ONE NIGHT, ONE CONTRACT

The day started with crayons, laughter and the sound of little sneakers squeaking on the classroom floor. Sienna Blake had dropped Ethan off that morning. She kissed his forehead and promised to buy him some ice cream after school. He grinned and he was missing one of his front teeth, and he said, Strawberry, Mom. Two scoops.” She would never have imagined those words would be echoing in her head hours later in the white chaos of the hospital corridor. The call came just after noon. She was with a client, the kind that complained about centerpiece colours and scented candles. When her phone buzzed she almost ignored it - until the name of the school flashed on the screen. "Ms. Blake," the wavering voice said, "Ethan fainted at the time of his presentation. He’s being rushed to St. Luke’s.” The world tilted. A pen slipped from her hands. She didn't recall the drive aside from red lights that she didn't stop at and horns that blared behind her. Now, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency ward, Sienna could hardly breathe. The scents of antiseptic burnt her nose. Somewhere down the hall a monitor beeped - steady, mechanical, too calm for the panic tearing through her chest. A nurse in blue scrubs rushed by and Sienna grabbed her arm. My son - Ethan Blake, six years old - they said he's here - "Room 3B," said the nurse softly and she knew her fear. “He’s stable for now, ma’am. Please, just take a breath.” Stable for now. Those words never meant safe. When Sienna forced her way through the door into Room 3B, she felt her knees almost buckle. Ethan looked so small on the hospital bed, with wires going off and on from his arms, with an oxygen mask over his tiny mouth. His fingers were weakly twitching on the blanket. It took two steps for her to make it to him, her hand was trembling as it touched his forehead. “Hey, baby. Mommy’s here. You hear me?” His eyelids fluttered. “Mommy…” “Yes, sweetheart, I’m right here.” The nurse next to the bed said nothing but smiled gently. “He’s strong. But his blood sugar was crashing and what we found in his tests was something unusual. We’re running a crossmatch.” Sienna’s mind blanked. “Crossmatch?” The nurse told him he was blood type B negative. “It’s extremely rare. Site blood bank: we don't have compatible blood Her heart stuttered. “So you’re saying—” The nurse started checking the monitor when we heard "now" because we're looking at the donor registry. "The patient is going to need a transfusion soon." Sienna swallowed hard pushing down the rising panic. She'd always known that Ethan's blood was special - that he had inherited it from somebody, though she'd never allowed herself to consider who. Not again. She waited, waiting, and paced her heels, arms crossed tight across her chest. Minutes dragged into a half hour until the nurse came back, with a printed sheet in hand. “Good news,” she said. There's a registered donor here a New York City that has a perfect B negative match." A living donor.” Relief was like the cold air after drowning. “Who is it? How fast can they get here?” The nurse was going to say something but looked at the paper then at Sienna's face. “His name is… Damian Holt.” The sound was a punch in the ribs. She thought she heard a heartbeat and thought it was her imagination. “Who?” The nurse read it again. “Damian Holt. Listed under Holt industries. He's signed up to be a universal donor in the case of an emergency. It says he’s—” "I know who he is," screamed Sienna in a whisper. Her throat felt dry as paper. The room rocked and she reached out to the edge of the metal table to steady herself. Six years - she hadn't said that name, not out loud, not even in her thoughts without flinching. Damian Holt. The man she'd known for one night too long. The man that showed her that some mistakes are heartbeats. She looked away, blinking hard as images crashed through her mind - his voice, deep and quiet; how he looked at her like he was trying to memorize her face; the morning after, when he left without a word. Six years. Six long years of silence. And now his name was shining on a hospital screen, bound up with her son's blood. "Can you call him?!" she asked, making her voice sound stable. We are able to contact his assistant through the registry. "He's been a donor for a number of hospitals," the nurse replied. "But he will need to personally approve it." Sienna’s stomach twisted. Damian Holt didn't just "approve" things - he commanded them. The youngest billionaire in New York, heir to an empire of steel, tech and rumors. She'd seen his face in magazines, always with women who looked nothing like her. Always cold and always unreachable She looked at Ethan whose tiny chest rose and fell too slowly. “Please. Just call him. Do whatever it takes.” The nurse nodded her head and left. When the door closed, Sienna fell down in the chair next to Ethan's bed and buried her face in her hands. To no one whispered she "Why him?" But there was no answer, just an answer: the sound of the shallow breathing of her son and the quiet hum of the machines to keep him steady. She didn't notice that she was crying until her tears landed on the back of her hand. She wiped them away quickly as the door was creaking open again. A young woman came over, phone in ear. “Ms. Blake? I'm calling for Holt Industries. Mr. Holt's office received a medical authorization request for an emergency transfusion. Are you able to confirm the patient's relation to you?" Sienna’s pulse thudded. “My son. Ethan Blake.” “Understood. I'll have to establish that there is an urgency before contacting Mr. Holt directly." The way it was phrased was so clinical it almost broke her. Confirm urgency? Her son was struggling for his life. She swallowed the anger and said "Tell him it's an emergency." There was a pause. Then Sienna said quietly, almost shaking, and said, "And tell him it's mine." The line went silent. She could hear typing in the background, perhaps the soft hum of an office - and then - click. The call ended. She leaned back, looking at nothing but the ceiling. Her heart just would not stop beating. Minutes later, a nurse arrived with some new saline. "His response is good but we still need that blood in an hour." Sienna nodded without being able to form words. Her eyes concentrated on Ethan, remembering the turn of his lashes, the shape of his little hand against the sheet. Every inch of him was hers - every breath, every scar, every heartbeat. But there was one thing that she can't deny, no matter how much she wants to, the man whose blood now stood between life and death. Half an hour passed. Then an hour. Finally the sound of hurried footsteps disturbed the stillness. The nurse came out again a bit out of breath. “Ms. Blake-the just confirmed donor. His driver’s en route. They'll be bringing the blood right from Holt Medical Storage." Sienna exhaled shakily. “Thank you.” But relief didn’t come. Not really. Not if his name still remained in her head like a ghost she never exorcised. A rain had painted the window outside, and the city was vanished into blurred silver lines. Sienna held her forehead to the glass and closed her eyes. She recalled the last time that she saw Damian Holt - before the chaos, before the guilt. A dark suite, the taste of faint whiskey, sound of a rain on hotel windows. His hand in her hair. His voice whispering things that she wanted to believe. I don’t make promises, Sienna. Neither did she. Not anymore. A knock broke her thoughts. The nurse poked her head in. “The courier just arrived. The transfusion is to begin in a few minutes." “Thank you,” Sienna murmured. She sat down again next to Ethan's bed and threaded her fingers through his tiny ones. His skin felt cold. She massaged it, murmuring low, "You're gonna be okay, baby. Mommy’s not going anywhere.” The nurse adjusted a tube (IV) line, hanging the clear bag of red fluid above the bed. Sienna's eye was caught by the label: Donor: Holt, Damian E. | Type: B- | Approved: URGENT. Her heart clenched. The nurse put up the needle into your body without hurting you by checking vitals. The crimson line started bleeding, and wound its way through the tubing to Ethan's veins. Sienna stared at it - at the lifeblood of a man she had sworn to eradicate from her memory now becoming mixed with her son. Fate was cruel. She remained like that, motionless, watching the slow rhythm of the transfusion. With every drop the past she buried got closer. When the machine beeped steadily again the nurse smiled. “He’s stabilizing.” Sienna felt her throat close. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. She hesitated, then answered. A deep familiar male voice slid through the line. “Sienna.” Her entire body went still. Six years passed in a blink of the eye. That voice - low and steady and unmistakable - was a memory she'd never run away from. “Damian.” Silence stretched between them for a long time. Then in that clipped unreadable tone, he said, "My assistant told me that it was your call." “Yes.” Her voice shook. “Ethan needed a donor. You were the only match.” “I see.” No emotion. No shock. Just those two flat words that hurt her more than all the anger. "Thank you for agreeing," she whispered. Another pause. Then: “I’ll be there soon.” The line went dead. Sienna slowly lowered the phone and her heart was hammering in her chest. She looked at Ethan, at the gentle sound of his breathing, and whispered it to herself, "God, why now?”