"Danica, please! Lorraine jumped because of what I said. I can't let her die—she's still so young! A little blood won't harm you. Don't worry. I'll get the best doctors to help you recover. I'll make it up to you, I promise!"
I screamed, fought, kicked—but it didn't matter. He still dragged me into the operating room and pressed me down on the cold metal table.
"Renald! I hate you!"
That was the last thing I managed to shout before the anesthesia numbed everything—my body, my voice, my heart.
...
When I woke again, it was already the next morning.
Renald sat by my bedside. The moment I opened my eyes, he rushed over.
"Danica, you're awake?"
He pulled out expensive tonics and gifts, trying to appease me. But I just stared blankly at the ceiling, my expression void of life.
Later that day, while he went out to buy me porridge, Lorraine slipped quietly into my hospital room.
"Well, if it isn't my savior," she said with a smirk.
"Poor thing—you've been unconscious for so long! You nearly drained yourself dry to save me. Honestly, if it weren't for you, I'd be dead by now."
My stomach churned. My voice was hoarse.
"Get out."
Her smile vanished, her eyes flashing with venom.