Chapter 12

Rosalind

The coldness of the operating table seeped through the thin gown into my spine. I strained against the handcuffs that bound my wrists and ankles, the metal digging into my skin as I struggled.

"Help! Someone help me!" My voice had grown hoarse from screaming. No one came. No one would come.

The door to the operating theater swung open, and I lit up with hope—only for that hope to be crushed as I saw who entered.

Hannah, smiling serenely, wheeled herself toward me. Gone was the sobbing, pitiful creature from the hospital garden. In her place sat a woman with eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Oh, cousin," she said, her silvery voice dripping with fake concern, "don't wear yourself out. You can't have surgery when you're all worked up like this, can you?"

I clenched my fists, determination surging through me despite my restraints. "Hannah! You're not getting my bone marrow! I'll fight you till my last breath!"

She laughed, a condescending sound that echoed through the sterile room. "Sweet, clueless Rosalind. Did you really think Grandpa Everett's protection would last forever? Calloway gets everything in the end, remember?" She leaned closer, digging her fingernails into my arm. "Your bone marrow? Just an excuse. Our HLAs were never even close to matching, were they? Not even in the ballpark."

I stared at her, stunned. "Not a match? Then why..." The horrifying realization dawned on me. "Oh my God. You never wanted my bone marrow. You just wanted me dead!"

Her laughter cascaded through the room, chilling me to the bone. "Not as stupid as you look, are you? Yes, dead! So the engagement's off. So Calloway's mine, no strings attached!"

Hannah's features twisted into something almost inhuman. "Why should you get to be the princess, Rosalind? Why did being born a few years earlier give you everything I deserved? I'm a Blackwell too!"

Goosebumps prickled across my skin. I struggled harder against my restraints, the reality of my situation crashing down upon me. "You're both psychotic! Killing someone over this?"

"Psychotic with jealousy, maybe!" Her eyes glittered with malice. "It's my turn now, cousin!"

Then, with a delicate gesture, she reached over and gently adjusted the thin blanket lying across my lap, her fingers deftly ensuring it covered the cold steel of the handcuffs binding my wrists.

The door opened again, and a team of doctors entered, led by a man.

"Dr. Hathaway," Hannah greeted him, her demeanor instantly shifting to that of a delicate patient.

"Let's prep for anesthesia," he said professionally, not looking directly at me.

Another doctor stepped forward, his eyes bright with respect. "Dr. Hathaway," he began, his admiration obvious. "Sir, with your incredible skill, a procedure like this must be routine for you. If you'd be okay with it, I'd be honored to take the lead. You could just supervise, or even take it easy."

I watched in confusion as Dr. Hathaway's gaze flickered to me, lingering for a moment on my pale face and the tremor in my clasped hands. For an instant, a hint of concern clouded his expression. But it vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a broad, encouraging smile directed at the younger doctor.

"Ah," he said, his tone now warm and almost cheerful. "That's the spirit, kid. Back when I was a resident, I used to dream about getting a chance to lead a procedure like this, but I never had the guts to actually ask for it." He gave an approving nod. "Alright then, you've got it. Go ahead."

"No!" I screamed, my voice breaking with desperation. "I didn't agree to this! Let me go! Help me! This isn't consensual!"

Hannah offered Dr. Hathaway a soothing smile. "She's just a little nervous about the risks, Doctor. Pre-surgery jitters. Rosalind, honey, be a good girl now. Everything's gonna be fine, you'll see."

The anesthetist approached with a syringe. I thrashed wildly, but it was futile. The needle pierced my skin, and almost immediately, my eyelids began to feel heavier.

"No... please..." My voice was fading, consciousness slipping away.

In my fading awareness, faces flashed before me—my parents, Paige, Everett, and finally, unexpectedly, Beckett. His stern features, the way he'd looked at me that first day at City Hall, the brief moments when his mask had slipped to reveal something that might have been tenderness.

"I'm sorry, Beckett..." I murmured subconsciously as darkness claimed me.