No More Bleeding For You

I possess a very specific, very devastating kind of magic: I can see the exact day a persons life will end. The numbers hover above their heads, an invisible, ticking clock. And if I am willing to pay the price, I can intervene. I can rewrite their fate.

Declan Forbes was the man I loved for five years. For half a decade, I stood between him and the grave, repeatedly pulling him back from the brink of a death that the universe had prescribed for him.

I still remember the day we met. The digits suspended in the air above his dark hair read a mere ten days. I was the reason he was still breathing today.

But cheating death requires a toll, and the universe always collects its debts from my flesh. To keep his heart beating, I swallowed the karmic backlash time and time again. I took on his sudden illnesses; I bore the agony of broken bones meant for him; I willingly traded away fragments of my own lifespan. I endured it all in the shadows.

Declan never knew the truth. He only knew that I was mysteriously, chronically fragile. Yet, he would sit by my bedside through my worst episodes, tending to me with a gentleness that broke my heart. His eyes would go red-rimmed, his voice thick with tears, as he whispered that he wished he could take my pain away.

For a long time, I genuinely believed we were building a forever kind of happiness.

Until the afternoon I stood outside the obstetricians office, my fingers trembling with joy as they traced the ink on my sonogram. I couldn't wait to tell him.

But before I could dial his number, his voice drifted down the sterile hospital corridor.

I froze. Just around the corner, Declan was standing with Gemma Beaumont, the golden-haired girl hed grown up withthe ghost of his first love. His arm was wrapped securely around her waist, his hand resting intimately over her flat stomach.

"If my grandfather hadn't forced my hand with Carol, I would have married you," Declan murmured, the rough edge of his voice softened in a way he usually reserved for me. "Don't worry. I am going to take care of you and this baby. I promise."

The air in my lungs turned to glass.

I turned my head, agonizingly slow, and forced myself to look at the blinding cruelty of the scene.

"I'll find the right moment to divorce Carol as soon as we get back," Declan continued.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

How convenient, I thought. I was just thinking the exact same thing.

Once the ink was dry on the divorce papers, I would never have to play God for him again. I would never have to be his shield.

The universe could finally take him, and I would finally be free of the pain.

"I don't buy it. Three years ago, she purposely swallowed those allergy pills on the morning of your wedding just to frame me. She almost died just to cancel the ceremony, but she still couldn't stop you from marrying her, could she?"

Gemmas venomous words snapped me out of my trance. I stepped out from around the corner, my eyes locked on them.

Three years ago. Our wedding day at the Hamptons estate.

That morning, I had looked at Declan and watched the numbers above his head plummet from a comfortable 236 days down to a terrifying three hours.

Panic had seized my throat. I immediately called Richard Forbes, the family patriarch, and demanded the wedding be postponed. Then, I locked myself in our suite with Declan, refusing to let him out of my sight. I was a coiled spring, ready for whatever the universe threw at us.

When he suddenly broke out in hives, clawing at his chest as his airway began to close, I had the paramedics on the line before he even hit the floor.

Everyone in the bridal party thought I was being hysterical. They told me it was just wedding jitters. I ignored them, riding in the back of the ambulance, gripping his clammy hand. Only when the ER doctor pushed the epinephrine into his IV, and I saw the numbers above his head stabilize and rise, did I finally exhale.

But the karmic backlash was instantaneous and merciless.

For three straight days, my skin burned with unexplainable, agonizing hives. I scratched my arms until they bled. I woke up gasping, phantom hands wrapped around my throat, suffocating me. Because there was no medical reason for my symptomsI was simply paying Declans physiological debtno medication could touch the pain. I just had to endure the agony, wide awake, while he recovered.

It was only today, standing in this sterile hallway, that the puzzle pieces violently clicked into place. It wasn't an accident. It was a setup. Declan had orchestrated his own allergic reaction to get out of marrying me, guided by Gemma.

Declan frowned, his brow furrowing as he bought into Gemma's narrative. "Grandpa has always been obsessed with cosmic alignments and omens. With Carol constantly getting sick or injured these past few years, he thinks she carries a dark cloud. If that bad luck starts affecting meor the Forbes empirehe won't protect her anymore."

He had no idea. The "dark cloud" he resented was nothing but the heavy, bleeding shield I had carried to rewrite his fate.

He was the walking curse.

And it was his grandfather who had secretly begged me to intervene five years ago. Richard Forbes wouldn't let him cast me aside so easily.

But looking at Declan now, I had to admit the bitter truth: I had been so blindingly stupid. I had mistaken dependency for destiny. I had fallen in love with a mirage. The sheer weight of his ingratitude hit my stomach like a physical blow, and I doubled over, dry-heaving onto the polished linoleum.

The sound drew their disgusted stares.

I straightened up, wiping my mouth with the back of my trembling hand, and met their eyes.

Declans face went rigid with shock. Then, a mask of careful neutrality slipped into place. His jaw worked, but no words came out.

I swallowed hard, forcing the nausea down into a tight, hard knot in my chest. I took two steps forward, raised my hand, and slapped him across the face. The sound cracked like a gunshot in the quiet corridor.

"Declan, if you didn't love me, you could have just been a man and said it. You didn't have to play the devoted husband for five damn years," I said, my voice eerily calm. "And get this straight in your head: I am divorcing you. You are not discarding me."

I didn't wait for his response. I gave them both one last, hollow look and turned to leave.

Suddenly, two hands slammed into my back.

I stumbled forward, my heels skidding on the floor, barely catching myself on the wall before I fell.

Gemmas shrill voice echoed behind me. "How dare you hit him! I'll kill you!"

"He put up with you for three years! You lived off his money, you leeched off his life, and you have the nerve to act like the victim?" She shrieked, her voice pitching up into a theatrical, trembling sob, playing the role of the fiercely protective, heartbroken lover perfectly.

I looked at Declan. He stood frozen, a conflicted shadow crossing his face. But he didn't move. He didn't intervene.

A cruel, triumphant gleam flashed in Gemmas eyes. She lunged at me, her fingers twisting violently into my hair. With a guttural cry, she slammed my head against the drywall.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. A high-pitched ringing drowned out the sounds of the clinic. The edges of my vision bled into black.

Once. Twice.

I don't know how many times the impact came. My knees buckled, and the last of my strength evaporated. I collapsed onto the cold tiles.

Through the blur of my fading consciousness, I saw Gemma draw her leg back. Her pointed designer heel aimed directly at my stomach.

Adrenaline, sharp and cold as ice, flooded my veins.

I scrambled backward, but my limbs felt like lead. Driven by pure, primal terror for the life inside me, I swung my heavy leather handbag directly at her legs. The heavy metal studs on the bag were sharp enough to bruise bone. A spoiled, country-club girl like Gemma wouldn't be able to handle the hit; it would buy me a second.

But before the leather could make contact, Declan closed the distance. He snatched the bag mid-air, ripping it from my grasp with bruising force.

He glanced around at the gathering crowd of nurses and patients, his jaw tight. Then he looked down at me, his expression infuriatingly composed.

"Carol, I know you have a temper. Ive tolerated you lashing out at me for years," he said smoothly, projecting his voice just enough for the audience. "But you don't take your toxic emotions out on innocent people."

"Gemma is carrying two lives right now. I'm begging you, just leave her alone."

A chorus of hushed, damning whispers rippled through the onlookers.

"Look at her, shes completely unhinged."

"I heard she brought nothing but bad luck to the Forbes family. No wonder hes at his wit's end."

I lay there, watching the strangers judge me, taking Declan's practiced martyrdom as gospel. My vision swam with tears as I watched him drop to one knee, gently examining Gemmas shin to make sure she was unharmed.

It was a suffocatingly familiar sight.

There was a time when he was that frantic over me. He used to silence anyone who dared speak a word against me. When old-money socialites whispered that I was too common, too unpolished to be on his arm, he would drag his chronically exhausted body out of bed to take me to Paris, to Rome, just to see me smile. He hired the best tutors to teach me the unspoken rules of his world.

He used to pull me onto stages at galas, holding my hand so tightly my knuckles ached. "Carol is my partner. I expect every single one of you to show her the exact same respect you show me."

He would corner the men who gossiped about me in boardrooms, forcing them to swallow their words. He built a fortress around me. He would sit on the edge of the bathtub and massage my sprained ankle for an hour. Once, when I accidentally nicked my finger with a paring knife, his face had gone completely gray with panic.

But the boy who loved me was dead.

Declan tossed my bag onto the floor. The contents spilled across the tiles.

My ultrasound and the official obstetrics report slid perfectly to a stop right at the toe of his oxford shoe.

He narrowed his eyes. The bold black letters at the top of the page read: Pregnancy Confirmed - 8 Weeks.

His head snapped up, his eyes widening to the size of saucers. "You're pregnant?"

Before I could form a word, Gemma snatched the paper from the floor.

"That's impossible! Declan, you told me you haven't touched her in almost a year!" Her voice went shrill, desperation cracking her veneer. "She must have forged this! Or shes whoring around with someone else!"

Declans gaze hardened into dark, sharp flint. He stared down at me, demanding, "Carol. Look at me. I want the truth."

"Why are you at this hospital?"

It had been twenty minutes of sheer humiliation and violence. Only now, staring at physical proof, did he bother to ask. And it wasn't out of concern. It was an interrogation.

I took a slow, jagged breath, forcing the hot tears back until my throat burned. "You've already decided to believe her. Why does it matter what I say?"

Two months ago, Declan had come home blackout drunk. I had checked the numbers above his headhe had exactly three days left. Terrified, I dragged his dead weight into our bedroom, checking every inch of him for injuries.

Instead of passing out, he had pinned me to the mattress. He had kissed me with a desperate, bruising hunger, murmuring into my neck, "Don't leave me... please stay."

I had been so confused. He had been so cold for months. But I let him. I loved him.

Now, the sickening truth settled in my bones. That night, in his drunken haze, he hadn't been making love to his wife. He had been fucking Gemma in the dark. It was her name he had been crying out in his heart.

The hospital security finally pushed through the crowd. I ignored the guards, ignored Gemmas venom, ignored Declans piercing stare.

I methodically gathered my things, shoving the crumpled ultrasound back into my bag. I used the wall to haul my bruised body up.

I walked straight to the elevator, rode it down to the ground floor, and walked up to the reception desk. I booked an appointment for a surgical abortion for that exact afternoon.

Behind me, I heard Declan shout my name. His footsteps echoed on the tiles, heavy and urgent. But they stopped. Gemma had stepped in front of him, her arms wrapping around his chest to hold him back.

I didn't look back. Even if Declan discovered the truth right now, even if guilt drove him to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, we would only end up right back here. A man who can justify straying once will do it a thousand times.

A baby wouldn't anchor him to me. It would only chain me to a ghost.

I couldn't bring this child into a warzone.

By the time I left the recovery room, the afternoon sun was heavy and orange.

I took a black car back to the Forbes estate. The house was quiet. I packed exactly what I had brought with me five years ago, leaving the designer clothes and jewels behind.

As I dragged my suitcase toward the grand staircase, the heavy oak door of the master study creaked open. Richard Forbes stepped out, leaning heavily on his silver-tipped cane, his hands shaking.

"Carol, my dear. Where are you going?"

Grandpa Richard had always been good to me. In his quiet, stern way, he reminded me of my own grandfather, the only person who had ever truly loved me before I met Declan.

Over the last two years, Richards health had visibly deteriorated. I had watched the numbers above his head steadily dwindle, an agonizing countdown I was utterly powerless to stop. You cannot cure old age. My heart physically ached every time I looked at him.

But he was a perceptive man. He knew his time was ending.

"My clock is running out, Carol. Even if your gift could save me, I wouldn't allow you to bear the cost," he had told me once in the greenhouse. "I know the physical hell you've endured for my grandson. I dragged you into this family's mess..." He had sighed deeply, the guilt heavy on his shoulders.

He was a good man. Leaving him was the only thing that made my chest tight.

I softened my face and offered him a merciful lie. "Grandpa, I'm just taking a little trip. I need some fresh air. I'll be back in a few days."

He shuffled forward and gently wrapped his frail hand around my wrist. "Wait just a moment."

He turned back into his study. When he emerged minutes later, he held out a black velvet box containing a heavy envelope and a black card. A trust fund.

I shook my head, trying to push it back, but he was resolute.

"You are a good girl, Carol. You earned every penny of this," he said, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. "When the Beaumont girl came back to town last year, I saw the shift. His heart left this house. You've suffered enough indignity."

I clutched the envelope to my chest, my vision blurring. If even a man in his eighties, completely removed from our daily lives, could see that my husbands love was gone... how had I been so blind? I had been desperately lying to myself just to survive.

I dug my fingernails into my palms until the sharp pain grounded me.

I looked up at his face. The numbers hovering there made my blood run cold.

"Grandpa," I whispered, my voice urgent. "Please be incredibly careful the next few days. Your timeline... it just dropped. You only have two days left. Something unnatural is coming."

He nodded slowly. I kissed his weathered cheek and walked out the door.

Three hours later, I was standing in the boarding line at JFK, my passport in hand, when two uniformed NYPD officers stepped in front of me.

"Carol Forbes? We received a call regarding an aggravated assault. We need you to come with us."

They took me to the precinct. I barely made it halfway down the fluorescent-lit hallway before I ran dead into Declan and Gemma.

Gemmas eyes were wild and red. The second she saw me, she lunged, her hand raised to strike.

Declan caught her wrist mid-air, pulling her back. But his eyeswhen he looked at me, they were black with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Carol, you had better give me a goddamn perfect explanation for what happened to my grandfather!" he roared, the veins straining in his neck. "He treated you like his own flesh and blood! Why would you try to kill him?"

Gemma pointed a manicured finger at me, tears streaming down her face. "Officers, it was her! I caught her cheating, and Declan told her he was filing for divorce. She went completely psychotic. She took it out on the old man!"

From their shouting, I pieced the nightmare together.

Not long after I took my suitcase and left, Declan had brought Gemma to the house. They intended to force Richard to bless their union. But as Declan was pulling his Porsche into the driveway, he heard Gemma screaming for help from inside.

He found his grandfather crumpled at the bottom of the grand staircase, his head pooled in dark blood, unconscious.

"He is in the ICU fighting for his life, and you were the last person in that house! What do you have to say for yourself?" Declan demanded.

I didn't answer him. I just stared at the space directly above his hairline.

His numbers had crashed.

Seven days. He had exactly one week left to live.

After my interrogation, the detectives told me I was a person of interest. I was not allowed to leave the state. I forfeited my flight, hailed a cab, and checked into an anonymous boutique hotel downtown.

At 6:00 PM, my phone buzzed. A text from Declan.

Meet me at The Oak Room. We are signing the divorce papers tonight.

It was exactly what I wanted. I didn't hesitate. I texted back a single word: Fine.

But the moment I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the private dining room, the air in the room shifted. My stomach plummeted.

This wasn't a private meeting.

Sitting around the dimly lit table with Declan and Gemma were four older men. Sweaty, flush-faced executives with expensive watches, cheap cologne, and predatory grins. I recognized one of thema mid-level vendor Declans firm had been dodging for months.

Gemma stood up, holding a crystal glass of bourbon. She smiled sweetly at the men.

"Gentlemen, as a token of my family's goodwill," she purred, gesturing toward me. "Declan brought her here tonight to strip her of the Forbes name. If you sign the contracts with us tonight, you won't just have the Forbes accounts. The Beaumont family will ensure you're rich for the rest of your lives."

Declan shot Gemma a startled, uncomfortable look. This clearly wasn't the plan he had agreed to.

The executives exchanged filthy, knowing glances. One of them, a man with a heavy gut and a loose tie, pushed his chair back and lumbered toward me. His eyes roamed up and down my body.

I spun on my heel, grabbing the brass door handle, but Gemma was faster. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my skin, pinning me in place.

The executive leaned in, his breath hot and sour with whiskey and cigars, invading my space. He reached a thick, sweaty hand out to grip my shoulder, his lips parting.

Declan suddenly stood up, his chair scraping violently against the wood floor. "Hey, back off"

Gemma slammed her hand onto Declans shoulder, forcing him back down. She leaned down to his ear, her voice dripping with poison. "She put your grandfather in a coma, Declan. Are you really going to defend her? He might never wake up. Let them teach her a lesson."

Declans jaw clenched tight. He looked away, staring at the wall, and slowly sat back down.

I screamed for help, but the heavy soundproofing of the restaurant swallowed the sound whole.

Gemma laughed, a bright, tinkling sound that sent ice down my spine. "Save your breath, sweetie. I paid the ma?tre d' a thousand dollars to make sure absolutely no one comes through that door, no matter what they hear."

The other men began to stand up, moving in, boxing me into the corner. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. These weren't even major players in the corporate world; they were bottom-feeders. The fact that Declan would throw me to the wolves just to appease Gemma's twisted sense of revenge made me physically sick.

I closed my eyes. I braced myself for the assault.

CRASH.

The heavy mahogany doors flew open, rebounding off the wall.

"NYPD! Nobody move! Step back from the woman, hands where I can see them!"

Flashlights cut through the dim room. Three uniformed officers stormed in, hands on their holsters.

Gemma immediately dropped my arm, her face draining of color. "Officers! Its a misunderstanding! We're just having a few drinks, things got a little rowdy"

I smoothed down my blouse, my hands shaking violently, and stepped toward the cops. I relayed exactly what had been said and done, point by point.

The officers didn't hesitate. They cuffed the executives and dragged them out of the restaurant for attempted assault and public intoxication.

As for Declan and Gemma? The executives, desperate to keep the powerful families off their backs, swore up and down that the couple had nothing to do with it. Without hard evidence of a conspiracy, the police couldn't hold them.

An hour later, I walked out of the precinct into the cool night air. Declan was standing by his car, looking hollowed out.

I pulled the divorce agreement I had prepared from my bagironclad, stripping him of any right to my assets, designed specifically to counter his corporate lawyersand slapped it against his chest.

"Sign it," I demanded, my voice cold as absolute zero.

He didn't argue. He pulled a pen from his breast pocket and scrawled his name on the dotted line.

As the ink dried, I looked at the space above his head.

The number Seven violently glitched, reshaping itself.

Three.

Three days left. The universe was closing in.

I took my copy of the papers, turned my back on him, and walked away.

Later, I would learn exactly how his night ended. Completely drained, emotionally bankrupt, Declan drove back to the empty Forbes estate. He walked into our master bedroom, shedding his jacket, the silence of the house pressing down on him.

Then, he saw it.

Sitting perfectly centered on his nightstand was my leather-bound journal.

He picked it up, intending to throw it in the trash. But the book fell open to the first page. He recognized my neat handwriting.

His eyes casually swept over the first line.

Then, he froze, as if a lightning bolt had struck him dead in his tracks.