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Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress

Chapter 8 No.8

Word Count: 669    |    Released on: 22/01/2026

limo smelled of va

flashing lights, then climbed in after her. Haze

c, Hazel clung to Darius's arm. Sh

ubbing his knuckles-the same knuckles Jada h

cing backward, staring out the wi

t today," Hazel said dreamily. "Just dreaming, o

table. He shifted his

nd innocent. "Jada understands, don't you

idn't

ther impossibly expensive French rest

!" the maitre d' greeted

just smiled. Jada stayed sil

at a prime tabl

one," she announced. "Jada shouldn't have anyth

e waiter with a sad, fragile smile. "And just a bottle of Evian for me,

ter glass. The perf

ure of pity and admiration. "You'r

her lower lashes, glistening perfectly. "I have to be.

azel pushed her pea

aid suddenly, her voice loud eno

ble, trying to take Jada'

undeterred. "To give up your husband an

sna

said, her voice cutting through the

le went

her chest theatrically.

t Jada. "That's

s enjoying this, Darius. Can't

s raised his voice. P

for someone with organ fai

perventilate. "I...

eached for Hazel's wa

in a spasm, and knocked over Darius's full gl

Jada's white silk blouse. It spread instantly, staining the

The tiny, fleeting smirk behind the hand. "I'm so clumsy! M

ing. The wine was co

on purpose,"

op it, Jada! It was an accident. Go cl

tablecloth, worried about the furniture, w

ada laughed bitterly. "I'll

rooms, heads turning as she passed, a

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Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress
Spare Part Wife: Liver For His Mistress
“I wore my favorite emerald silk dress to Per Se, thinking our third anniversary would finally be the night Darius came back to me. My heart was pounding with hope, but the moment he covered the rim of my champagne glass with a cold, marble-like hand, that hope died. He didn't bring a gift; he brought a personal assistant and a medical consent form. His ex-girlfriend, Hazel, was dying of liver failure, and I was the only compatible match they had found in the world. The realization hit me like a physical blow: he hadn't married me for love, but for a "harvest." When I screamed that I wasn't a spare part, he didn't even flinch. Instead, he threatened to pull the funding for my grandmother's Alzheimer's care, holding the only family I had left hostage to save his "one who got away." He locked me in our penthouse under a high-tech security protocol, guarded by private contractors like a prisoner in a gilded cage. While I was trapped, he was at the hospital holding Hazel's hand, wearing the Patek Philippe watch I'd bought him for his birthday. I watched their updates on social media, Hazel tagging him as her "hero" and "true love," while I was left alone in the dark. Darius told his lawyers I was just being "dramatic" and that I'd get over it once the settlement check cleared. Every memory of our three years together felt like a long-term investment in an organ transplant. How could I have been so blind? How could the man who promised to cherish me turn into a monster who only saw me as a regenerating asset? I stopped fighting and started calculating. I agreed to the surgery on one condition: a signed divorce decree and an ironclad trust for my grandmother that he could never touch. I refused his millions, took back my maiden name, and walked into that hospital with my head held high. I was giving them the piece of me they wanted, but it was the last thing they would ever take. As the elevator doors closed on Darius's desperate face, I knew that when I woke up, I would finally be free.”