Chapter 2 – Bargain of Blood
“You want what?” James’s voice echoed down the hospital corridor like a thrown bottle.
Elaine didn’t flinch. “Marry me.”
He stared at her like she’d grown horns. “You think this is a negotiation?”
Lucia’s pale figure lay behind the glass, tubes coiled into her arms like vines, monitors ticking like a countdown.
Elaine’s voice remained steady. “I’m the only full marrow match. Without me, she might not make it.”
James’s fists clenched. “You’re using her illness to trap me?”
“I’m giving you a solution,” Elaine said. “One you can control. I marry you, I donate. She lives.”
“You’re disgusting.”
She ignored that. “And once she recovers, she goes abroad. No contact. Ever.”
“You want her out of the country too?”
Elaine nodded. “A clean break. For all of us.”
James laughed bitterly. “You’re sick.”
Elaine stepped closer. “I love you.”
He snapped, “No. You’re obsessed.”
A beat of silence stretched between them.
“I can’t force you to love me,” she said quietly. “But I can save her. And I will. On one condition.”
His jaw tightened. “You think this buys you a future?”
“No. Just a beginning.”
He exhaled harshly, eyes red-rimmed. “You’d really go through with this?”
She reached into her coat and handed him a copy of the donor form, already signed. “Once the marriage is legal.”
“You’re not bluffing?”
“Try me.”
---
Her father’s hand slammed the hospital table. “Elaine, what the hell are you doing?”
“I’m making a choice,” she said calmly.
“A mistake, you mean,” he barked. “You can’t bargain a life for a ring!”
“She’s dying,” Elaine snapped. “And James won’t marry me willingly.”
“You’re turning this into a scandal.”
“No.” Elaine’s eyes burned. “I’m surviving it.”
Her stepmother murmured, “You always envied Lucia—now you’re showing the world how far you’ll go.”
Elaine met her gaze. “I never wanted her to die.”
“But you’ll exploit her illness,” she sneered.
Elaine turned to the window. Ambulances whined below, neon lights flashing like judgment. “No one forced James to agree.”
---
One week later, the press exploded.
**“WHIRLWIND LOVE: Whitaker Weds Mystery Woman Before Sister’s Operation”**
Photographers chased them down courthouse steps. James wore a gray suit like armor. Elaine wore ivory, sleeveless, no veil.
“Smile,” she whispered through clenched teeth.
James barely turned his head. “Don’t pretend this is a fairytale.”
Click. Click. Click.
They held hands for five seconds before James pulled away, straight into a black car.
Inside, he spoke first. “This changes nothing.”
Elaine nodded. “I know.”
“You’re not my wife.”
“No,” she agreed. “I’m your sacrifice.”
His eyes narrowed. “At least we understand each other.”
---
In the sterile recovery room, Elaine signed donor waivers with fingers gone cold.
A nurse smiled. “You’re very brave.”
“I’m just doing what I promised.”
Hours later, the marrow was extracted. Pain bloomed along her spine like wildfire. She gritted her teeth, tears slipping silently.
James never visited the recovery ward.
Lucia, however, sent flowers.
**“Thank you for saving me. Be kind to him. He’s always been fragile under pressure.”**
Elaine stared at the card, then threw it into the trash.
---
Honeymoon photos circulated on social media.
James and Elaine at a private island resort. Champagne. A kiss staged for investors.
In the shot, James’s hand hovered inches from her back. Elaine’s smile was forced.
Behind the image, silence stretched for miles.
In the suite that night, Elaine stood by the balcony. “We don’t have to pretend in private.”
James poured scotch. “Wasn’t planning to.”
She turned. “We could try, at least.”
He laughed. “Try what? Liking you?”
Her breath hitched. “You don’t have to love me—just don’t hate me.”
He walked past her. “That’s not a deal I can sign.”
---
Months passed.
James returned to boardrooms, his ring barely visible under cufflinks.
Elaine stayed home, filling her hours with charity work, trying to carve space in a life that refused her entry.
At dinner, she spoke of stocks. He scrolled through texts.
Once, she reached for his hand. He flinched.
“I’m not a monster,” she whispered.
“You’re not innocent either,” he replied.
Rain lashed against the glass, echoing her unspoken thought: maybe this was never about love.
Maybe it was always about power.
---
In public, she stood beside him like a mannequin.
Photographers shouted, “Mrs. Whitaker! Over here!”
James posed without touching her.
Elaine smiled as trained.
Later, in the car, he said, “Don’t forget we’re a brand.”
She replied, “I’m not your accessory.”
“Then stop acting like one.”
That night, she curled into the guest bed, knees drawn to chest, wedding ring cold against her skin.
She stared at the ceiling and whispered to no one, “Please. Just once. Look at me like I matter.”
---
One afternoon, Lucia called.
“I’m in Zurich now,” she said brightly. “Doctors say I’m fully clear. Isn’t that amazing?”
Elaine held the phone tightly. “That’s good news.”
Lucia’s voice turned syrupy. “And James? How’s he been?”
Elaine stared at the piano keys. “Still playing your song.”
Lucia laughed. “He always loved that piece.”
Elaine’s voice dropped. “He never played for me.”
“Maybe you’re not his melody,” Lucia said sweetly. “But you’ll always be his deal.”
Elaine ended the call.
Her tea had gone cold.
So had everything else.
---
A year into the marriage, Elaine stopped wearing perfume.
He never noticed.
---
One evening, she stood on the rooftop balcony watching the city burn orange in the setting sun.
James joined her, uninvited.
“Investors liked the anniversary photos,” he said.
“I liked the photographer,” she replied. “He didn’t ask me to lie.”
James glanced at her. “You think this is punishment? You made the terms.”
“I thought time would change things.”
He scoffed. “So did I.”
They stood in silence.
Elaine asked softly, “Do you ever regret it?”
James didn’t answer.
Then he turned and walked away.
She remained, staring at the horizon.
The sky bled red, a warning written in clouds.
She whispered, “Storms are coming.”