Chapter 7 Your Blood Is Not Worth Much

Dominic looked down at the blood on his shoes.

Then glanced at Penelope kneeling on the floor.

He didn't crouch down, didn't reach out to help her up.

"Penelope," his voice was cold, like it was squeezed through clenched teeth, "you're using this kind of trick to get my attention?"

Penelope's hand covering her mouth was still trembling, blood running down her wrist and dripping onto the carpet.

She looked up at him, her eyes completely empty of expression.

"You think coughing up some blood will make me soften? Make me let go of what you did to Catherine?" Dominic took a step back, as if disgusted that she'd dirtied his shoes. "If you're going to put on a show, at least find a better way to do it."

Penelope said nothing, supporting herself against the bed frame as she slowly stood up.

Her legs were weak, her knees had been pressed against the floor too long, and she swayed when she got up.

Dominic had already turned around to grab his phone and dial a number.

"Catherine, wait at home, I'm coming back now to take you to the hospital for a checkup."

He hung up and walked to the door, stopping for two seconds.

He didn't look back.

"Clean up the floor."

The door closed.

Penelope stood in the middle of the bedroom, blood still on the corner of her mouth that she hadn't wiped clean.

She looked down at the dark red puddles on the carpet, blood also on her knees, her pajama sleeves soaked through.

She crouched down and grabbed tissues from the nightstand to wipe the carpet bit by bit.

It wouldn't come clean, the blood had soaked into the fibers.

She wiped for a long time, used most of the tissue box, but the carpet still had a dark stain.

She threw away the tissues and went to the bathroom to wash her hands.

The water under the faucet went from red to pale, finally turning clear.

Penelope looked up at the mirror.

A lifeless face.

She pulled out her suitcase and stuffed the few clothes from the closet into it.

An old laptop, medicine bags, documents—that was all she had.

As she zipped it up, her phone rang.

Roman calling.

Penelope stared at the screen, didn't answer right away.

On the third ring, she pressed accept.

"Mrs. Sinclair, Mr. Donald Sinclair's birthday party is arranged for the evening after tomorrow. He wants you and Mr. Dominic Sinclair to return to The Sinclair Estate a day early to help receive guests who arrive ahead of time."

The suitcase was right at her feet.

"The day after tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mr. Donald Sinclair specifically said the whole family must be there. You and Mr. Dominic Sinclair are the top priority. Several partner company CEOs will also be attending that day, and he hopes you two will appear together as a couple."

Penelope was silent for five seconds.

"I understand."

After hanging up, she looked at the zipped suitcase, then bent down to unzip it.

She hung the clothes back in the closet.

She needed to tell Dominic about returning to The Sinclair Estate early.

She dialed, it rang four times.

Catherine's voice again.

Penelope held the phone without making a sound.

"Penelope, Dominic is with me at the hospital, he went to find the doctor." Catherine's tone carried a hint of sympathy. "Penelope, you've called several times now, and Dominic hasn't had time to answer any of them. Whatever you need to say, just tell me and I'll pass it along."

Penelope swallowed the metallic taste in her throat. "Tell him to call me back when he sees the message."

"Okay." Catherine paused, then lowered her voice, as if afraid others might hear. "Penelope, let me give you some advice. Dominic is really angry right now. He thinks you coughing up blood today was deliberate. You'd better not provoke him anymore."

Penelope didn't respond.

Catherine continued, "Actually, about the threatening letters, I never said it was you by name. Dominic came to that conclusion himself. Don't worry, I'll explain it to him for you later."

Every sentence was watertight.

Saying she'd explain for Penelope meant there was something that needed explaining.

Saying she never named anyone meant all the evidence pointed to Penelope.

Penelope hung up and sent Dominic a text message.

"Your grandfather's birthday party is the day after tomorrow. He wants us back at The Sinclair Estate a day early. Ask Roman for details."

After sending it, she put her phone on the nightstand, washed her face, got into bed and turned off the light.

Her stomach was still cramping, the painkillers had long stopped working.

She lay on her side, curled up, using a pillow to press against her stomach, barely suppressing the stabbing pain.

She didn't know how much time had passed. Just as her consciousness started to blur, the bedroom light suddenly turned on.

The door was slammed open from outside, hitting the wall with a dull thud.

Penelope's eyes flew open.

Dominic stood in the doorway, his face dark as iron, gripping his phone, the screen's light casting shadows that made his features look even colder.

He strode to the bed.

"Look at what you've done!"

The phone was thrown in front of Penelope.

On the screen was a screenshot.

A social media account had sent Catherine over a dozen private messages.

"You bitch, get the hell out of Harborview City."

"Fake bitch, we'll deal with you sooner or later."

"Homewreckers go to hell."

The messages were sent an hour ago.

Penelope's eyes hadn't fully focused yet, and her stomach contracted violently again.

She pressed her stomach and sat up, her voice hoarse. "It wasn't me."

"The account IP is from this villa's wifi address." Dominic leaned down, hands on either side of the bed, trapping her in the middle. "What else do you have to say?"

Penelope's mind raced.

The villa's wifi?

She studied cybersecurity—she knew exactly how easy this kind of thing was to fake.

"IPs can be faked, you should know that."

"Enough!" Dominic's hand suddenly grabbed her wrist, so hard her bones seemed to crack. "You think I won't do anything to you, so you keep getting worse and worse?"

Penelope winced in pain but didn't struggle.

She looked up into Dominic's eyes, which were full of rage.

Rage for Catherine.

She opened her mouth to speak, but a hot surge rushed up her throat first.

Too late.

Penelope jerked her head to the side and coughed up blood onto the white pillowcase.

Bright red, glaring.

Dominic's hand gripping her wrist froze in place.

Penelope's body began shaking violently, a second mouthful of blood following immediately. She bent over, curling up on the bed, covering her mouth, blood continuously seeping through her fingers.

The bedroom held only her suppressed coughing.

The pillow, the blanket, her pajamas—blood everywhere, shocking to see.

Dominic let go.

Penelope's wrist was already marked with a ring of bruises. She curled up in the blanket, coughing uncontrollably, blood soaking through her collar.

Dominic took a step back, anger still on his face, but something unclear flickering in his eyes.

"What's wrong with you?"

Penelope took a long time to recover, finally propping herself up halfway from the pillow, blood still on the corner of her mouth, her voice grinding out from her throat.

"Cancer."

The word hit the floor.

Dominic froze for a second.

Penelope gasped for breath, pulled out a diagnosis report from the nightstand drawer—already worn and frayed from being folded—and held it out to him.