Bought By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex-Coach

The Father's Line

The bedside monitor let out a sharp, continuous alarm before Kallan could form an answer.

Behind the curtain, Aven shoved the nurse away, ignored the sharp ache in her cracked ribs, and ripped the fabric aside.

Rhea's head rolled limp against the white pillow. The clear plastic hood fogged over with fast, shallow gasps as the pulse line on the screen dropped toward zero.

"Rhea!" Aven slammed her bruised hands onto the crib rail, her voice cracking in the quiet room. "Look at me, baby. Stay with me!"

Dr. Ellis rushed through the doorway with two nurses right behind him, pushing an emergency cart across the floor.

"Step back, Ms. Cross," Dr. Ellis commanded, shoving past Kallan and tearing open a sterile syringe. "She is in respiratory arrest. We need airway access right now."

Kallan caught Aven's shoulders from behind, hauling her back from the bedside as the medical team crowded around the mattress.

"Get off me!" Aven twisted against his grip, her bare feet skidding across the floor. "Let me stay with her!"

"Let them work, Aven," Kallan ordered against her ear, his arms locking around her waist to hold her still. "Stop moving."

Dr. Ellis injected the medication into the IV line, lifted the plastic hood, and clamped a resuscitation mask over Rhea's mouth and nose. He squeezed the bag in steady pulses while the nurse checked the child's pupils.

For twenty seconds, the only sounds in the room were the rush of the hand pump and the frantic shrill of the heart monitor fighting to lock onto a beat.

Then the alarm stopped.

The numbers on the display climbed upward, and Rhea's chest began to rise and fall in a faint rhythm under the thin blanket.

Aven went limp in Kallan's hold, her legs shaking so hard she could barely support her own weight.

Dr. Ellis stripped off his gloves and threw them into the waste bin, his forehead covered in sweat.

"We cannot wait until the six o'clock shift," Dr. Ellis said, turning to face Kallan and Aven. "Her lung tissue is deteriorating faster than the initial scans indicated. If we do not begin the surgery immediately, she will not survive another drop."

"Take her into the theater," Kallan said, keeping one arm firmly around Aven's waist. "Prep the room."

"We have a major problem," Dr. Ellis said, picking up the clipboard from the counter. "The procedure requires an active whole blood transfusion to maintain vascular pressure during the repair. The hospital blood bank has zero compatible units for her profile in reserve."

"Take my blood," Aven said without hesitation, breaking free from Kallan's hold and stepping forward. "Take everything you need. I'm her mother."

Dr. Ellis nodded to the charge nurse. "Set Ms. Cross up in the exam bay. Draw five hundred milliliters immediately and rush it to the lab for crossmatching."

The nurse guided Aven to the vinyl stool, tied a rubber band around her bruised left arm, and drove a thick needle into her vein. Dark red blood surged down the clear tube, filling the collection bag in heavy pulses.

Aven clenched her teeth against the dizziness, breathing through the pain as the blood left her body.

Kallan stood three paces away, his arms folded across his dark suit jacket, watching every drop enter the bag. His eyes remained fixed on Aven's pale face, unreadable and cold.

"Pressure on the site," the nurse said four minutes later, pulling the needle free and pressing a thick gauze pad over Aven's inner elbow. "Taking this to testing right now."

The nurse ran out of the room with the warm pouch.

Aven stood up on trembling legs, holding the gauze flat against her arm. She walked back to the crib, rested her hand on the plastic dome, and stared down at her daughter's pale features.

"She's going to make it," Aven said under her breath.

"You're shaking, Aven," Kallan said from behind her.

"Leave me alone," she muttered.

Six minutes passed before the door swung open again. Dr. Ellis walked inside, holding a fresh lab printout, his brow drawn tight in concern.

Aven turned around instantly. "Is it ready? Can you start the surgery now?"

Dr. Ellis stopped at the foot of the crib, looking between the printed paper and Aven.

"We cannot use your blood, Ms. Cross," Dr. Ellis said quietly.

Aven went rigid. "What are you talking about? I am her biological mother. How does it not match?"

Kallan stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "Explain the problem, Doctor."

"Ms. Cross is Type O positive," Dr. Ellis said, pointing to the red ink on the report. "Your daughter possesses a rare blood subtype with an atypical antigen structure that aggressively rejects standard maternal blood in this procedure. This specific genetic profile cannot be inherited from the mother in this combination."

Aven's heart slammed against her ribs.

"What does that mean?" Kallan asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone.

"It means the child inherited this exact blood profile directly from her biological father," Dr. Ellis said. "Without matching paternal blood or a specialized unit from the national registry—which would take five hours to deliver—we cannot operate without triggering fatal systemic organ rejection."

Aven gripped the steel crib rail until her knuckles turned white, her breath locking in her chest.

"No," Aven whispered, panic rising in her voice. "Run it again. Your lab made a mistake."

"We verified the sample twice," Dr. Ellis said firmly. "There is no mistake. Is the father in the city? We need him here right now."

"He is dead," Aven said, her voice shaking in raw desperation. "He died two years ago. Find another way. Use synthetic plasma. Use an alternative filter. You cannot let her die in this bed!"

"Synthetic substitutes will trigger instant pulmonary collapse in a child with her condition," Dr. Ellis said, shaking his head. "We have less than fifteen minutes before her respiratory system shuts down completely."

Kallan stepped straight into Aven's path, trapping her against the cold steel of the crib. He leaned down until his mouth was inches from her face, his dark gaze burning into her eyes.

"Are you done lying to me, Aven?" Kallan whispered, his voice deadly quiet. "You really going to let our daughter die on this table to keep your secret?"

Aven stared at him, her chest heaving, the breath trapped in her throat as tears filled her eyes.

Kallan stepped back, tore off his suit jacket with one swift motion, and threw it onto the side chair. He unbuttoned his cuff, rolled the sleeve up past his elbow, and extended his bare forearm directly toward Dr. Ellis.

"Draw the sample," Kallan commanded. "Right now."

Dr. Ellis blinked in sheer confusion, looking between Kallan's bare arm and Aven's frozen face.

"Mr. Vex, you don't understand," Dr. Ellis started, holding his hands up. "I just explained to you that only the biological father carries the matching—"

"I heard every word you said," Kallan cut in, his voice ringing hard through the room. "What makes you think I'm not the father?"