Azariah

'Regina's in the hospital. She needs a blood transfusion. Come to Hagen General. Now.'

'Where are you? You are fifteen minutes late.'

'If you are unhappy about the price, it's been upped to one hundred thousand dollars. Check your bank account.'

'Darya Miller, I expect your presence at the hospital within the next twenty minutes. A deal's a deal.'

Darya scrolled through the messages with a sneer, her knuckles turning white.

Instead of texts from her husband—which these actually were—they sounded more like orders issued to an underling by a hard taskmaster.

Which summed up her relationship with Micah perfectly—her the subordinate, him the superior.

When he gave instructions, Micah Cavanaugh expected to be obeyed without question or delay.

The fact that Darya had already given blood three times in just as many weeks was a trifling detail he couldn't be bothered to remember.

Or care.

"Suck it up. A deal's a deal."

She could almost hear him, as if he were right there in the room, looking down his aquiline nose at her.

Darya shivered, rubbing her arms.

Dizziness, nausea, and cold sweat were common symptoms after giving too much blood in too short a time.

She had to wear wide bell sleeves to prevent chafing of the bruises where they'd stuck the giant needle into the crook of her arm, repeatedly.

Micah didn't notice the bruises, of course.

In fact, he'd rarely—if ever—touched her when they were in the same room.

When he wasn't busy running his business empire, he spent his time by the side of another woman—Regina Fischer.

The exact nature of their relationship remained a cause for much speculation, but Darya never confronted Micah about it.

She was just the wife, after all.

A nominal one, at that.

Micah and Darya maintained separate bedrooms, exchanged perfunctory greetings when their paths crossed, and could go days without talking to each other.

When he did reach out, it was mostly for the sake of Regina.

Darya happened to share the same extremely rare blood type as Micah's alleged mistress—AB negative.

In fact, her blood was the only reason Micah agreed to marry her three years ago.

Regina needed a blood transfusion back then, just like she needed one right now.

Less than one percent of the country's population had AB-negative blood, and hospital blood banks were perpetually understocked.

"You want me to marry you?"

In the hospital corridor, stinking of antiseptic and someone else's blood, Micah had stared fixedly at the girl who dared to use Regina's medical condition to blackmail him.

Heart in mouth, Darya had nodded.

"Fine, but only if you agree to become a blood donor for Regina, 24/7. If and when she needs it, you are to make yourself available—no questions asked, no backing out for any reason. Monetary compensation can be arranged."

Darya had jumped at the offer, thinking it was the deal of a lifetime.

How naïve she had been.

She swiped away the latest message from her husband—no doubt another sternly worded reminder demanding her to hustle her ass down to Hagen General.