IN HER VEINS

CHAPTER 2

Behind the billion-dollar empire and the impenetrable facade of power, Sylvester Jones harbored a truth that could destroy him: a rare, lethal blood disorder. It was his curse, a genetic anomaly so severe it rendered him incompatible with nearly every known donor. His life depended on finding a match—a task that had proven as elusive as catching a shadow.

No one outside his trusted circle knew. Xavier, his loyal bodyguard, and Dr. Evelyn Harper, his private physician, were the only ones aware of the silent battle threatening his life. Together, they guarded his secret like a fortress, ensuring that no whispers escaped into the world that admired him for his invincibility.

But Sylvester wasn’t invincible. Far from it.

Every morning, as he donned his tailored suits and perfected his charismatic facade, the fatigue gnawed at him. The anemia left him breathless after even the smallest exertion. The fainting spells came without warning, each one a reminder of how precarious his grip on life had become.

The outside world saw a commanding figure—sharp, confident, unrelenting. They didn’t see the bloodwork reports or the experimental treatments that left him weaker than before. They didn’t see the long nights spent clutching his desk, forcing himself upright when his body wanted to collapse.

Three weeks ago, there had been a glimmer of hope. A private blood bank in India claimed to have a sample similar to his rare blood type. It was rushed to his private lab, tested and retested. The results came back: another false lead.

“We keep searching,” Xavier had said. His voice, usually unshakable, carried an edge of frustration.

“And we don’t stop until we find it,” Sylvester had replied, though the weight of failure pressed heavily on him. Each disappointment cut deeper, leaving scars invisible to everyone but himself.

That night, after the incident at the mall, Sylvester couldn’t shake the image of her—the girl he’d saved. Her terrified gaze, her trembling gratitude, and the way her arms had wrapped around him in desperation—it lingered. It gnawed at him.

He had saved her life. Yet, he couldn’t save his own.

Seated in the silence of his penthouse, he stared out at the city’s glittering skyline. The scotch on the table beside him remained untouched, the amber liquid refracting the glow of distant lights. His mind raced. Was their encounter a coincidence, or something more?

Fate had never been kind to him. Why now? Why her?

Sylvester leaned forward, his eyes narrowing on the unopened envelope on his desk. It contained the latest report on his condition—another dead end, or perhaps the harbinger of his final days. The stark white paper felt heavier than it should. His hand hovered over it before withdrawing.

Not yet.

He closed his eyes, but instead of solace, memories flooded his mind. Years of futile attempts to combat the disease: the private labs, the think tanks, the experimental trials. He had thrown millions—billions, even—into a fight he couldn’t win. Dr. Harper often spoke of breakthroughs on the horizon, but the horizon never seemed to get closer.

Sylvester Jones stood amidst the lingering chaos of the mall, the faint echo of panicked voices blending into an unsettling quiet. He stared at his hands, now smeared with blood—a visceral reminder of the life he had just saved. Around him, the air was electric, alive with tension and unanswered questions. Yet all he could remember were her eyes—wide, imploring, unforgettable.

“Sir, your jacket.” Xavier’s calm but insistent tone broke through Sylvester’s haze.

Sylvester blinked, grounding himself in the moment. He glanced down and frowned at the crimson-streaked white of his shirt, the vivid stain tugging at something primal in him.

“Let’s get you a clean one,” Xavier said before Sylvester could speak, already striding toward the waiting car.

Sylvester exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he replayed the rescue. The way she had clung to him—desperate, yet steady, as though his presence alone could keep her tethered to life. He hadn’t even asked her name.

Moments later, Xavier returned, his pace brisk and efficient. “Here.” He handed over a fresh shirt, folded with military precision.

Sylvester stripped off the bloodied one, the cool air biting at his skin. “Where is she now?” he asked, his voice low but commanding.

“Gone with the ambulance,” Xavier replied, casting a glance toward the retreating sirens. “She’ll be in good hands.”

Sylvester nodded absently, buttoning the clean shirt. But the hollow feeling in his chest lingered, as if leaving her behind had been a mistake. He adjusted his cuffs and stepped toward the car.

“Drive to the hospital,” he ordered.

Xavier hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Sir, the situation’s handled. You don’t need to—”

“Just drive, Xavier.”

The finality in his tone brooked no argument. Xavier nodded, sliding behind the wheel.

The hospital’s antiseptic smell hit Sylvester the moment he walked through the automatic doors. The usual authority in his stride was tinged with something unfamiliar—urgency. He approached the reception desk, a small bouquet of white lilies in hand, their delicate fragrance contrasting the clinical atmosphere.

“Excuse me,” he said. “A young woman was brought in earlier from the mall. She collapsed.”

The receptionist, a kindly woman with graying hair, typed into her computer. “Do you have her name?”

“No,” Sylvester admitted, his frustration simmering. “But it was less than two hours ago. She was unconscious.”

The receptionist frowned, scrolling through records. “I’m sorry, sir, but she’s already been discharged.”

“Discharged?” The word struck like a hammer.

“She left about an hour ago,” the receptionist explained. “She must have been stable enough to go home.”

Sylvester nodded stiffly, his mind spinning. Stable—but where? With whom? And why did the idea of her leaving without a trace feel so wrong?

Back in the car, the silence stretched. Xavier glanced at Sylvester through the rearview mirror, his expression cautious. “No luck?”

“She’s gone,” Sylvester said, his voice clipped, the lilies resting untouched on the seat beside him.

Xavier hesitated. “Maybe it’s for the best. She’s okay, right? That’s what matters.”

Sylvester didn’t respond. His thoughts were already elsewhere. The woman had entered his life like a lightning bolt, and now, just as quickly, she was gone. But something deep inside him whispered that their paths would cross again.

The sleek car hummed through the city streets, the glow of streetlights casting fleeting patterns across Sylvester’s face. He stared out the window, his fingers tightening around the cuff of his shirt. She had been a stranger—a fleeting encounter. And yet, she had left behind a question he couldn’t ignore.