Chapter 5

Charisse shut off her phone and hunched over, burying her face in her arms. The surgery dragged on till dawn before her father was finally wheeled out. Though he'd made it past the worst part, he only woke up for a couple of minutes before slipping back into a deep coma. A doctor called Charisse into the office, pointing at some scans while speaking seriously. "Your father's liver is in really bad shape. It's life-threatening. Our recommendation is a liver transplant as soon as possible." Her eyes widened slightly. "A liver transplant?" "Yes. The cost isn't the biggest issue—it's the organ. Right now, there's no compatible donor in our system, so your family should try to look elsewhere too. The sooner the transplant, the better the chance of recovery." The relief Charisse had felt from not having to stress over her father's medical bills after getting that five million—it vanished in a flash. She stumbled out of the office in a daze, then everything went pitch black. The next thing she knew, she was falling to the floor, hard. She vaguely heard quick footsteps approaching, then felt a firm yet gentle pair of hands lifting her up. She tried to see who it was, but her vision blurred too badly to make out any features. A familiar, calm voice asked, "Hey, are you okay?" She couldn't answer. It wasn't until she'd been carried onto a hospital bed, rushed into the ER, and hooked up to an IV drip that the haze in her vision finally started to clear. Not far away stood a tall figure in a white coat, his back facing her as he read through her chart. She coughed twice the moment she tried to speak. The man turned around and gave her a warm smile. "Feeling better?" Charisse nodded. "Yeah, much better. Thank you, Dr. Reid." Maxwell Reid walked over. "I told you to come in every two months for a blood test. It's been six months." "I didn't feel anything off, so I thought I was fine." He gently rested the back of his hand on hers. "This cold? You really think that's fine?" Charisse stayed quiet.Maxwell sat by her bed, his voice low and serious. "Anemia isn't a joke, Charisse. You've got a rare condition, you know you can't afford to get sick. If something goes wrong, it'll be impossible to even find compatible blood for you." The mention of blood brought back memories—his first time meeting Charisse. Back then, he was just a med student, doing rounds with his mentor. That night, they were called to a luxurious villa to treat someone. The patient was a teenage girl, unconscious, and the cause: massive blood loss. Yet there were no wounds. Then he noticed dozens of tiny needle marks along her arm. She eventually woke up, but soon someone came in, asking to draw more blood from her. His mentor refused firmly, but she insisted. The doctor finally managed to find a clear spot among the bruises to insert the needle. "Did he make it?" she asked, her voice quiet. The other doctor nodded. "Thanks to you, he's out of danger now." She let out a shaky breath. "Good. That's all I wanted." But the whole thing wrecked her. On top of donating too much blood, her mom passed away soon after. She was down for almost a year, and ever since, her body never fully bounced back. Anemia became a chronic issue. Strangely though, she seemed to have blocked it all out—never brought it up again in all the years that followed. Maxwell handed her a stack of meds and jotted a prescription. "Make sure you follow the schedule, all right? Set phone reminders, whatever it takes—don't keep forgetting." "Got it. I'll take them on time and come back for check-ups." "And about your dad's condition—I've heard too. Finding a matching donor is tough, but we're keeping an eye out. The hospital will contact you ASAP if there's any news." She nodded, then hesitated, asking, "Is the hospital the only place to look for a donor?" "There are some online forums too. I'll help you post something." He didn't mention the black market—but she already knew it existed. In Draycott, Clayton ran that scene. After leaving the hospital, she headed to a hotel to hand over her shift. Not long after, a group of tall, intimidating men approached her. "Miss Walton, Mr. Ellis would like a word."