The Blood Bag's Billion-Dollar Revenge

“I was in the kitchen of the Vance mansion, slicing black truffles worth more than my car while my mother-in-law, Victoria, mocked my "backwoods" origins. My back throbbed from standing for six hours, and my head spun from the chronic anemia I'd developed since marrying into this family. Suddenly, my phone vibrated with a call from my husband, Julian. He didn't ask if I was okay or if I'd eaten; he simply ordered me to get to the hospital because his "fragile" friend Caroline needed another emergency blood transfusion. "Her hemoglobin is low, Seraphina. Get to St. Luke's now." I looked down at my left arm, which was a roadmap of bruises and needle marks hidden beneath my sweater. When I tried to tell him that the medical guidelines forbade donating again so soon, Julian's voice turned dangerous. "I don't care about guidelines. She's in crisis, and your anemia is manageable. Are you really going to be this selfish after the life we gave you?" Seconds later, a photo arrived from an unknown number. It showed Julian sitting on Caroline's hospital bed, tenderly feeding her apples. The text underneath was a visceral slap in the face: "He wouldn't even eat dinner with you, but he's feeding me. Thanks for the refill, blood bag." At that moment, something inside me finally snapped. I realized that to the Vances, I wasn't a wife or even a human being-I was a biological spare part, a servant they kept around only to be drained dry for a woman who was faking her illness. I untied my apron, dropped it into the trash, and walked past a screaming Victoria toward the front door. I picked up the phone and dialed the one number I had been forbidden to contact since my wedding day. "Mr. Henderson, it's Seraphina Sterling. Prepare the divorce papers. And if they contest it... burn their entire empire to the ground."”