Bought By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex-Coach

The Perfect Match

The needle slid straight into the thick vein on Kallan's forearm without a flinch from the man.

The charge nurse drew two vials for testing and hooked a collection bag to the line, filling the donor pack with swift pulses of dark blood. She marked the label with a black pen and rushed the test vials through the double doors toward the lab.

Aven leaned her back against the wall, her hands clenched so tightly her fingernails dug into her skin. Her chest burned with every breath, but she couldn't take her eyes off the red liquid pooling on the counter.

Three minutes passed in dead silence.

The lab doors swung open, and Dr. Ellis hurried back into the room, holding the printed readout under both hands. His eyes moved straight to Kallan.

"It is a direct match," Dr. Ellis said, his voice breathless. "Every single rare antigen marker lines up across the board. The blood is fully compatible."

"It is a statistical coincidence," Aven said, pushing off the wall despite the pain in her side. "People share rare blood profiles all the time without being related."

"Ms. Cross, the odds of this specific combination occurring in an unrelated donor are less than one in fifty thousand," Dr. Ellis said, adjusting his glasses. "This profile is an exact paternal match."

"I don't care about your statistics," Aven said, her voice rising in the small space. "He is not her father."

"Enough," Dr. Ellis said firmly, stepping between them. "We are losing precious time. The surgical team is scrubbing in, and the child's oxygen saturation is dropping again. Stop arguing and let us take her to the theater."

Two orderlies unlocked the wheels of Rhea's crib, detached the wall monitors, and wheeled the cart out into the corridor at a rapid pace.

Aven stepped forward to follow them, but Kallan caught her wrist.

"They're taking her into surgery, Aven," Kallan said, his voice flat and controlled. "You can't go inside the sterile zone."

Aven pulled her arm free, but she didn't walk after the gurney. She knew the hospital rules.

She turned on her heel and walked into the small private exam room across the hall, sitting down on the vinyl table.

Kallan followed her inside and shut the door behind them.

Aven braced herself for the inevitable interrogation. She waited for him to demand the truth, to corner her about the exact timeline, or to bring up the five years she spent hiding across state lines under fake names.

Kallan did none of that.

He didn't ask a single question. He didn't even mention the blood match.

Instead, Kallan stepped to the doorway, opened it a fraction, and called down the hall.

"Nurse," Kallan said. "Finish treating her injuries."

Aven watched him with narrow eyes. The complete lack of anger made her stomach churn far worse than any open threat.

The nurse walked into the room carrying a stainless tray with fresh antiseptic pads, gauze wraps, and a wide elastic rib binder.

"Let's get that eyebrow cleaned up first," the nurse said, stepping up to the exam table.

Aven stayed still while the nurse wiped the dried blood from her brow with an alcohol pad. The sharp sting made her flinch, but she didn't make a sound.

"The cut isn't deep enough for stitches," the nurse said, pressing a butterfly bandage over the split skin. "Now we need to secure those cracked ribs before the swelling gets worse."

The nurse picked up the thick elastic binder and unrolled the velcro straps.

"You need to take your shirt off, Ms. Cross," the nurse said, gesturing to the bloodstained gray tank top clinging to Aven's skin. "The compression wrap has to sit directly against your skin to stabilize the bone."

Aven grabbed the hem of her shirt, then froze.

She glanced across the small room. Kallan stood right beside the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked onto her face.

He didn't look away, and he made no move to leave.

Aven cleared her throat loudly, giving him an unmistakable signal.

Kallan tilted his head, his face completely blank. "Something wrong with your throat?"

"You know what I mean, Kallan," Aven said, her voice tight. "Excuse us."

Kallan stayed planted right where he stood, his eyebrows lifting in dry disbelief.

"Are you seriously telling me to leave?" Kallan asked.

Aven's face flushed with sudden heat. "Yes. I am."

"Aven, we spent three years sharing the same bed," Kallan said, his voice ringing loud and clear in the small room. "I know every inch of your body. What exactly are you trying to hide from me now?"

The nurse coughed into her fist, quickly looking down at the tray of bandages on the cart.

Aven's cheeks burned red. She dug her fingers into the edge of the vinyl table, glaring straight into Kallan's dark eyes.

"That was five years ago," Aven hissed, keeping her voice low. "Get out of the room."

Kallan held her gaze for three long seconds.

Then, without another word of protest or a single sarcastic remark, he turned around, gripped the silver door handle, and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Aven blinked at the empty doorway, caught completely off guard by how fast he had backed down.

Kallan never conceded an argument. He never gave up ground without taking something bigger in return.

"All right, Ms. Cross," the nurse said, breaking the silence. "Let's get this top off and get you bound up."

Aven pulled the tank top over her head, though her mind remained fixed on the hallway door.

Out in the quiet corridor, Kallan stopped two feet past the door frame.

The calm mask on his face instantly vanished.

He reached his hand deep into the front pocket of his dress trousers and pulled out a small, transparent specimen pouch.

Inside the plastic lay a single, long strand of dark hair.

Kallan ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the pouch, touching the strand he had lifted from Rhea's pillow before the alarms had sounded.

His jaw tightened as he looked down at the hair under the cold fluorescent ceiling lights, his dark eyes completely focused.

"Keep arguing, Aven," Kallan muttered under his breath. "Let's see how you deny this one."

He slid the plastic pouch back into his inner pocket and took out his phone. His thumb stopped on a single contact, and he pressed call on the name: Dr. Liora.