Chapter 3

Time passed, and I grew weaker and weaker. I started coughing up blood.

After the stormy night, Alex had taken Bella on a month-long trip to Europe. When they came back and he saw me, his brow creased.

"Why have you gotten so thin?"

I smiled faintly. "Nothing. I've just been a little sick."

He blinked, then let out a cold laugh. "What kind of trick are you pulling now? Are you upset that I took Bella to Europe? So you're using this as an excuse to mess with me?"

"We both know you can't die. So how could you possibly be sick?"

I lowered my head. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

"If you say so."

He stepped closer, tipped my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Is this because I've been neglecting you? Don't worry. I can spend more time with you going forward."

If he'd said that to me a year ago, I would have been overjoyed.

Now, I felt nothing.

I shook my head. "It's fine. Spend time with Bella."

His brow furrowed deeper. He studied me coldly, watching for a reaction. When I gave him none, he shoved me away with a sneer.

"Don't be ungrateful."

I stumbled and fell, my thigh catching the sharp corner of the table. The pain was blinding.

Alex moved like he might check on me — then his phone rang.

Bella's voice came through the speaker, breathless and crying. "Alex, I was trying to make dinner for you and there was a fire — my hand — my hand really hurts!"

Alex's expression changed instantly. "Don't move. I'm coming right now."

He was out the door before I could blink. He didn't look back once.

I stared at his retreating figure, a hollow, mocking smile on my lips.

Same as always. The moment Bella called, I ceased to exist.

Half an hour later, his bodyguard came in and said Alex had sent instructions — I was to be taken to the hospital.

At the hospital, I found Alex pacing anxiously outside the operating room.

He saw me and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world: "Bella burned her hand. She needs a skin graft right away."

"You heal on your own anyway. Give her your skin."

My chest seized.

My immortality was already fading. How was I supposed to heal from a skin graft?

We were down to the last two months, and he still didn't care about me at all.

I smiled — a bleak, hollow smile — and reached for the last thread of hope I had left. "What if I told you I can't heal from this one? Would you believe me?"

Alex's expression tightened. He looked at me with barely concealed disgust. "What are you scheming now? If you don't want to help Bella, just say so!"

The last flicker of hope went out.

Alex overrode every objection and had me wheeled into the operating room.

They strapped me to the table. Several pairs of hands pressed down on mine. Cold alcohol swabbed across my bare, pallid skin.

I told myself not to be afraid. But my whole body shook uncontrollably.

I felt like a cut of meat on a butcher's block. Something to be used up and discarded.

"Should we use anesthesia, Mr. Alex?"

The doctor asked from beside him.

I looked up at Alex, a faint, desperate hope rising in me despite everything.

Without a second's hesitation, Alex said: "No anesthesia. Bella will scar if we wait any longer. Just do it."