The Blood Bag's Billion-Dollar Revenge

Julian stared at the phone in his hand, a frown creasing his forehead. The message was cryptic. Bringing you a surprise. Seraphina never surprised him. She was predictable. Quiet. Compliant. She was the furniture in his life-necessary, functional, and easily ignored until it wasn't where it was supposed to be. He looked over at Caroline. She was leaning back against the pillows, eyes fluttered shut, looking like a broken doll. "Is she coming?" Caroline whispered, her voice weak. "She's on her way," Julian said, softening his tone. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just hang on." His phone pinged. A notification from his bank. Transfer Initiated: $500,000.00 to Seraphina Vance. He had set it up earlier. It was a transaction. A trade. Half a million dollars for a pint of blood. It was more than generous. It was a fortune for someone like her, someone who came from nothing. It would keep her quiet, keep her happy, buy her a new car or whatever it was she spent her allowance on. He turned to his assistant, Chen, who was standing by the door like a statue. "Make sure the nurses are ready as soon as she arrives. No delays." "Yes, Mr. Vance." Julian checked his watch. Twenty minutes. She should be here. His phone buzzed again. Not a text. A bank alert. Transaction Declined. Funds Returned by Recipient. Julian blinked. He re-read the notification. Returned? Seraphina had sent the money back. "What is she playing at?" he muttered, thumbing the dial button. She answered on the first ring. "Is this a negotiation tactic?" Julian asked, skipping the pleasantries. "Because it's a poor one. I'm not in the mood for games, Seraphina. Take the money and get here." "I don't want your money, Julian." Her voice sounded different. It wasn't the whisper he was used to. It sounded metallic. Cold. "Then what do you want? Jewelry? A vacation? Name it." "I'm at the Civil Court on Centre Street," she said. "Meet me here. Bring your lawyer. Or I can have mine file the petition unilaterally, and you can read about it on Page Six tomorrow morning." Julian stopped breathing for a second. The hospital sounds-the beeping monitors, the squeak of rubber shoes-faded away. "You're at the courthouse?" He let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. "You're bluffing. You think threatening divorce will make me choose you over saving a life? That is low, Seraphina. Even for you." "You have thirty minutes," she said. "If you're not here, I'm filing for a restraining order alongside the divorce. Try getting blood from me then." Click. She hung up on him. Again. Julian stared at the phone, a vein pulsing in his temple. She was serious. Or she was putting on a hell of a performance. Either way, he couldn't force her to donate blood if she was surrounded by marshals at a courthouse. "Chen," he snapped, grabbing his jacket. "Call legal. Meet me at the courthouse. Now." "But Mr. Vance, what about Ms. DeWitt?" "She can wait an hour," Julian said, his jaw tight. "I need to go handle a tantrum." The mediation room at the courthouse smelled of floor wax and stale coffee. It was a small, windowless box designed to suck the emotion out of the end of a marriage. Seraphina sat on one side of the long wooden table. She wore jeans and a white t-shirt. No jewelry. No makeup. Her hair was pulled back in a severe ponytail. She looked like a teenager, yet she occupied the chair with the posture of a queen. The door banged open. Julian strode in, bringing a gust of expensive cologne and suppressed rage with him. His lawyer, a nervous man named Miller, trailed behind him. Julian didn't sit. He threw a checkbook onto the table. It slid across the wood and stopped inches from Seraphina's hand. "Double," Julian said. "One million dollars. Sign the consent form for the transfusion, and we go home. We can talk about whatever is bothering you later." Seraphina didn't look at the check. She slid a thin file folder across the table. "Sign this," she said. Julian looked down. Dissolution of Marriage Agreement. He snatched it up, flipping through the pages rapidly. His eyes scanned the clauses, expecting demands for alimony, for the house, for shares in the company. "Clause 4: Waiver of Spousal Support," he read aloud, frowning. "Clause 7: Division of Assets... Party B retains no claim to marital property..." He looked up, genuinely confused. "You're asking for nothing? You're walking away with nothing?" "I'm walking away with my name," Seraphina said. "And my blood." "You can't survive in this city without me," Julian said, his voice dropping. It was a statement of fact in his world. "You have no degree. No family. No job. If you sign this, you're on the street." "That's my problem," she said. "Sign it, Julian. Or I start talking to the press about where you really were on our anniversary." Julian flinched. He stared at her, trying to find the desperate, needy woman he married. She wasn't there. This woman had eyes like flint. A sudden, irrational panic seized him. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to make her admit she needed him. "Fine," he spat. He uncapped his fountain pen, the gold nib glinting under the fluorescent lights. "If you want to ruin your life to prove a point, go ahead. Don't come crawling back when you're starving." He slashed his signature across the bottom of the page. The ink was dark and heavy. Seraphina signed next to him. Her hand didn't shake. Not even a little. The court clerk stamped the papers with a heavy thud. "It's done," the clerk droned. "The Judgment of Divorce will be finalized and mailed. You are legally separated effective immediately." Seraphina stood up. She picked up her copy of the papers and folded them neatly. "Good," she said. "Great," Julian said, straightening his cuffs. "Now let's go. The car is outside. Caroline is waiting." Seraphina paused. She looked at him, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. It was the smile of someone looking at a stranger. "You really don't get it, do you?" she asked softly. She leaned in close. He could smell her scent-vanilla and something crisp, like rain. "I'm not your wife anymore, Julian," she whispered. "I'm not your property. And I'm certainly not your donor." Julian reached for her arm. "Seraphina, stop this madness-" She stepped back, dodging his touch with fluid grace. "Not a drop," she said, her voice hard as diamonds. "Tell your mistress to find another donor. Or maybe she can use some of that red wine she loves so much." She turned and walked out. Julian stood frozen in the mediation room. The check for a million dollars lay untouched on the table. His phone rang. It was Caroline. "Julian?" Her voice was a whimper. "Where are you? I'm getting so cold..." For the first time in three years, the sound of her voice didn't make him want to rush to her side. It made his teeth ache. He looked at the empty doorway where Seraphina had vanished. A cold pit opened in his stomach. He had the distinct, terrifying sensation that he had just made a mistake that no amount of money could fix.