The Husband Who Stole My Designs

Chapter 8 All Her Strength Drain Away

Her body hit the bottom of the cliff. Agony flooded her—so intense that even passing out would've been a relief.

Every nerve screamed. Every breath tasted like blood. She lay there until a rescue team finally arrived and lifted her onto a stretcher.

She heard a doctor's voice. "Multiple rib fractures. Ruptured spleen. It's a miracle she survived."

Noelle had barely caught her breath when Oscar burst into her hospital room with two bodyguards.

Without a word, he grabbed her arm, ready to drag her out. "Seren lost too much blood. She needs a transfusion. You're the only match in this hospital."

Noelle let out a bitter laugh. "You want to take my blood? Oscar, are you trying to kill me?"

She was wrapped in bandages from head to toe. Even the smallest movement made her break out in a sweat from the pain. And this man wanted to drain her blood for his lover?

Oscar's face hardened with impatience. "It's just 500cc. It won't kill you. Seren's in critical condition—you owe her this."

Noelle thought about how Oscar used to love her, how the slightest frown from her used to send him into a panic.

Now he kept hurting her for Seren, again and again. And now he wanted to drain her dry.

She forced herself to speak, each word costing her. "Oscar, if you take one drop of my blood, we're done."

For a second, something flickered in his chest—a dull ache he didn't expect.

Then a soft cough came from the next room. It was Seren's voice, fragile and weak.

Oscar's expression shifted. Whatever he'd felt vanished.

"Noelle, don't make this hard. Seren is our lead designer. I can't just ignore her." His voice was tight with urgency.

Noelle sneered. "So you're choosing her? Over me?"

Oscar frowned, saying, "I'm trying to save someone. Stop being difficult."

He turned to the doctor. "What are you waiting for? Do it."

The doctor's hand shook as he held the needle. "Mr. Pearson, Mrs. Pearson just went through a major fall. Her internal bleeding hasn't even stopped. Drawing blood now would only make her suffering far worse."

Oscar hesitated—maybe two seconds—then said, "Just do it. We'll buy her some supplements later. She'll be fine."

The needle slid in. Noelle felt all her strength drain away.

She lay there, freezing, unable to speak. The room spun. Through the haze, she saw Oscar wave over a bodyguard.

"Go get some chicken soup. With corn. I want it warm and ready for when Seren wakes up." His voice was soft, dripping with care.

He didn't look at Noelle, not once.

When the 500cc was finally drawn, Noelle could barely hold on to consciousness. But Oscar wasn't done. "Take a little more," he said. "Just in case Seren needs it."

As more blood left her body, something strange happened. The pain stopped.

She realized—when your heart died, your body stopped fighting.

Eventually, the needle came out. She couldn't stand and could barely see. Zara was the one holding her up.

They passed Seren's room. Through the door, she heard laughter, light and playful.

"I just woke up, and you're already feeding me soup?" Seren's voice was teasing. "What, you think I'm a pig? I'm not drinking that."

Then Oscar's voice sounded, tender in a way Noelle had never heard. "Be good, Seren. I booked the Kallara Hotel for your celebration tonight. You need to eat if you're gonna be the star of the show."