using you as a walking IV drip!" Roxy threw her bag onto the floor. "And that 'first love' of his?

She knows damn well she's deathly allergic to alcohol and chugs it anyway?

That was a calculated hit!" I dragged my exhausted body out of the bedroom and collapsed onto the sofa. "Roxy… is the grip of a first love really that impossible to break?" Roxy's fierce expression softened.

She sat next to me. "To hell with his first love and his highsociety drama. We are done playing their sick games. "Sloane, use this as an out. Dump him right now.

We're normal people; we were never going to survive in his oldmoney shark tank anyway." She gripped my shoulders. "Vivienne and Tristan grew up together.

They're childhood sweethearts. You can't compete with a bond forged in gold and decades of history." My stomach plummeted.

The last bit of air left my lungs. "But his family… they gave me the only warmth I've ever felt in my life," I choked out, a sob finally tearing through my throat.

Roxy pulled me against her shoulder, rubbing my back in silence. Then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table. Tristan. Roxy's eyes narrowed. "Answer it.

Let's hear what kind of garbage excuse he cooked up." I nodded, swiping to accept the call. "Tris—" He didn't even let me say his name. "Sloane, I understand you see Vivienne as a threat, but manipulating her into drinking?

It's been three days, and you haven't even shown your face at the hospital to apologize.

Are you really that vicious?" Roxy leaned in, ready to scream into the mic, but my thumb hit 'end call'. He hadn't asked. He hadn't listened.

He had just played judge, jury, and executioner without a second thought.

Was this really the man I fell in love with? "What a piece of trash," Roxy spat. "Sloane, if you don't dump him after this, I will.

We don't have to take this abuse!" Chapter 4 "Trust is literally the bare minimum in a relationship, and he obviously has zero for you," Roxy ranted, pacing the small living room.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table again—Tristan. Roxy snatched the device and forcefully held down the power button, plunging the screen into darkness.

Later that night, a sharp knock echoed through the apartment. I pulled the door open and blinked in surprise. "Genevieve?

What are you doing here?" I let Tristan's older sister inside.

She settled onto the sofa, smoothed her skirt, and skipped the polite small talk entirely. "Sloane, I imagine you are extremely curious about the exact nature of Tristan and Vivienne's relationship." She crossed her legs gracefully. "Our families go way back. "Years ago, Vivienne's family was caught in a massive legal scandal.

Her parents committed suicide, leaving young Vivienne behind.

We took her in, so she and Tristan grew up under the same roof." I nodded slowly. "I doubt you drove all the way here just for a history lesson." Genevieve offered a thin, calculated smile. "A toptier oldmoney dynasty like ours, one that controls a multinational commercial empire, would never allow the heir's marriage to be tainted by a scandal that could destroy the family's reputation." The puzzle pieces snapped together.

That was it. That was the unbreachable wall between Tristan and Vivienne.

So, all of his devotion, all the times he whispered he loved me over the past year… it was all a perfectly executed lie? I was just a convenient, scandalfree shield.

After Genevieve left, a suffocating weight pressed down on my chest. I drove to the hospital and found myself standing outside Vivienne's private VIP suite.

I thought maybe she was just a desperate woman driven by unrequited love, using a dangerous stunt to test if she still held Tristan's heart. If so, she had definitely won.

I almost pitied her.

Until I heard her voice drifting through the cracked door. "Tristan, you really should go see Sloane tomorrow." "You abandoned her and turned her into a public laughingstock.

How is she ever going to show her face as your wife, or as my sisterinlaw?" Through the gap, I saw Vivienne propped up against the pillows.

The allergic rash was completely gone, leaving her face pale, flawless, and perfectly pitiable. Tristan shook his head, adjusting her blanket. "Don't worry about her, Vivienne.

Once she cools off, she'll come crawling back to me on her own. You're always too forgiving." Vivienne offered a fragile, saintly smile. "I really don't blame Sloane.

She didn't know I couldn't handle alcohol, and honestly, I thought she handed me juice." My blood froze. Handed her juice? I never touched that damn glass!

A surge of pure fury kicked my legs into motion.

I shoved the heavy door open, marching straight to the foot of the bed. "You grabbed that glass yourself!" I fired back. "I never—" "So, you're not even willing to check the security footage before acting as my judge and jury?" I challenged, cutting off my own defense as I shifted my glare to Tristan.

My voice shook with rage.

Tristan spun around and pinched the bridge of his nose, his face radiating extreme impatience. "Sloane, everyone in our circle knows about Vivienne's severe allergies.

She would never gamble with her own life just to frame you. Can you stop this ridiculous victimblaming and drop the tantrum?" I let out a harsh, scrapedout laugh.

I actually thought I had found real love.

What a pathetic joke. "Fine," I said, my tone dropping into dead, icy calm. "I won't interrupt this touching reunion." I looked him dead in the eye. "Tristan, we are done." I turned on my heel and bolted from the room.

I sprinted down the sterile hospital corridors, gasping for air as if the oxygen had been sucked out of the building. My chest heaved.

As my feet hit the marble floor of the main lobby, the world tilted, and everything went black.

Chapter 5 When I drifted back to consciousness, the sterile smell of a hospital room filled my lungs.

Tristan was gripping my hand, his face wearing a mask of profound relief. "Sloane, you're finally awake." I yanked my hand out of his grasp and turned my face toward the wall.

Looking at him made my stomach churn. Genevieve stood near the foot of the bed, a gentle, perfectly practiced smile on her lips. "Sloane, congratulations.

You're pregnant." She smoothed her expensive skirt. "I will have the wedding arrangements with Tristan finalized immediately.

Right now, your only job is to rest and protect the baby." My head snapped back to look at the siblings. I was pregnant with Tristan's baby? But we were done. I had just ended it.

Before the words could leave my throat, Tristan caught my hand again, his grip irontight. "Sloane, I'm sorry.

I misunderstood the situation." His eyes darkened with intensity. "I crossed the line. You can hit me, you can curse at me, do whatever you need.

Just… keep our baby." My free hand instinctively moved to my flat stomach. There was a tiny life growing inside me. I was going to be a mother.

But as I looked at the man beside me, a cold doubt gnawed at my bones. Was Tristan really willing to cut Vivienne out of his life for me?

The private specialist had strictly warned me that my prolonged emotional breakdown had triggered symptoms of a threatened miscarriage.

For the past few days, Tristan canceled all his crossborder merger meetings and stayed locked in my ultraluxury VIP suite day and night, guarding me like an absolute obsessive paranoid.

Vivienne was discharged soon after. She showed up at my door carrying a basket of highend supplements, her face painted with a look of perfect, fragile guilt.

Tristan barely spared her a glance, his expression freezing over. "Leave," he ordered flatly. "Sloane needs to rest." Vivienne froze, the rims of her eyes instantly turning a blotchy red.

She stared at Tristan, her mouth parting as if begging to speak. But Tristan's gaze remained deadlocked onto me.

Forced to pivot, she turned her teary eyes my way, a sharp flash of resentment completely failing to hide beneath her polite facade. "Then… get some rest, Sloane.

I'll get out of your hair." Roxy used to tell me I was blindly, pathetically obsessed with love.

But the second Tristan shoved me aside in front of hundreds of people to carry Vivienne away, that naive illusion had shattered into dust.

Still, I couldn't bear to let this baby go. I grew up discarded in the foster system. I had never known my parents.

I desperately wanted a family of my own, someone connected to me by blood. But trying to raise a billionaire heir's child on my own?

His family would annihilate me in court before letting that happen.

Maybe I could just shut my eyes to the ugly truth and play the part. "Tristan, are you absolutely sure you love me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I studied his face.

This was his last chance. A microscopic hesitation flickered across his eyes before he looked up at me. "Yes. I will marry you.

Just focus on the baby and stop overthinking." A hollow smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. So he didn't really love me after all.

After I was discharged, Tristan had his private security detail drag me directly to his heavily guarded estate in the suburbs, where they confiscated my ID, cut off my internet access, and completely imprisoned me in this luxurious cage.

Even my phone calls with Roxy were monitored by coldeyed guards standing just inches away.

At the time, I foolishly believed they were just terrified I would secretly terminate the pregnancy. I had no idea the reality was far more twisted than I could ever imagine.

My first trimester was absolute hell. I spent hours hunched over the toilet every single day, vomiting until I was dizzy and violently shivering.

I lost a terrifying amount of weight. The estate staff constantly pushed expensive nutrient broths on me, but I couldn't keep a drop down.

Genevieve sat by my bed, patting my hand. "Sloane, it's just normal morning sickness," she offered, her tone perfectly soothing. "Once you clear the first trimester, you'll feel completely fine." I shook my head weakly, another wave of nausea rolling through me. "Genevieve, you've never been pregnant.

You don't understand how awful this feels.

I literally can't swallow another bite." Genevieve chuckled softly, words slipping out before she could catch them. "When I was…" She abruptly froze.

An awkward, strained smile stretched across her face. "When I saw my friend going through her pregnancy, she threw up constantly at first, too.

She bounced right back later." Before I could even process her slipup, my stomach convulsed again, sending me lunging for the trash can.

Because of that, I completely missed the dark, panicked look that flashed across her face. Chapter 6 I hadn't seen Tristan in an entire month.

When he finally returned today, his face was clouded with dark tension. He headed straight for his study, and Genevieve hurried in right behind him.

Normally, I wouldn't dare interrupt, assuming they were discussing corporate matters. But a sudden, sharp tightness gripped my lower abdomen.

Pressing a hand to my stomach, I pushed myself up and slowly made my way toward the study. "Genevieve, the hospital just called.

Finnian's condition is deteriorating rapidly," Tristan's voice drifted through the heavy oak doors.

Genevieve's knuckles turned white, her voice high and frantic. "Then what do we do?!" She let out a choked sob. "I can't let Finnian die!

He's my own flesh and blood!" The words hit me like a physical blow. Genevieve had a son? "Tristan, Finnian is your own nephew!

You have to save him!" Genevieve begged, her voice thick with desperation. I frowned, confusion knotting in my chest. What exactly did she expect Tristan to do?

Was she asking him to donate an organ or bone marrow? Tristan fell silent.

Through the cracked door, I saw a flicker of intense conflict cross his rigid features. "Fine," he finally said, his voice hard. "I will handle this." Handle what?

The cramping in my stomach miraculously vanished. I turned and bolted down the hall, terrified they would catch me eavesdropping.

Back in my room, I racked my brain trying to piece the fragments together, but nothing made sense. People always said pregnancy brain made you dense. Whatever. I let it go.

I pulled out my phone and dialed Roxy.

Now that I had safely passed the first trimester, the estate guards had finally stopped hovering over my shoulder every time I made a call. "Roxy, what are you up to?" "What's up, Mrs.

Billionaire?

Bored out of your mind again?" I sprawled out on the massive California king bed with a heavy sigh. "Ugh, I just want to get out of this house and do something." Roxy scoffed. "Don't even start.

The last time I snuck you out, Lord Tristan threatened me three separate times.

Besides, I'm out of town on a business trip right now." I let out a guilty laugh. "Okay, okay, my bad." "Spit it out," she said. "Why did you call?" She always knew how to read me.

I quickly spilled everything I had overheard outside the study. "What?!" Roxy gasped over the line. "The eldest daughter of the dynasty, the one who constantly brands herself as the ultimate highsociety role model, has a secret illegitimate child?!

If the media gets hold of a toptier billionaire scandal like this, their stock will absolutely tank in minutes!" Genevieve, the pristine heiress, was already engaged to the eldest son of the powerful Lin family down south.

If the Lins found out she was hiding a secret son, the fallout would be catastrophic. "So, what you're saying is, her kid is deathly ill and needs a piece of your fiancé's body to survive?" Roxy asked.

Roxy let out a sharp sigh. "Alright, well, this corporate slave has to get back to the grind. Focus on your baby.

I'll come see you the second I wrap up this project." Half a month dragged by.

Even though Genevieve was practically living at the estate, the polite, easy smile she usually wore had completely vanished, replaced by a permanent, anxious shadow between her brows.

One afternoon, Vivienne showed up at my door, hauling expensive bird's nest and highend prenatal supplements.

She even had the nerve to use that sickeningly sweet, familiar tone. "Sloane," she cooed. "Tristan mentioned your morning sickness was just awful, so I stayed away to let you rest. "But you look like you've got some color back!

The baby must be firmly settled now." Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones raging in my system, but I didn't even bother faking a polite smile. "You seem to know an awful lot about when a fetus is stable, Vivienne.

What, have you been pregnant before?" Chapter 7 Vivienne was left totally speechless.

She stared at me, her eyes swimming with fresh, perfectly timed tears like she was about to start sobbing all over again. I rolled my eyes.

It was already sweltering in the dead of summer; I didn't have the energy for her pathetic act. "You guys chat.

I'm going back to my room." I pushed myself up, supporting my heavy stomach, and waddled back inside. Carrying this much extra weight was getting seriously exhausting.

Just as I sank onto the mattress, Vivienne's voice drifted down the hall. "Tristan, you're back." Annoyance spiked in my chest.

I forced myself back up, cracked the door open, and followed the sound. "Tristan, haven't you told Sloane yet?" I stopped dead in my tracks, my hand freezing on the wall.

Told me what? "Tristan, Finnian doesn't have much time left at the hospital! He is Genevieve's entire world." My blood boiled. Was Tristan's life just completely worthless to them?

If he donated an organ and something went wrong, what would happen to me and our baby?

Just as I was about to march around the corner and demand answers, Genevieve's voice cut through the air. "Tristan, if you can't spit it out, I will do it myself.

What do you think our family has been feeding and housing her for? We've been preparing her exactly for this day. "Besides, you two are still young.

You can always have another baby." The words hit me like a sledgehammer. My heart slammed against my ribs. I stood frozen, tremors racking my body.

You can always have another baby?! They weren't after Tristan. They were targeting the baby growing in my stomach!

I sucked in a ragged breath, desperately trying to keep my legs from collapsing, and used the wall to drag myself back to the bedroom.

Hot tears spilled over my cheeks, dropping heavily onto the floor. What do I do? What do I do?! Someone, please, save me! Save my baby! I was such a naive, pathetic idiot.

I had walked right into Tristan's trap all over again! I fumbled for my phone with shaking hands and dialed Roxy. Once. Twice. Three times. No answer.

Just as my trembling thumbs hovered over the keyboard to type out a frantic text, heavy footsteps approached my door. My heart leaped into my throat. I furiously tapped the screen.

Roxy, save me. They want to kill my baby! The door swung open. Tristan walked in. His face was chillingly blank. "Sloane, you heard everything just now?" How the hell did he know?

Then the sick reality washed over me. Of course. The guards. I was under constant surveillance.

I glared at him, my eyes bloodshot, my voice scraping out of my throat. "So, Tristan… you only promised to marry me so I would act as your incubator?

So you could use my child to trade for your sister's kid's life?" He looked down at me from his towering height, his tone so cold it stripped the oxygen from the room: "Sloane, that embryo right now isn't even a fully formed life!

But Finnian is a sevenyearold boy.

He is actually alive in this world, and you cannot be so incredibly selfish as to just stand by and watch him die!" A hysterical, shattered laugh ripped from my chest.

Hahaha… "Who the hell do you think you are, Tristan?!" I screamed, backing away from him. "I'm not some saint!

I'm not going to sacrifice my own flesh and blood to save someone else's!" "You are murdering your own child! Even wild beasts don't eat their own young!

You are an absolute monster!" He stood still, letting me scream, his expression unfazed. "Sloane, once this procedure is over, you will rest and recover.

Then we will have the wedding. We can start trying for another pregnancy…" I grabbed the expensive crystal vase off the nightstand and smashed it violently at Tristan's feet.

I screamed in absolute despair, "Tristan, you are a heartless demon!" The extreme emotional whiplash sent a violent, agonizing cramp tearing through my abdomen.

A stream of warm liquid snaked down my inner thigh. Piercing, bright red blood rapidly soaked into the priceless Persian rug