From Blood Bag To Billionaire Queen

money. It was a heavy, cloying scent th

knife in her hand moved with a mechanical rhythm. Slice. Chop. Slide. The black tr

he wall ticked

Her feet throbbed inside her house slippe

ir third a

for the oven. The pastry lattice was a work of art, woven

on the cou

le. The screen lit up, illuminating the d

bb

e her heart jump. A small, pathetic flutter of hope rose

ds on her apron. She s

y, replaced by a physi

. Low hemoglobin. Ge

niversary wish.

ming in a pool of sudden, hot moisture that filled her eyes.

her

so worried about me. We need your Rh-negative b

oaded belo

a man's hand-Bart's hand, with the platinum watch she had bought him for hi

ip was nauseating. It

he never wa

face down. The clack ech

ounter, her knuckles turning white. It wasn't just emotional pain

r downstairs

ainst the foyer floor. The so

at is th

d as if she had stepped into a sewer. She was carryin

, her eyes landing on t

the counter, dangerously close to the truffles. "It smells like wet dirt. I t

, like she had not used it in days. "It

Oh, honey. You're still counting? Bart isn't coming home for

the refrigerator, o

eigha. "The carpet in the living room has lint on it. Go v

erfectly coiffed hair, the expensive jewelry, the sheer

cleaned, and offered her arm for needles until she nearly p

ound. It was a quiet snap, like a d

ther w

move toward the

k. She untied the apron strings. The fabric fell a

icked

pactor, pressed the pedal,

bottle of water in her

screeched. "Did you just t

s calm, fluid, and terrifyingly silent. She left the kitchen

mbed th

e. The adrenaline flooding

was cold. The air conditioning wa

nched in the code. 0-9-1-2. September 12th. Crysta's birthday. Bart was too obsessed t

of cash she wasn't allowed to

t out. Divor

en Bart had called her by Crysta's name in his s

e nightstand. Sh

ng. She pressed the tip into the paper, carvi

shackle she was agreeing to wear for jus

d at her

a chain store in the mall because he "didn't

. Her finger felt

e ring on top

e didn't pack the designer dresses Dorla had bought her t

her passport, and a small, velvet-wrapped objec

was

e bag. The so

he room, her face

d, pointing a manicured finger. "I told you

ha tu

t time, she didn't see a matriarch to be feared. She sa

a said. Her voice was low, s

vely. "Leaving? Hah! And go where? The gutter you craw

d the handle o

orcing Dorla to scramble out of her way, "that I don'

fter her. "You'll be back craw

e didn't look at the chandelier. She didn't

ront door into the c

ling her hair. It felt like

et vibra

t the phone.

late to the hospital. To ask why she wasn't curre

at the screen

button. Then she

hind her. She dialed a number she hadn't called in three years. It was a

ang

r voice finally breaking. "I