Everything in front of me seemed to blur. My focus narrowed on Steve's sharp features and those increasingly cold eyes under the harsh glow of the overhead light.
The doctor asked carefully, "Mr. Griffin, are we… still continuing?"
"Yes," he uttered just one word indifferently. But to me, it was a knife across the throat—sharp, cold, and utterly final.
Warm blood kept flowing out of me, and my body's warmth slipped away, bit by bit.
The man who had promised to love me forever was now draining my blood to save someone else.
Dizzy and weak, I closed my eyes gently, feeling something cold trickle down from the corner.
I didn't want to admit it was tears. Wasting them on him was beneath me.
As darkness closed in, I heard the frantic voices of doctors and nurses.
"Her blood pressure is crashing! Quick! Administer 1 mg of epinephrine! IV push now!"
"Her temperature's down to 95 degrees Fahrenheit!"
Amid the chaos, I even caught Steve's command. "Keep her alive!"
I couldn't open my eyes, yet my consciousness and hearing lingered in the void.
Inside me, it felt as though a madman had taken up residence, laughing hysterically.
Steve's order was such a joke. Every step he took and every word he said was pushing me closer to death, yet now he demanded they save me.


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