Chapter 1

I'd just gotten the confirmation that I had terminal stomach cancer and was about to tell Ingram Torres when I got home.

But before I could say a word, Ingram spoke first, announcing the surgery schedule.

"Yolanda's found a kidney match. Next Monday, you'll donate your left kidney."

"Next month, you'll give your bone marrow."

"And after the surgery..."

He paused, his gaze icy as he looked at me.

"From now on, you'll stay in a nursing home. Don't let her see you again."

I looked weak and exhausted. "Ingram, will I even make it through?"

He frowned. "She needs it right now. We have to do whatever it takes to save her. She's a piano genius."

"You're just an orphan with nothing going for you. Stop being so selfish."

I gripped the terminal diagnosis notice in my pocket as I asked Ingram, "What if my kidney is full of cancer cells? Does that mean I don't have to die for her anymore?"

*****

Ingram didn't even pause.

He reached out and snatched the notice from my hand.

With a sharp rip, the paper tore in half.

He ripped the paper in half, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the trash can without a second thought.

"Yolanda cries for hours if she even gets a scratch on her finger from practicing piano. And you're making up a terminal illness just to get out of donating your kidney?"

He pulled out a card from his wallet and tossed it onto the coffee table, the sound sharp and clear.

"You probably bought that fake diagnosis for fifty bucks from some shady alley, right? Here's 0.3 million dollars. Take the money, keep your mouth shut, and be in the operating room next Monday."

I stared at the crumpled paper in the trash can.

It was the diagnosis the doctor had just given me, marked with an official stamp.

A sharp pain shot through my stomach.

I doubled over, clutching my stomach as cold sweat dripped down my forehead and onto the floor.

"Ingram, I'm not lying. I'm really in pain," I said, my voice trembling.

Ingram walked over and looked down at me with cold disdain.

He raised his foot and gave my calf a sharp kick with the tip of his shoe. "Stop acting like you're dying. Get up and make soup for Yolanda. She said she wants the one you make."

I clutched my shirt tightly, refusing to let go.

"I'm not going," I said, my voice shaking.

I gritted my teeth, barely holding back tears. "I need to go to the hospital. I need chemotherapy..."

Ingram crouched down and grabbed my chin.

His grip was so strong, my jawbone actually creaked. "Debbie, did you forget? If I hadn't pulled you out of that orphanage, you would've starved to death.

"Your life is mine. If Yolanda needs it, you'll hand over your kidney, or even rip out your heart if that's what it takes."

He let go and wiped his hand on his clothes, like he couldn't stand even touching me.

"I want that soup delivered to the hospital before tonight. Otherwise, you can crawl back to that dump of an orphanage," Ingram said.

Ingram spun around and strode out without a second glance.

The front door slammed shut with a sharp bang.

The noise echoed in my ears, making them ring painfully.

I collapsed onto the floor, my stomach twisting in agony, like knives tearing me apart from the inside.

I retched violently, blood splattering onto the floor.

It was dark red, mixed with stomach acid.

I stared at the pool of blood for a while, then numbly grabbed a few tissues and slowly wiped it away.

No matter how much I wiped, the blood just wouldn't come clean.

The red stain seeped into the cracks of the floor.

My phone buzzed.

It was a message from Ingram on WhatsApp.

Just a single photo.

Yolanda was lying in her hospital bed, looking rosy and healthy, holding a peeled apple and flashing a peace sign at the camera.

There was a line of text below the photo: [Yolanda says if she doesn't get her soup, she'll be in a bad mood, and it could affect her surgery. It's up to you.]

I locked the screen.

Leaning against the wall, I slowly got to my feet.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed the ribs.

I brought the knife down hard on the cutting board.

Expressionless, I dumped the ribs into the pot.

If she wanted the soup, then so be it.

This would be the last time.

The soup was ready.

I picked up the thermos and took a cab to the hospital.

At the hospital room door.

The door was slightly ajar.

Laughter drifted out from inside.

"Ingram, you're so bad. If Debbie ever finds out you tricked her into thinking my condition got worse, she'll be so mad." Yolanda's voice was sweet and full of energy.

Ingram's voice carried a teasing warmth. "Honestly, if she drops dead from anger, that's fine by me. She's so gloomy and lifeless, just looking at her gets on my nerves.

"If your kidney wasn't so rare and she wasn't the only match, I would've tossed her out long ago."

"But... It's her kidney. Won't it hurt a lot to have it taken out?" Yolanda pouted.

"Hurt? Come on. She's got nothing, grew up in an orphanage, tough as leather. You're a pianist, your body's the precious one," Ingram replied.

I stood at the doorway, the thermos in my hand almost too hot to hold.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The laughter in the room cut off instantly.

Ingram turned around, and his brows furrowed the instant he saw me.