Chapter 1
I was the high-priced stand-in lover hired by the crown prince of the capital's elite.
His one true love had a rare blood disease, and my blood was the only cure.
After three years as a walking blood bank, his true love recovered and returned home.
Atwood Hood tossed a check in my face. "She's back. You should leave now."
I smiled as I signed off the contract termination.
That same night, I landed on the cover of a financial magazine as the newest billionaire.
This time, it was the Hood family quaking before me.
*****
The cold needle slid into my vein, and I instinctively flinched.
"Don't move," Atwood said coldly.
His voice was icier than the needle itself, his gaze fixated on the tube as the bright red blood slowly drained into the bag.
The nurse hesitated, her hands slowing as she couldn't help but feel pity.
"Hurry up," Atwood barked, his brows furrowed with impatience. "Lillian is waiting."
Lillian Nell was his one true love, the only reason I even existed.
We shared the same rare blood type, so when she got sick, I became her walking blood bank.
The pain spread from my arm, my face growing paler, my lips losing all color.
But Atwood didn't even spare me a glance. All his attention was locked on the blood bag as it slowly filled, like that was the only treasure he cared about.
I closed my eyes, my heart turning to ice.
I told myself I was just a tool and a vessel for blood in his eyes.
Three years ago, my mom was seriously ill, and the surgery cost was an astronomical amount.
I was desperate, crying my eyes out in the hospital hallway when Atwood showed up.
It was pouring rain that day. He stood there under a black umbrella, looking down at me like a deity descending from above.
His first words to me were, "Your blood can save her."
He promised to cover all my mom's medical bills and everything I'd need for the next three years, but only if I became his stand-in lover and Lillian's walking blood bank.
In that moment, staring into those intense eyes of his, my heart shamefully betrayed me. I actually fell for him.
I thought he was my redemption, my way out.
But later, I realized I was nothing more than a stand-in, just a walking blood bag to him.
Every bit of 'kindness' he showed me over those three years was carefully calculated.
The monthly allowance he sent me was just to keep my blood healthy enough for his needs.
He'd drag me along to random social events, just because I vaguely resembled Lillian.
Sometimes he'd pull me into his arms, but he always called out "Lillian."
From the sting at the start, to numbness, and finally, clarity.
I played the obedient shadow of Lillian, using his money to secretly build my own path to freedom.
When the blood draw was finally over, I leaned weakly against the back of the chair, feeling completely drained.
Atwood took the blood bag from the nurse, gently slipped it into the warmer, then turned to leave.
He never once looked at me the whole time.
"Atwood," I called out, my voice stopping him in his tracks.
He paused, glanced back at me with a hint of impatience in his eyes.
I forced a weak smile. "The contract's almost up."
He paused, then let out a cold laugh. "What, not enough money for you?"
I shook my head, locking eyes with him. "I mean, you're about to lose your walking blood bank."
His gaze turned instantly sinister.
Back at the "gilded cage" Atwood had set up for me, a villa perched halfway up the mountain, the first thing I did was reach out to my ally, Sean Romeo.
Sean was my college buddy, a financial genius who'd been overlooked for far too long.
"The money's in. Let's get this done," I said.
On the other end, Sean's voice was always cool and steady. "Relax, Echo. Consider it done."
Echo was my code name in the investment world.
For the past three years, Atwood had been sending me 150 thousand dollars a month as my "nutritional allowance." After covering my basic living expenses, I handed the rest over to Sean.
With that seed money, he leveraged the unpredictable chaos of the financial markets and turned it into billions for me.
After hanging up, I stepped into the closet, staring at the racks of designer clothes and shelves of jewelry Atwood had bought for the shadow of Lillian. I felt nothing as I looked at them.
All of this would play a part in my plan.
That night, Atwood came home reeking of booze.
When he saw the bouquet of white roses, still unarranged in the living room, his face instantly darkened.
"How many times have I told you? Lillian's left-handed. She always cuts the stems at an angle when she arranges flowers," he snapped.