Blood Betrayal

The delivery room was cold, the sterile white walls closing in on me as my newborn son, Leo, fought for every breath down the hall.

Then my husband, Liam, called, his voice a panicked whisper: "Ava, I'm in big trouble. I owe six point sixty-six million dollars to 'The Gambler.' If I don't pay, he'll kill me."

I emptied our savings, sold my father's cherished comic collection, maxed out high-interest loans, and worked myself to the bone for four agonizing years while Leo battled his own health issues.

I even sold my blood, twice a week, because Liam said it was the only thing keeping him alive, that we shared a rare blood type.

Finally, I had the money. But when I delivered the duffel bag of cash, "The Gambler's" henchman told me the price had gone up to sixteen point sixty-six million, showing me video proof of Liam being tortured, screaming in agony.

Then I walked into a lavish VIP room, ready to beg for his life, only to find Liam, unbruised and in an expensive suit, draped around a stunning woman who looked eerily like me.

He wasn't tortured. He was The Gambler.

"The blood wasn't for him, darling," his mistress, Scarlett, purred, "It was for me. I needed a little 'top-up.' You were a walking blood bank."

My sacrifices, my love, my life-all a lie.