Chapter 9 Blood Ties and Bitter Bargains
My fingers trembled on the lock, the sleeping pills making my movements sluggish. Julian’s pounding continued relentlessly.
“Hazel! Open this door now!” he shouted.
I finally managed to turn the lock, and the door flew open with such force it nearly knocked me backward. Julian burst in, his face a mask of rage. Before I could speak, he grabbed my wrist and began pulling me toward the door.
“What are you doing?” I tried to pull away, but my body felt like lead. “Let go of me!”
“Ivy’s dying” he snapped, refusing to release me. “She needs blood. Your blood.”
I stared at him through my drug–induced haze. “What are you talking about?”
“There’s no time. The doctor says she might not make it through the night.” He yanked me forward again. “You’re coming to the hospital right now.”
I dug in my heels. “No, I’m not. I took sleeping pills. I can barely stand.”
“I don’t care,” Julian hissed, his face inches from mine. His eyes, once so loving, now held nothing
but cold determination. “You’re coming with me if I have to carry you out.”
As if to prove his point, he scooped me up despite my protests. My limbs were too heavy to fight effectively, and my mind too clouded to form coherent arguments. Before I knew it, he had deposited me in his car and was speeding toward the hospital.
“Why does Ivy need my blood?” I asked, slumped against the passenger door.
“She has Rh–negative blood,” Julian said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Just like me. Just like you.”
The rare blood type. Of course. The same type that had bound Julian and me together for years. when his illness required regular transfusions. My blood flowing into his veins had once seemed romantic. Now the thought made me sick.
“There must be other donors, I mumbled.
“There aren’t,” he snapped. “Not available fast enough. You know how rare it is.”
I stared out the window at the dark streets blurring past. “So I’m just a blood bag to you now?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Hazel. This is about saving a life.
“The life of the woman who stole my fiancé, I said bitterly. “Forgive me if I’m not jumping with joy at the opportunity.”
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“Half–sister, I corrected quietly. “That’s what you meant, isn’t it, Eleanor? Ivy isn’t just my stepsister. She’s my half–sister. My father’s biological daughter.”
Eleanor’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. My father stepped forward, reaching for my arm, but I recolled.
“You’ve known all this time?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
I let out a hollow laugh. “Mom told me before she died. She told me everything. How you were already sleeping with Eleanor while married to her. How Ivy was born just months after I was. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”
My father’s face drained of color. Julian looked between us, clearly shocked by this revelation.
“That doesn’t change anything. Eleanor recovered quickly. “Blood is blood. Family is family. You need to help her.”
“Family?” I spat the word. “Was it family when you made my mother’s life hell? When you both watched her spiral into depression? When you took everything from her and left her with nothing but a broken heart?”
“Hazel, please,” my father begged. “We can discuss all this later. Right now, Ivy needs-
“Ivy needs my blood, I finished for him. “Just like Julian needed it for five years. Funny how people only remember I exist when they need something from me.”
Julian stepped closer. “Hazel, whatever issues you have with your family, this isn’t about them. This is about saving a life.”
I stared at him, this man I’d once planned to spend my life with. “You’re right,” I said slowly, the
gears in my
mind turning despite the medication. “This isn’t about them. It’s about me. And what
I choose to do with my body.”
Hope flashed across their faces, quickly followed by wariness at my tone.
“I’ll do it,” I said finally. “But I have conditions.”
“Name them,” my father said immediately.
I turned to him. “I want Mom’s remaining shares in Ashworth Designs. The ones you kept from me. Sign them over, legally and officially, tonight.”
His face darkened, but he nodded stiffly.
I turned to Julian next. “And from you, one million dollars per 100cc of blood. I understand a typical donation is about 450cc. So that’s $4.5 million:
Julian’s jaw dropped. “You’re charging me for blood?”
“Why not? You’ve taken everything else from me. My time. My love. My wedding. Consider this a business transaction between strangers.
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“This is outrageous!” Eleanor sputtered.
“No, what’s outrageous is expecting me to save the woman who stole my fiancé out of the goodness of my heart, I replied calmly. “These are my terms. Take them or leave them.”
A tense silence filled the corridor. Finally, Julian nodded. “Fine. Whatever you want. Just help
her.
“I want it in writing. I insisted. “Both promises. Legally binding documents.”
“There’s no time for that!” Eleanor protested.
“Then make time, I said coldly. “No documents, no blood.”
My father made a call, and within thirty minutes, his lawyer had arrived with the paperwork. I watched through still–groggy eyes as both men signed the documents. Only when they were properly executed did I nod my consent.
A nurse approached with donation equipment. “Ms. Ashworth? If you’ll come with me, we’ll get started right away.”
As she prepared to take my blood, I looked directly at the nurse and asked innocently, “Is it true you can’t donate blood after taking sleeping pills?”
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