My Blood Fed Her First Love
Jack · Completed · 7.1k Words
Introduction
My wife, Juliana, was kneeling beside a man named Sebastian. "Take my husband's blood! I will take full responsibility if anything happens!"
Drop by drop, my lifeblood was drained from me, flowing into the body of her first love.
After three days and nights of struggling in the ICU, I finally regained consciousness, only to hear her scornful words outside the door: "Sacrificing a mediocre researcher for the health of my Muse is a worthwhile trade."
So, the five years of tender affection, the specially prepared nutritional soups she brought me every night—it was all to squeeze the last drop of blood from me.
She thought I would remain in the dark like a loyal dog, letting her take whatever she wanted.
Too bad she didn't know that I had quietly poured out that "medicine" and called the Security Bureau.
It was time for the hunter and the prey to switch roles.
Chapter 1
On our third wedding anniversary, Juliana rear-ended Sebastian's car. Sebastian was her first love.
That rainy night, at the crash site, I was bleeding internally.
She pressed on my wound, not to stop the bleeding. Instead, she screamed at the paramedics, "Draw my husband's blood now! He and Sebastian are both Rh-negative! Save Sebastian first!"
The paramedic was stunned. "Ma'am, this patient is hemorrhaging too. This violates protocol..."
"I'm his wife!" Juliana almost roared. "I accept full responsibility! Do it now!"
I was in hemorrhagic shock, yet she wanted to drain my blood to save another man.
"Juliana..." I tried to plead.
She didn't even glance at me, just knelt beside the man named Sebastian, holding him as if he were a priceless treasure.
The needle pierced my vein.
My blood flowed, drop by drop, into his body.
Before I lost consciousness, I heard Juliana say, "Don't be afraid, Sebastian. I'm right here."
Three days.
I lingered at death's door for three days before my damned will to live dragged me back.
When I woke, the smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils.
Behind the curtain, Juliana and a doctor were arguing in hushed tones.
"Juliana, are you insane? He's your husband! He has severe post-op anemia, and you had them draw more blood while he was unconscious? He could have died!"
"Shut up, Evans." Juliana's tone was resolute. "You took my money, so do your job and keep quiet. Sebastian is having another rejection episode. He needs the golden blood. You know how rare Rh-negative blood is. Fewer than fifty people in the world have it."
"So you're using your husband as an inexhaustible blood bank?! I won't help you with this. He'll die."
Juliana's voice was devoid of emotion, even tinged with self-righteous arrogance.
"Calvin has lived a luxurious life these past five years, something most people couldn't achieve in several lifetimes. It's a fair exchange. Sebastian is my Muse. His talent, his inspiration, are the source of my art. To preserve that perfection, what does sacrificing a mediocre researcher matter?"
A mediocre researcher.
I lay in bed, my eyes dry and stinging.
Memories of the past five years flashed through my mind like a bizarre slideshow.
"Calvin, you're too weak. This is a special nutritional supplement I prepared for you." That was to boost my blood production.
"Darling, it's just a routine check-up. We need to prepare for our future family." That check-up was to monitor the quality of my blood.
"Don't go to the institute. I can't bear to see you suffer with all that tedious data." That was to stop me from contacting colleagues and discovering the anomalies in my body.
I understood.
When the curtain was swished open, I pretended to have just woken up.
"Calvin! Thank God, you're finally awake. I was so worried."
Juliana rushed over and grabbed my hand, still playing the role of the devoted wife.
Before, I would have been moved to tears and fallen into her embrace.
But now, looking at her was like looking at a corpse covered in flies, filling me with disgust.
I knew she was acting.
Perhaps this was her greatest surgery of all—dissecting my trust and stitching it together with lies.
"I want some water..."
My voice was weak as I subtly pulled my hand back under the covers, avoiding her touch.
"What happened? I hurt all over."
Juliana's eyes flickered.
She poured a glass of water, inserted a straw, and brought it to my lips, her tone gentle. "You lost a lot of blood. It's a normal post-op reaction. I've arranged for the best medical team to take care of you."
"What about the person in the other car?" I asked, looking directly into her eyes.
"Just a stranger, don't worry." She smiled. "Don't overthink it. When you feel better, we'll go to Zurich next week. The sanatorium there faces the Alps, the place you always wanted to visit. Just the two of us, okay?"
Zurich.
That was the promise she made when she proposed.
Five years overdue.
"Okay." I lowered my eyelids, my long lashes hiding the churning coldness beneath. "I'll go along with whatever you arrange."
Juliana visibly relaxed.
The next day at noon, the so-called "Zurich trip" was, unsurprisingly, canceled.
Juliana called, her voice full of regret. "Calvin, I'm so sorry. The academy has called an emergency meeting on stem cell transplantation. I have to attend. The Zurich trip might have to be postponed."
"It's fine. Work comes first," I said into the phone.
After hanging up, I found Sebastian's social media account.
Just five minutes ago—exactly when Juliana claimed to be at an "emergency academic meeting"—Sebastian had posted an update.
The photo showed a pair of hands wearing an expensive wristwatch, stroking a purebred racing dog.
And on that wrist was a wedding band I knew all too well—Juliana's wedding band.
The caption was simple, but each word stabbed deep into my heart:
"Reborn. Grateful to my personal physician, who not only gave me a second life but also the courage to run towards the future. #Grateful #NewLife"
The cold metallic sheen of that watch looked just like the fluid that had drained from me that rainy night.
What he was enjoying wasn't affection.
It was luxury bought with my flesh and blood.
Looking at that photo, the last trace of warmth in my heart vanished completely.
I opened my contacts and stopped at the number labeled "Mentor."
Five years ago, when I decided to get married and put my research on hold, he had pointed a finger at me and scolded me.
He said it was a loss to academia.
He said I would regret it.
I took a deep breath and pressed the call button.
"Professor Williams, it's Calvin. That project you mentioned before about 'extreme tolerance and rejection reactions in Rh-negative blood types'—you haven't found a suitable test subject, have you?"
"This time, I'm not just your researcher. I am your best—and your only—living test specimen. My blood, my body, my data—they're all yours. Please, help me get out of here."
My voice grew choked.
Five years.
For five years, I thought I had found a home, that I could be a truly loved husband.
But reality showed me it was all a lie.
With my dreams shattered, I needed to reclaim my life.
"Professor..." I finally couldn't hold back the tears. "I want to come back to work."
Just then, footsteps sounded at the door.
Juliana was back.
"Calvin? Who are you talking to?"
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