Miscarried His Baby, Liquidated His Assets - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
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"I'll pay you the ten billion. Consider it my surrender for those seven wasted years of my youth."
Finn moved to examine my bleeding hand, but Darcie clung to him like a lifeline.
"Finn... there's so much blood," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "I'm—"
Before she could finish, her body went slack in his arms.
Finn caught her effortlessly, barking at bystanders to move aside. As I turned to leave, his iron grip clamped around my injured wrist—white-hot pain shooting up my arm.
"You're not going anywhere. Darcie's anemic, and you're her only match."
He practically threw me into his car, tires screeching as we raced toward the hospital.
When the doctor diagnosed Darcie with thalassemia and explained she needed family-matched blood, Finn shoved me forward like human inventory.
"Take hers. She's RH-negative."
My blood turned to ice.
His patience evaporated at my silence. "Darcie has no family! She's dying—would it kill you to show some basic human decency?"
I met his glare steadily, exhaling through the ache in my chest.
"Two days ago, I lost your baby, Finn. I'm medically unfit to donate."
His laugh was razor-sharp with disbelief. "Jesus, Faith. You'd invent a dead child to spite her?"
"One donation wipes your debt clean!" he snapped. "Ten billion for a pint of blood—cheapest deal you'll ever get."
To him, my entire existence carried less value than a corporate contract. He saw Darcie's fainting spell as tragedy, while my miscarriage was merely inconvenient theater. Dizziness forced me to brace against the wall as the room tilted.
A nurse burst through ER doors: "Critical anemia—we need transfusion now or we'll lose both mother and child!"
The doctor rubbed his temples. "Our reserves are depleted after that celebrity miscarriage case this morning. Even with inter-hospital transfer, we won't get units until tonight."
Finn's patience shattered. "You're really doing this now? Darcie collapses and suddenly you're too frail? God, Faith—I never pegged you for such a convincing actress."
When I resisted, he manhandled me toward the donation chair, his voice a blade between my ribs:
"That night seven years ago—when I pulled you from the wreckage—did you think debts like these just disappear?"
"Play nice today," he hissed, "and once Darcie's baby arrives, I'll marry you myself. She won't last long anyway—the kid will be calling you 'Mom' before kindergarten."
The fight drained from me.
The needle's sting barely registered as they filled two bags. I watched Finn sprint toward the ER without a backward glance, my eyes dry as desert bone.
"We're square now," I whispered to the empty hallway. "No more debts. No more us."
After a night at a boutique hotel, I boarded a Miami-bound flight at dawn. My agent's frantic calls to Finn only earned a final volcanic eruption:
"Let the ungrateful bitch leave! What's next—a press conference about her martyrdom?"
"One donation and she ghosts me. Some gratitude for the man who gave her everything."
Seven years. Seven years of love reduced to a ledger entry between benefactor and pet songbird.
The laugh that escaped me tasted like battery acid. My agent shot me a venomous look—another casualty of Finn's temper, another reason to resent me.
The slam of his phone echoed through the silence.
Finn moved to examine my bleeding hand, but Darcie clung to him like a lifeline.
"Finn... there's so much blood," she whimpered, her voice trembling. "I'm—"
Before she could finish, her body went slack in his arms.
Finn caught her effortlessly, barking at bystanders to move aside. As I turned to leave, his iron grip clamped around my injured wrist—white-hot pain shooting up my arm.
"You're not going anywhere. Darcie's anemic, and you're her only match."
He practically threw me into his car, tires screeching as we raced toward the hospital.
When the doctor diagnosed Darcie with thalassemia and explained she needed family-matched blood, Finn shoved me forward like human inventory.
"Take hers. She's RH-negative."
My blood turned to ice.
His patience evaporated at my silence. "Darcie has no family! She's dying—would it kill you to show some basic human decency?"
I met his glare steadily, exhaling through the ache in my chest.
"Two days ago, I lost your baby, Finn. I'm medically unfit to donate."
His laugh was razor-sharp with disbelief. "Jesus, Faith. You'd invent a dead child to spite her?"
"One donation wipes your debt clean!" he snapped. "Ten billion for a pint of blood—cheapest deal you'll ever get."
To him, my entire existence carried less value than a corporate contract. He saw Darcie's fainting spell as tragedy, while my miscarriage was merely inconvenient theater. Dizziness forced me to brace against the wall as the room tilted.
A nurse burst through ER doors: "Critical anemia—we need transfusion now or we'll lose both mother and child!"
The doctor rubbed his temples. "Our reserves are depleted after that celebrity miscarriage case this morning. Even with inter-hospital transfer, we won't get units until tonight."
Finn's patience shattered. "You're really doing this now? Darcie collapses and suddenly you're too frail? God, Faith—I never pegged you for such a convincing actress."
When I resisted, he manhandled me toward the donation chair, his voice a blade between my ribs:
"That night seven years ago—when I pulled you from the wreckage—did you think debts like these just disappear?"
"Play nice today," he hissed, "and once Darcie's baby arrives, I'll marry you myself. She won't last long anyway—the kid will be calling you 'Mom' before kindergarten."
The fight drained from me.
The needle's sting barely registered as they filled two bags. I watched Finn sprint toward the ER without a backward glance, my eyes dry as desert bone.
"We're square now," I whispered to the empty hallway. "No more debts. No more us."
After a night at a boutique hotel, I boarded a Miami-bound flight at dawn. My agent's frantic calls to Finn only earned a final volcanic eruption:
"Let the ungrateful bitch leave! What's next—a press conference about her martyrdom?"
"One donation and she ghosts me. Some gratitude for the man who gave her everything."
Seven years. Seven years of love reduced to a ledger entry between benefactor and pet songbird.
The laugh that escaped me tasted like battery acid. My agent shot me a venomous look—another casualty of Finn's temper, another reason to resent me.
The slam of his phone echoed through the silence.
End of Miscarried His Baby, Liquidated His Assets Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Miscarried His Baby, Liquidated His Assets book page.