Chapter 3
I walked over with a glass of water, hoping he'd spill something.
Goodwin took the glass and leaned in close as he brushed past me.
He murmured so fast only I could catch it, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Sir, your basement is leaking."
He paused, then lifted his eyes to meet mine.
"Red water."
It was late, and the villa was silent except for the faint hum of the central air conditioning.
After making sure Willow was sound asleep, I avoided the living room, where there might be cameras, and quietly made my way to the basement.
That was the place I guarded most fiercely.
As an immortal, I needed to regularly consume small amounts of animal blood to keep my cells active.
In the basement, there was a cold storage dedicated to animal blood, and I was the only one with the key.
With trembling hands, I inserted the key into the lock.
The door opened.
A bone-chilling cold hit me.
I flipped the switch on the wall, and the dim light flickered a few times.
The sight before me made my blood run cold.
The shelves that used to be packed with animal blood bags were completely empty now.
Instead, a medical centrifuge was quietly humming away in the corner.
I rushed over, and saw a pile of used blood bags tossed next to the machine.
I grabbed one, and the label on it hit me like a punch.
It read: [Name: Marty Bell.
[Collected on: October 12th.]
I tore through the other wrappers in a frenzy.
Every extraction had happened on a Friday.
My head was spinning.
Every Friday, Willow would cook me a lavish dinner.
She always said I worked too hard and needed a good meal to recharge.
Every time after that feast, a wave of exhaustion I couldn't fight would hit me. I'd pass out right after, not waking up until noon the next day.
It turned out that I never had some mysterious anemia after all.
She'd been draining me dry every single week.
That so-called sedative was just to keep me unconscious while she took my blood.
And those so-called warm dinners were lullabies before the slaughter.
Rage boiled in my chest like molten lava, burning through my sanity.
I wanted to storm upstairs, grab Willow by the throat, and demand to know what she'd really taken me for these past ten years.
I spun around and dashed for the stairs, but stopped dead as soon as my foot touched the first step.
I heard faint voices coming from upstairs.
I held my breath, pressing myself against the cold wall.
It was Willow's voice.
But instead of her usual gentle softness, her tone was icy and commanding, full of superiority.
"His purity's dropping. Last night's test results were disappointing," Willow said.
Then I heard Arthur's voice, low and greedy despite his attempt to hide it.
"So what now? The community dinner's tonight, and everyone's waiting for their cut," he said.
Willow cut him off, her voice cold as ice, "Increase the dosage at tonight's dinner.
"Double the sedative, use the thick tube, and make sure we get a full thousand milliliters. If he doesn't cooperate, just shut down his nervous system."
I slapped a hand over my mouth, desperately fighting to keep the scream from bursting out of my throat.
One thousand milliliters.
They were about to drain every last drop of active blood from my body.
I stumbled back into the darkness, pressing myself against the cold iron door of the storage, gasping for air.
I rolled up my sleeve and, under the faint light, examined my arm.
I'd always thought those clustered red rashes were some allergic reaction.
Now, under the light, they looked absolutely hideous.
They were all puncture marks left by those fat needles.
For the past ten years, I thought I was saving a helpless blind girl, giving her a home.
But in reality, I'd just walked straight into a meticulously planned slaughterhouse, cleaned myself up, and willingly laid myself out on the butcher's table.
The footsteps upstairs gradually faded away.
I let my sleeve fall, the fury in my eyes cooling into a murderous resolve.
Tonight was Friday.
Tonight's feast was about to begin.
If they were so eager for my blood, I would see if they were able to survive till the moment they could consume it.
The villa blazed with light as night fell.
The neighbors trickled in, all wearing their phony smiles and carrying pretty little gifts.
I sat on the couch, watching Arthur grin as he handed me a box of cigars, his smile never reaching his eyes. My stomach churned.
"Marty, you're looking pretty good these days," he said.
He clapped me on the shoulder, but his eyes were sizing me up like I was just a piece of meat waiting to be carved up.
I forced down my disgust and managed a stiff smile.
"All thanks to Willow's care," I replied.
The feast officially began.
The long dining table was loaded with a lavish spread, but not a single fork or knife moved.
Everyone kept sneaking glances at me, their eyes lingering just a little too long.