Seven months pregnant, I threw myself down the second-floor staircase. I didn’t want to die. I just needed to trigger a premature birth and deliver a useless, ruined source of medicine. In my past life, Harrison carved a full-term baby from my womb and extracted her bone marrow right on the operating table, all to extend the life of his precious childhood sweetheart. My baby died. I died, too. In this life, I won’t give him a single drop of my child’s blood. He wants to save Angela? She can wait for death. 01 As I stepped off the top stair, a single thought consumed my mind. Fast. Faster. My spine slammed against the sharp edges of the steps, and my head cracked against the hard marble, turning my vision black for a terrifying second. Pain. An agonizing, white-hot tear ripped from my tailbone all the way to the crown of my head. I didn’t stop. My body tumbled down the flight, and the baby inside my belly kicked violently. I’m sorry, baby. I know it hurts, but you cannot be born full-term. If you reach full term, they will drain every last drop of your marrow. Before I could roll down the final three steps, two harsh hands clamped onto my arms. “Ma’am!” The bodyguard’s voice panicked. Two men lunged forward, pinning me down on the middle landing. My back pressed against the freezing stone steps as a fierce contraction clawed through my abdomen. It was too late to stop it. I had swallowed labor-inducing drugs right before throwing myself down. Warm amniotic fluid was already leaking down my thighs. “Get her to the operating room, now!” the lead guard roared into his walkie-talkie. From the far end of the hallway, Dr. Keller came sprinting over, his white coat fluttering wildly. The moment he caught sight of the blood between my legs, his face turned deathly pale. “Stop! Her water broke! Moving her right now could kill both mother and child!” He reached out to examine my belly. A bodyguard kicked him square in the chest. Dr. Keller flew backward, crashing into the porcelain flowerpots in the corner. Shards shattered everywhere. “Mr. Harrison gave strict orders. The child must survive.” The bodyguard bent down, supporting the back of my neck with one hand and hooking his other arm under my knees, scooping me up from the cold floor. Blood dripped down my legs, dragging a sickening red smear across the pristine white marble. I bit my lower lip hard, refusing to let out a sound. The pain drove my fingernails deep into my palms, but I couldn’t scream. If I screamed, they would inject me with a sedative. That was what happened in my past life. I had screamed in agony, so they plunged a needle into my arm. I passed out, and when I woke up, my child was already gone. In this life, I would stay conscious. I wanted to watch everything with my own eyes. The guards carried me into the third-floor operating suite. The overhead lights snapped on, blinding me with a harsh, sterile glare. Under the shadowless lamp sat a delivery bed. It wasn’t a delivery bed. It was a surgical table. Equipped with heavy leather restraint straps. When they laid me down, I didn’t struggle. Because I caught sight of the man standing in the shadows. Harrison. Dressed in a tailored suit, his tie perfectly straight without a single crease. He stood six feet away from the operating table, watching the guards lift me up, watching my blood soak into the white sheets. His eyes were completely void of emotion. No heartbreak. No panic. Not even disgust. He was merely verifying one thing: whether the child was still alive. “Seven months,” Dr. Keller gasped as he was dragged into the room, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Harrison, it’s only seven months! The marrow isn’t fully developed! Extracting it now—” “Is it usable?” Harrison cut him off. Three cold words. Not a shred of hesitation. Dr. Keller swallowed hard. “Theoretically… if the match is compatible, we can extract a tiny amount, but—” “Then that’s enough.” Harrison turned around and looked down at me on the table. I lay flat on my back, sweat-soaked hair sticking to my forehead, staring blankly up at the surgical lights. He took a step closer. His polished leather shoes stepped onto the fresh blood dripping from the table, making a faint, sickening squelch. “Stella.” He called my name. His tone was completely flat, as if calling out an inventory serial number. “If you cooperate, I’ll give you a sum of money afterward. Enough for you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.” I didn’t look at him. I kept my eyes fixed on the ceiling as a slow, bitter smile spread across my face. In my past life, he had spoken those exact same words. And then what? He handed me a death certificate. “Harrison,” my voice was horribly raspy. “Do you really think a seven-month-old preemie’s marrow can match Angela?” His brow furrowed slightly. I continued softly, “I took iron-blockers every single day for three months.” His frown deepened into a harsh glare. “What does that mean?” I turned my head and finally met his gaze. As blood poured from my body and pain wracked me with violent shivers, I laughed. “It means this child’s blood is completely ruined.” Harrison’s pupils contracted sharply. For the first time since my rebirth, I saw a crack in his icy mask. “What did you say?” His voice dropped into a dangerous murmur, like the suffocating air right before a storm. Dr. Keller froze before lunging wildly toward the diagnostic equipment, pulling a lab report. “Quick! Draw her blood and run a test!” I closed my eyes. Run all the tests you want. I had spent three months crushing those pills into powder and mixing them into my meals. I threw up every single day. I used the crudest, most agonizing method to turn my own blood into toxic waste. Angela wanted my child’s bone marrow? Take it. Not a single drop of it would ever save her life. The baby was born forty minutes later. She was tiny. Her skin was a faint purplish-blue, her cries as weak and fragile as a newborn kitten. When the nurse placed her onto the scale, I gathered the very last thread of my strength to turn my head. Three pounds, four ounces. So impossibly small. But she was alive. As long as she was breathing, that was enough. Harrison didn’t offer the baby a single glance. He stared at the lab report in Dr. Keller’s trembling hands, his knuckles turning white as he crumpled the paper in his grip. “Hemoglobin abnormal… iron levels extremely low… marrow activity evaluation… fails to meet transplant standards.” Dr. Keller’s voice grew smaller and smaller until he pulled his neck back, terrified to speak another word. The operating room fell dead silent for three agonizing seconds. Then Harrison slammed the report onto the floor. The paper fluttered to the edge of my bed, soaking up my blood. “Stella.” He turned toward me, his eyes burning with a rage I had never seen before. Yet, it was merely rage. Not a shred of heartbreak. He was furious simply because his precious white lotus was out of options. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He strode over, his fingers clamping down on my jaw with enough force to crush my cheekbones. I was forced to tilt my head up and face his eyes. In those dark eyes, I couldn’t find a single trace of emotion belonging to a husband. I let out a weak laugh. “I’m… saving my child’s life.” His grip tightened violently. “Angela only has two months left!” “Then let her die.” The moment I uttered those words, Harrison’s hand suddenly loosened. Not out of mercy. He was completely stunned by my coldness. He took a step back, staring at me as if looking at a complete stranger. Yes. I was a stranger now. The weak Stella who had begged on her knees for her baby’s life in my past life was already dead. She died right on that very same operating table. 02 They carried the baby away. I knew they would. I wasn’t afraid, because her blood was useless to them right now. Once they realized no usable marrow could be harvested, they would bring her back to me. In my past life, I hadn’t understood any of this. I had been foolishly naive, eating every strict nutritional meal they provided from day one of my pregnancy. Every single dish had been precisely calculated, not for my health, but to ensure the fetus’s bone marrow reached prime condition for harvesting. I was fattened up for nine months. Like livestock raised for slaughter. On the day of the forced C-section, before the anesthesia had even fully taken effect, I heard my baby cry once. Just once. She never made another sound. Later, when I went into severe hemorrhaging, Harrison stood outside the operating suite and signed the DNR without a second thought. Dr. Keller later confessed to me in secret, back when I was already a ghost, that Harrison’s hand hadn’t trembled for a fraction of a second when he signed my death warrant. Angela had sat in her wheelchair nearby, wrapped in a cozy blanket, smiling sweetly. She had said, “Harrison, maybe it’s better that Stella passed away. She was always so unhappy. Staying alive was just suffering for her.” Harrison had simply nodded. “Yes. I’ll arrange a dignified funeral for her.” Dignified. He had summed up my entire agonizing life with that single word. When I heard those words in the depths of hell, I didn’t even have the energy to hate him anymore. I only thought, If there is a next life, I will never marry this man again. God must have thought I was pathetic enough to grant me a second chance. When I opened my eyes, I was back at four months pregnant. The baby was still safe in my belly. Angela’s condition hadn’t rapidly deteriorated yet. Harrison hadn’t made his move against me. That day, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling for an entire hour. Then I turned over, opened my phone, and searched: Iron-blockers side effects pregnant women. Now, it was three days after the birth. I was locked inside the third-floor bedroom. The windows were nailed shut, and two guards stood outside the door. In name, I was “recuperating.” In reality, Harrison was waiting for a new medical plan. He was waiting for Dr. Keller to tell him whether there was a way to fix my baby’s blood. Dr. Keller came to check on me once today. His hands shook as he changed my dressings. “Mrs. Harrison… how many of those pills did you take?” “Three months’ worth.” His hands trembled harder, nearly spilling the iodine across my wound. “Her hematological system will take at least six months to naturally recover!” “I know.” “Six months… Miss Angela can’t survive six months!” “I know.” Dr. Keller looked up at me. I stared back at him with a completely emotionless expression. He suddenly set the iodine bottle down, lowering his voice into a whisper. “Mrs. Harrison, you did this on purpose.” “What do you think?” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. As a family doctor who had served the family for a decade, he had witnessed far too many dark secrets. He knew exactly why I had done it, but he didn’t dare say it out loud. Because speaking the truth meant taking a side. And taking my side against Harrison was equivalent to seeking a death sentence. “Dr. Keller,” I called out to him as he turned away. He paused. “When will they give my child back to me?” He avoided my gaze. “That… depends on Mr. Harrison.” A cold smile touched my lips. As expected. Even though he knew the child’s bone marrow was currently useless, he wouldn’t let her go. Because he needed a backup plan. What if another medical trick worked? What if they could artificially rush her recovery? In Harrison’s world, my baby and I had never been human beings. We were medicine. We were disposable resources meant to extend Angela’s life. In my past life, I hadn’t understood this truth, begging him from pregnancy until my death. In this life, I wouldn’t waste another second pleading with him. On the fourth night, Harrison finally arrived. I heard the heavy turn of the door lock and sat up in bed. When he pushed the door open, he brought a draft of cold air with him, carrying the faint scent of hospital disinfectant. He had come straight from the hospital. From Angela’s bedside. “Stella.” He stood at the threshold, keeping his hands jammed in his trousers pockets, staring at me. Only the small lamp beside my bed was turned on, its warm yellow glow splitting his face in two. One side lit up, the other buried in darkness. I sat on the bed and waited for him to speak. “What do you want?” he asked. Four simple words, straight to the point. No accusations about me ruining the baby’s blood. No interrogation about why I threw myself down the stairs. He simply asked what I wanted. Because in his eyes, everything I had done was merely a desperate tactic to negotiate terms. In my past life, I would have broken down crying. I would have thrown myself at his feet, hugging his legs, begging him not to take my baby away. In this life, I leaned calmly against the headboard, resting my hands neatly over my lap. “A divorce.” He remained silent. “I’ll walk away with nothing. I don’t want a single penny. Just let me take my baby and leave.” He still didn’t say a word. Three seconds later, a faint smile touched his lips. It wasn’t a smile of mockery. It was the kind of patronizing smile that said, I knew you were going to say that. “And then what? You take a premature infant, with no money, no job, and nowhere to live. How long do you think you’ll survive?” “That’s my business.” “Stella,” he walked over slowly, crouching beside my bed so his eyes were level with mine. “Don’t you think you’re making a foolish decision?” His tone was remarkably gentle. Like an adult patiently reasoning with a stubborn child. Looking into his deep, dark eyes, a chill ran straight down my spine. Because I saw patience in them. He was being patient enough to negotiate with me. Patience meant he had an underlying motive. An underlying motive meant he still hadn’t given up on using my child. “Harrison,” I leaned back an inch, my spine pressing against the cold wooden headboard. “If you don’t agree to a divorce, I will expose your plan to harvest a baby’s bone marrow to the public.” His composure finally cracked. It was a tiny, subtle shift, a slight twitch between his brows as the gentle facade vanished, revealing the ice beneath. “Are you threatening me?” “What do you think?” He stood up, looking down at me. It was the third day after my forced delivery. My face was as pale as paper, my lips devoid of color, and tubes were still attached to my body. I must have looked utterly pathetic. Yet, I didn’t flinch from his glare. In my past life, he had always used this exact patronizing stance to force me to bow my head and apologize. Silence stretched between us for a long time. Then he spoke. “Stella, I can agree to a divorce.” My chest tightened. Too fast. He agreed far too quickly. “But not right now,” he added calmly. “Angela’s treatment still needs time. Once she stabilizes, I will sign the papers.” “You’re stalling.” “I’m offering you a dignified exit.” Dignified again. He truly loved that word. “And what if I refuse?” He didn’t answer my question. He turned around, walked to the door, and pulled it open. The bodyguard standing outside stepped aside to make way. “The child is in the newborn room downstairs,” he said without turning back. “You can visit her if you want. But you cannot take her.” The door shut behind him. The heavy lock clicked back into place. I sat on the bed, my fingers gripping the bedsheet tightly. He had agreed so easily because he was absolute certain that I couldn’t escape. I had no money, no identification documents, and even my phone had been confiscated. Outside the newborn room downstairs stood nurses, bodyguards, and security cameras. He was keeping my baby and me trapped inside the exact same building. Close enough to see, but impossible to touch. This was far more twisted than his cruelty in my past life. What he didn’t know was that during those three months I spent taking those pills, I wasn’t just destroying my child’s blood. I had set another plan in motion. During one of my prenatal checkups, I had quietly stolen a business card from Dr. Keller’s coat pocket. It belonged to his former classmate, Dr. Bennett, the head of hematology at the State University Hospital. That man had no ties to Harrison. Three months ago, Dr. Bennett had publicly raised ethical concerns regarding the harvesting of bone marrow from infant donors during a medical conference. I needed an outside ally. Someone Harrison couldn’t buy off. Now, all I needed was an opportunity to get the message out. 03 The opportunity came sooner than I expected. On the afternoon of the fifth day, the bodyguards made a minor slip-up during their shift change. A guard had been on duty for eight hours straight, leaving his post only once for a quick restroom break. The guard supposed to replace him at 3:00 PM was ten minutes late, rumor had it he had been called downstairs by Harrison to move some heavy equipment. Ten minutes was all I had. Peering through the crack in the bedroom door, I saw the hallway was completely empty. My heart hammered against my ribs. I didn’t sprint out. Instead, I pushed the door open, slipped into the storage room at the end of the hall, and picked up the extension landline phone. The landlines in this mansion operated on an internal network. It could make outside calls, but every single call log was automatically recorded and synced to the master server in Harrison’s study. I was fully aware of this. Which meant I only had one single chance. The moment I dialed out, whether the call connected or not, a record would be created. I was gambling on Harrison not returning home today. Because this afternoon, Angela had a crucial medical consultation with a specialist team. Dr. Keller had let it slip during morning rounds, mentioning that Harrison would be attending Angela’s expert panel meeting all afternoon. Squatting inside the storage room, my fingers dialed the phone number I had memorized over the past three months. Ring… ring… ring… After three rings, a voice answered. “Hello, who is this?” A middle-aged male voice with a slight regional accent. My throat went so dry I could barely squeeze out a sound. “…Hello, is this Dr. Bennett?” “Speaking. Who’s calling?” “I’m… a friend of Dr. Keller’s.” Dr. Keller’s real name was Arthur Keller. I used his name as my golden ticket. “Oh? Arthur’s friend? What can I do for you?” “Dr. Bennett, I need to consult you on a matter,” I kept my voice down to a whisper, my eyes darting frantically toward the hallway outside. “If a newborn under a week old is being forcibly subjected to bone marrow extraction for an adult transplant… what authority should I report this to?” Silence stretched over the line for two long seconds. “What did you say?” “A seven-month premature infant. Under a week old. Someone is trying to harvest her bone marrow.” “…Is this an active situation?” “Yes.” “Where is this happening? Which hospital?” “It’s not a hospital. It’s a private residence. Please tell me—” Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway. My blood turned ice-cold. “Dr. Bennett, I’m out of time. I’ll find a way to contact you again. Can you please check if non-consensual marrow extraction from a newborn constitutes a criminal offense?” “Listen to me, you need to—” I slammed the receiver back onto the base. My hands were drenched in cold sweat. The footsteps grew closer. I darted out of the storage room, hurried back into my bedroom, pulled the door shut, sat back on the bed, and picked up a pregnancy care book I had read a hundred times. The door was pushed open. It was the new bodyguard on the shift. He swept his eyes across the room. I kept my head down, flipping through the pages with an utterly calm expression. He stared at me for a few seconds before stepping back and shutting the door. Only then did I realize that I was holding the book upside down. Where my fingers gripped the spine, the paper was soaked through with sweat. Yet, I didn’t regret it for a second. That call had lasted less than forty seconds. It was enough. Dr. Bennett was famous in the medical community for being a uncompromising crusader. I had researched his character thoroughly. In my past life, after Angela’s transplant made academic news, he had publicly questioned the ethics approval process online, only to be silenced by Harrison’s political pull. In this life, I would light the fire before Harrison had the chance to smother it. That evening, Harrison didn’t return home. When Dr. Keller came to change my dressings, he looked visibly distracted, his movements rushed and clumsy. As he removed the gauze, he accidentally tugged on my wound. I let out a sharp gasp. He snapped out of his daze. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” “How did the specialist consultation go today?” I asked quietly. His hand froze. “…Not well. Miss Angela’s rejection markers are spiking, and the banked cord blood is running out.” “So they’re still targeting my baby’s marrow.” Dr. Keller didn’t answer, but his silence said everything. I stayed quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Dr. Keller, your former classmate, Dr. Bennett…” The hand holding the medical tape stopped dead in its tracks. He looked up at me as if he had just seen a ghost. “How do you know…” “A business card fell out of your pocket last week.” His face drained of color. “Mrs. Harrison, did you—” “I called him this afternoon.” Dr. Keller went completely numb. Then he grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it hurt. “Are you insane?! Do you have any idea that every call from this mansion—” “I know.” “Then why—” “Which is why I need you to do something for me.” I locked eyes with him. His face was ghostly white, his lips trembling. I knew he was terrified. He had worked for Harrison for a decade and knew exactly how Harrison destroyed anyone who betrayed him. I also knew that Dr. Keller had a six-year-old daughter. In my past life, three months after my death, he had abruptly resigned. Rumor had it he suffered a severe mental breakdown, tormented by insomnia, living on heavy sleep medication for half a year. He wasn’t a monster. He was just a coward trapped inside a gilded cage. “Dr. Keller,” I gently pried his fingers off my wrist and whispered, “I only need you to do one thing. Tomorrow when you change my dressings, ‘forget’ your phone under my pillow. Come back for it thirty minutes later.” He stared at me, swallowing hard. “Mrs. Harrison… Mr. Harrison will kill me.” “He won’t find out.” “He finds out about everything!” “Then consider this an act of redemption for your conscience.” I lowered my head and looked down at my heavily bandaged abdomen. The incision was still seeping blood. In my past life, he had stood by and watched as they harvested marrow from my living child. He had done nothing to stop it. I didn’t hate him. I just needed him to act like a human being for once in his life. Dr. Keller sat in his chair, falling into a long, suffocating silence. It dragged on so long that I thought he was going to walk away. Then he finally spoke. “…Thirty minutes.” His voice was barely audible, squeezed through his teeth. “Not a single second more.” I nodded. “That’s plenty.”
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