Chapter 2Exposing My Husbands Blood Debt

When I woke up, I was drowning in the scent of jasmine.

A private hospital suite. Two nurses were murmuring quietly near the door.

“Who exactly is the patient in the VIP suite? I swear, she has the most perfect life.”

“I know, right? Her husband looks like he stepped out of a GQ spread, and he’s here every single day with fresh flowers.”

The older nurse scoffed softly. “You seriously don’t know who she is? She’s the wife of the CEO of Mercer Holdings. She’s the original Mrs. Mercer. Everyone in the corporate world knows he practically worships the ground she walks on. She gets the absolute best of everything. Hell, Mercer Holdings basically funded this entire hospital wing just for her.”

The younger nurse audibly gasped.

They were so caught up in their romanticized gossip that they didn’t hear the familiar, heavy footsteps approaching until it was too late. Their chatter snapped off instantly.

I opened my eyes. Jonathan was standing at the foot of my bed, holding a massive bouquet of jasmine, the petals still glistening with water droplets.

Seeing I was awake, his expression barely shifted. He offered me a calm, measured look.

“How is the pain today?” he asked. “There’s a gala tonight. Do you think you’re well enough to make an appearance?”

My skull throbbed in agonizing time with my heartbeat.

I licked my cracked lips, my voice raspy.

“The woman who hit me. It was Vicky, wasn't it?”

“Yes.”

Jonathan began arranging the jasmine in a crystal vase on the nightstand, his movements meticulous.

“It wasn’t intentional. Our companies are in the middle of a massive merger. There is absolutely no reason to let a minor fender-bender derail a multi-billion-dollar deal.”

He paused, looking down at me.

“I’ve already signed the settlement agreement on your behalf. All you need to do tonight is smile for the cameras and tell the press it was a simple misunderstanding.”

His tone was steady, reasonable, and utterly uncompromising.

It sounded exactly like him eight years ago.

Eight years ago, Vicky Kensington—the spoiled heiress who felt entitled to my husband—cornered me on a staircase. I was eight months pregnant. She pushed me.

The impact of the fall was catastrophic. The baby shifted, becoming hopelessly wedged in my shattered pelvis. I labored in pure agony, but he wouldn't come.

The doctors told us the internal hemorrhaging would kill us both. To save my life, they had to... they had to crush my little boy's skull to pull him out.

The sight of my baby—that tiny, broken, bruised little body—fractured my soul into a million jagged pieces.

But Jonathan? Jonathan used my shattered womb as leverage.

He wasn't the titan of industry back then. He fell to his knees beside my hospital bed, his face pale and wet with tears, begging me.

“Natalie, I know I have no right to ask this of you. But this is our only way out. I need capital for the startup, and the Kensington family is the only one who can write a check that big to keep it quiet. Please, Nat. Please help me. If we sue, they’ll tie us up in court for decades and bankrupt us. I just need this one chance. Just this once, and I swear to God, I will give you the world.”

It was the first time I had ever seen Jonathan break.

I looked at the premature gray at his temples. I looked at his bloodshot eyes, exhausted from working three jobs to keep us afloat.

I cried until I choked on my own tears. I agonized over it in the dark.

And eventually, I broke. My heart went soft for him.

As he said, people had to look forward. Jonathan had bled for me, sacrificed his youth for me. It was my turn to bleed for him.

And so, with a shaking hand, I signed the non-disclosure and settlement agreements.

I traded Norton’s life for the seed money that built the Mercer empire.

Vicky was quietly shipped off to Europe by her family.

Jonathan took that blood money and shot into the stratosphere. He cornered the Seattle real estate market. He bought the Porsches, the penthouse. He became the untouchable Mr. Mercer.

In the early years of our wealth, he used to hold me on our balcony, looking out over the glittering city lights.

“Look, Natalie,” he’d whisper into my hair. “I kept my promise. I did it all for us.”

He was so proud. So deeply satisfied.

But he conveniently forgot something.

Every brick of his empire was mortared with my dead child's blood.

Ambition is a ravenous beast. Once it gets a taste of flesh, it never stops hungering for more.

Back then, Jonathan sacrificed Norton on the altar of his ambition.

Now, it seemed, it was my turn.