No More Strategy, Only Love

They Want My Rare Blood

As I was wheeled out of the basement, I caught sight of Vincent Carson carefully braiding Irene Yatez's hair. My useless son stood off to the side, clapping his little hands with glee.

"Irene, you're so beautiful! Dad, when are you going to marry her?"

Vincent shared a warm smile with Irene, who bashfully lowered her head. The creak of my wheelchair cut through the serene moment.

Vincent looked at me indifferently. "Three years ago, you sabotaged Irene's chance to win that award. Do you regret it now?"

I raised my eyes briefly to meet his. After three years of being imprisoned in a basement, I was already extremely disappointed with him.

Silence hung between us as I looked away, focusing on my legs. Irene's voice, syrupy and soft, broke the quiet. "Vincent, are you still upset with me?

"During the finals, she took my manuscript. I was so frightened that I went to the media. I could never have foreseen my fans reacting so wildly…"

'Fans? She has the nerve to call them fans, huh?' I cursed deep down.

The truth was Vincent couldn't stand to see his darling Irene pained, so he paid thugs to cripple me.

She orchestrated the whole thing, taking my place and becoming known to the world as a genius screenwriter. Yet, when the final competition arrived, she floundered and fabricated a story to mask her incompetence.

Just then, Frank Carson, my son, came running over and gave my wheelchair a hard shove.

"You evil woman! How could you steal from Irene?"

Irene patted his head with feigned gentleness, and her voice dripped with saccharine falsehood as she murmured, "Frank, it's not right to speak so of your mother."

Without hesitation, Frank burrowed into her embrace, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. "Irene, she's not my mom. Dad's divorcing her soon, and then you, the kind and lovely Irene, will be my mom!"

I clutched the tattered, yellowed photo in my pocket, a wry smile formed on my lips.

Over the past three years, every time I was on the verge of collapse, I would think of Frank. He was still so young, and he needed me.

But now, when he looked at me, I saw only hatred in his eyes. Was this truly the child for whom I was prepared to sacrifice everything?

Vincent sneered, "Even a child understands better, Kelsey. How do you still not see it? You've lived carefree these past three years. Did you ever consider how Irene has managed to survive?"

'Carefree? That dark, rat-infested basement was home to nothing but vermin and, occasionally, slimy snakes.

'My legs had been shattered and left untreated. One could smell the decay if they got close enough. If not for Frank, I would have ended my misery by smashing my head against the wall long ago. Is that his idea of carefree?' I thought bitterly.

Vincent stared at my legs in disgust. "You only injured your legs. Why the long face? Irene lost the most significant opportunity of her life and even pleaded for your release from the basement. What right do you have to complain?"

I glared at him, my contempt palpable. "The demon visits on New Year's Eve, and you expect me to believe it's out of kindness? What do you and Irene want from me now?" My voice was hoarse and rough from disuse.

Irene had stolen my manuscript, my identity, and, over the years, the affections of this father and son. She had taken everything she desired. I wondered what she could possibly want now.

Vincent's expression turned to one of profound disappointment. "Irene never wanted anything from you."

"How can you think so poorly of me, Kelsey?" Irene's voice trembled, her face the picture of a wounded swan as she dramatically clutched at her chest.

"I know you still hold resentment, but you mustn't neglect your health! I've brought the best doctor from the Yatezes. Dr. Wilkins, please perform a check on her."

I slumped in my wheelchair, unable to resist.

"What's with that look?" Vincent snapped. "Do you know how many people would beg for treatment from a Yatez doctor? You should be thanking Irene!"

The fact that it was a Yatez family doctor only heightened my suspicion.

If memory served correctly, Irene had Rh-negative blood, and three years ago, the Yatezes were implicated in a scandal involving a human blood bank created for her.

As for me? I also had a rare blood type—Rh-negative.

The doctor, Terry Wilkins, packed away his instruments and gave Irene a nod. "Mrs. Carson's health is generally good. She's a bit malnourished but nothing serious."

"That's a relief. Otherwise, I…" Irene began, but suddenly, she collapsed.

Vincent caught her in his arms, panic evident in his voice. "What's wrong with her? Call an ambulance, now!"

When Terry hesitated, Vincent's panic escalated. "Hurry!"

Terry finally spoke, his voice calm but grim. "It's no use. Her heart started failing three years ago. She's living on borrowed time."

Vincent stood frozen, shock etching his features. His gaze shifted to me, dark and tormented.

I let out a bitter laugh. 'So, this is what they've been waiting for!'