My newlywed husband forced me, a terminal liver cancer patient, to drink hard liquor just to please his secretary. His little secretary staged an incident where she took a knife for him. She lost a lot of blood, so he urgently asked me to donate blood for her. I demanded a million dollars, to which he sneered, “Your blood sure is precious.” Of course, the blood of a liver cancer patient is precious. Later, his secretary and I got into a car accident. He mocked me: “You caused the accident on purpose, didn’t you? Stop pretending. You just want more money, right?” “Aria, you disgust me.” I’ve had enough. I wanted to get a divorce certificate before I died, but he looked down on me condescendingly: “Don’t use such low-level tactics to get my attention.” “You’re in no position to negotiate with me.” Forget it. When I’m dead, the marriage will naturally end. I stood hesitantly at the door of the private room, crumpling the paper in my hand. The bar was lively, and I felt a bit scared to go in. But he hadn’t been home for a month. Suddenly, the door opened and someone came out. He was on the phone and looked at me in surprise: “Mrs. Carter, why are you here?” His voice was just loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, and they all turned to look at me. Lucas Carter’s hand was resting on the waist of the girl next to him. My heart felt like it was being stabbed with needles. “Come here,” he said coldly. I had trouble breathing and crumpled the paper in my hand even tighter. “Mrs. Carter is here, come sit, come sit.” The person next to Lucas quickly made room for me beside him, but I didn’t move. I just handed over the paper in my hand: “Sign it. I’m in a hurry.” For a moment, the room fell silent. They probably didn’t expect me to be so firm, after all, I was just a pathetic leech clinging to Lucas. Lucas sneered and put down his glass: “If you’re here to ask for money, at least act like it.” He glanced at the paper in my hand: “What illness did you make up at the hospital this time?” My face turned pale, and the paper trembled slightly in my hand. I did go to the hospital, but I didn’t make up any illness. My condition had worsened, and I was dying. He snatched the paper from my hand but froze when he saw the title. He angrily slammed the paper on the table, his eyes blazing: “Aria, you want a divorce?” “Is this what you were in a hurry for?” I nodded: “Just sign it.” “You don’t love me, and I don’t love you. I don’t want to be tied to you for life.” As soon as I finished speaking, there was a collective gasp in the room, and even the air seemed to turn cold. Lucas gritted his teeth: “Fine, finish this bottle of liquor, and I’ll sign.” I looked at him, my lips turning white. Someone quickly poured me a glass of alcohol. Liver cancer patients can’t drink alcohol. He was trying to kill me. “I… I’m not feeling well…” “What? Changed your mind about the divorce?” “Aria, stop playing games.” “If you want something, just say it. No need for these elaborate schemes to threaten me. You’re only making me sick…” It felt like a piece of my heart was being violently torn out. The pain made my whole body tremble. I grabbed the bottle from the table and poured it straight down my throat. It burned like fire, from my throat all the way to my stomach, igniting my broken organs.
I put down the empty bottle, and Lucas looked at me, suddenly smiling: “So, you can drink after all.” “Of course, after so many years abroad, who knows how many people you’ve drunk with. You must be able to handle your liquor by now.” “This one bottle is nothing.” I coughed a few times, trying hard to suppress the churning in my stomach: “Sign it.” “After it’s signed, I’ll move out.” But Lucas just grinned: “One bottle isn’t enough.” He patted the waist of the girl next to him and said, “Go get some more, open them all.” One bottle after another, I don’t even know when I lost consciousness. When I woke up with a stomach ache, I crawled up from the floor and rushed to the bathroom. I threw up violently, washed my face, and struggled to stand up. Looking in the mirror, I saw my haggard face, unnaturally yellow. I looked down and laughed bitterly. God still wasn’t ready to let me go easily. So pathetic, I should have just died abroad. “Mrs. Carter, are you okay?” Someone handed me a tissue. I looked around the room, it was empty. The divorce papers were lying on the table, soaked in alcohol, without Lucas’s signature. I frowned: “Where’s Lucas?” “Miss Simmons had a fever, so Mr. Carter left…” Left, huh… The man who used to be so worried he couldn’t stand it if I got even a small scratch, now doesn’t even bat an eye when I pass out. But for Miss Simmons, Lucas seems particularly caring. Claire Simmons, his newly kept mistress. Also the person who looks most like me, not the current me, but the high school me. I wiped the water stains on my clothes with the tissue and staggered out of the room. Every step I took, my body ached, and so did my heart. When I went abroad, Lucas cried heartbrokenly behind me: “If you leave, never come back.” But I didn’t listen. Now that I’m back, there’s no good ending for me.
Lucas was the poor student I sponsored in high school. He had excellent grades, standing tall among a bunch of misfits like a young white poplar. I liked him, but he was so poor he couldn’t even afford a meal. Because of a love letter someone gave him, he was bullied by the school thugs. In the bathroom, a group of people deliberately peed on his shoes, soaking them through. That day, the usually well-behaved Lucas got into a fight. When he came back to class with a bruised face, he was barefoot. In the sub-zero weather, his feet were red and swollen from the cold. My heart ached for him, and I immediately called my driver to bring a pair of socks and shoes. That was the first time I spoke to him. My throat tightened as I handed him the shoes: “Lucas, these are for you.” He looked up, his eyes red. I was still in a daze when I was woken up by the ringtone. Getting something and then having to give it up is really painful. The call was from Lucas’s assistant. I didn’t want to answer at first, but he kept calling, over and over. I tiredly sat up, took some painkillers, and just as I answered, his anxious voice came through: “The boss has been stabbed, come quickly!” My mind went blank, and I felt the world spinning. Was Lucas going to die? Without thinking further, I quickly threw on some clothes and rushed to the Carter family’s private hospital. Lucas was standing at the door of the operating room, his whole body tense. There was red blood on the cuff of his suit, but his eyes were fixed straight ahead. He was very nervous and worried. I remembered the year I had appendicitis surgery, he was so worried he almost cried. He was afraid I would be in pain, afraid I would be uncomfortable. He didn’t sleep all night and even slapped himself twice, blaming himself for letting me eat such a messy diet. My feet slowly came to a stop. Lucas turned his head, saw me, and walked over with big steps. His hand raised high but then fell back down with restraint. His eyes were all red as he shouted at me: “Aria, why did you do this?!” “You hired those people, didn’t you!” I stared at him blankly. His eyes were filled with hatred, not a trace of tenderness. My heart felt so tight I could barely breathe. I lowered my head to hide my pain, trying hard not to cry: “I don’t know what you’re talking about… it wasn’t me.” “Stop pretending!” Lucas looked at me, grinding his teeth, his chest heaving violently, his fists clenched. “They all pointed you out.” It felt like a piece of my heart was being violently torn out. I had taken painkillers before coming, so why did it still hurt so much? His voice was hoarse: “Since you hired people to do this, there’s not enough blood in the blood bank. You and Claire have the same RH negative blood type, go donate blood for her!” I looked at him, hardly believing my ears. The Lucas from before would gently cover my eyes even when I went for a routine blood test. Perhaps my gaze was too obvious, Lucas couldn’t look at me. He just turned to the doctor and said: “Take her to donate blood!” It turns out you can still laugh when your heart is shattered to the extreme. I curled my lips: “Sign the divorce papers, and I’ll go.” “Stop messing around, Aria.” He looked at me tiredly: “Malicious injury can land you in jail, you know.” “Will you sign or not?” I said coldly. Lucas’s face turned white, then he compromised as if he had lost a negotiation: “How much money do you want this time?” My heart hurt so much I could barely breathe. I laughed coldly: “One million dollars.” Enough for me to die properly. “Your blood sure is precious,” Lucas said sarcastically. How could the blood not be precious when the liver that produces it is full of tumors?
After donating 500cc, I felt so dizzy I could barely stand. Lucas looked at me coldly: “Stop pretending, you just want more money, don’t you?” He threw the card at me. It hit my chest lightly before falling to the ground. My eyes stung with tears. Even when I was at my worst, I had never insulted Lucas like this. I glared at him, tears streaming down my face. Lucas’s expression showed some regret. He said anxiously: “We’ll settle accounts when we get home!” I looked at the card on the ground, feeling stupid for rushing here like this. Lucas didn’t deserve my concern. I wiped away my tears and stepped on the card as I left. Lucas’s assistant picked up the card behind me and handed it to Lucas. I heard him say behind me: “All this drama, it’s just to get my attention.” “For the sake of you donating blood to Claire, I’ll come home on our wedding anniversary.” I had just stepped out of the hospital doors when I felt a wave of dizziness. Someone steadied me, and I was about to thank them when I heard a familiar voice: “Aria, what are you doing here?”
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