Chapter 2
When Scarlett returned home that evening, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
“Rough day? Was the patient okay?” I tried to make my voice sound normal.
Scarlett walked over and hugged me from behind, resting her face against my back.
“Thank you, Leo. Without your blood, that little girl might not have made it.”
My hands paused mid-air, a bitter taste rising in my mouth.
She was still spinning lies, and she said it so naturally, as if there really was a little girl who needed my blood to survive.
“Glad I could help,” I mumbled.
“You really are the kindest person in the world.”
Scarlett whispered into my ear, “Sometimes I can’t believe I got to marry such a wonderful man.”
Hearing that, I almost lost control of my emotions.
She called me kind, yet she was using my kindness to earn dirty money.
She said she couldn’t believe she married me, yet she was tangled up with another man in her office.
“Scarlett, I want to ask you something,” I turned to face her.
“What is it?” She blinked those eyes I once adored so deeply.
“If one day, I couldn’t donate blood anymore, would you still love me like you do now?”
Scarlett paused, then chuckled, “Why would you ask such a strange question?”
“I don’t love you just because you can donate blood.”
“Then why?” I pressed on.
She seemed a bit uncomfortable with my serious tone, her smile becoming strained.
“Of course, it’s because of you, your kindness, your thoughtfulness, everything about you.”
I nodded, saying nothing more.
But in my heart, I already had the answer: she didn’t love me for who I was, but for the priceless blood flowing in my veins.
During dinner, I deliberately brought it up: “I haven’t been feeling well lately. I might need a full check-up.”
Scarlett put down her forks, asking nervously, “What’s wrong? Where do you feel unwell?”
“Just feeling a bit tired. Maybe I’ve been donating too frequently.”
“The doctor suggested I stop donating blood for a while to let my body recover.”
After I finished, I carefully watched her expression.
Sure enough, her face instantly fell, and a flicker of panic crossed her eyes.
“But, but there are so many patients in urgent need of blood at the hospital lately. If you stop donating now…”
“Are lives more important, or is my health?” I countered.
Scarlett was speechless, and after a moment, she said, “Of course, your health is more important. I’m just worried about those patients…”
“Are there other blood sources that can replace mine for those patients?” I probed further.
“Well…” She stammered.
“Rh-negative blood types are already rare; it’s difficult to find a temporary substitute.”
Seeing her anxiety, my suspicions grew stronger.
If she truly loved me, she should have been concerned about my health first, not the blood donations.
“How about this then? I’ll go to the hospital for a check-up tomorrow. If my body’s fine, I’ll continue donating,” I pretended to compromise.
Scarlett finally let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, I’ll go with you for the check-up tomorrow.”
That night, I tossed and turned in bed.
Scarlett quickly fell asleep, her breathing even and peaceful, as if she had no burden on her conscience.
I quietly got up and went to my study, opening the computer.
After some searching, I found news reports about black market rare blood type transactions.
The reports mentioned that Rh-negative blood commanded astonishingly high prices on the black market.
Especially when used for certain illicit cosmetic procedures, the price would double.
I thought about Scarlett’s sudden increase in income over the past two years.
All that extra income she claimed was from hospital bonuses, those designer bags and expensive jewelry – it turned out they were all bought with my blood.