The ring was a pigeon blood ruby—Hemi cut and polished it himself, spent every cent from his first project on it.

He said he wanted to give me a good life.

But just when things started to look up, he got diagnosed with leukemia.

I was the only match.

After the test, they told me I'd never have kids.

Hemi loved kids. If he knew, he would've let himself die.

So I stood by his hospital bed, fake tears and shaky voice, begging him to let me go. Said I didn't want to be tied to a dying man.

I signed the divorce papers in front of him. Watched his heart break.

Then I turned around and signed the donor forms.

That was ten years ago.

Now the infection's taken root. There's no donor for me.

Just death.

I wired the $30,000 to Mr. Crevan, the funeral director.

[Please find me a plot. I want it covered in flowers.]

Right as I was heading back to my rented apartment, a message came through.

[Ms. Alden, I'm Hemi Spencer's attorney. The bracelet you broke costs $30,000. Pay up or face jail.]

Then came Hemi's text.

[Be my assistant or go to jail. Your choice.]

I didn't have one.

At least this way, I could see him happy before I go.

Day one of my death notice, I started the job.

Julia's eyes were daggers the second I walked in. "What are you doing here?"

Hemi squeezed her hand. "She's your assistant now. So you can rest more."

She kissed him. "You really do care. Pregnancy is exhausting."

Then she turned to me. "I'm thirsty. Go get coffee."

I brought it over.

She "missed" the cup. Scalding water hit my arm.

Hemi wrapped his arms around her. "Baby, did it burn you?"

He threw cash at me. "Still playing the pity card? You really are sick for money."

I bit down the pain and picked up every bill.

"Thank you, Mr. Spencer."

When they left, I slipped into the bathroom. Couldn't risk popping the blister—one tear, and the bleeding wouldn't stop.

I gritted through the pain, dabbed on ointment. But the nosebleed wouldn't quit.

Took everything just to clean myself up.

Hands shaking, I stared at the money.

Julia shoved a cloth at me. "Wipe down Hemi's gifts."

"Careful. You couldn't afford to break a single one.

"That ring? Year one. He designed it just for me.

"This necklace? Year two. Worth a million.

"Third year, he gave me a house...

"When you're done, coffee to the CEO lounge."

I wiped each thing, my arm burning, and brought over the coffee.

From inside, I heard them. Breathing, moaning—too close.

I stood there, legs numb.

Hemi finally came out, scratches down his neck.

He took the coffee with a smirk. "You'll really endure anything for cash. Even that."

My jaw ached from how tight I clenched it. "Where's today's pay? I need it daily."

His eyes iced over. He threw the bills in my face and walked off.

His office was three hours from where I lived.

I'd barely laid down when my phone buzzed.

Hemi.

[Julia's stomach hurts. Go buy her meds.]

I replied: [Side jobs don't mean 24/7. Do I really have to go?]

Blood wouldn't stop pouring from my nose. I wiped it away, dizzy.

[I'm not feeling well.]

Hemi's reply? Ice cold.

[Lying again for cash? I just sent you five grand. Get the meds. Now.]

I forced a smile.

[Busted. Be right there.]

Rain was dumping. No umbrella. I walked forever before a cab finally pulled up.

Outside her place, I called Julia again and again. No answer.

Had to call him.

He said, "She's asleep. Wait. Give her the meds when she wakes up. Don't leave."

The rain stopped just before she finally opened the door.

Julia gave me this smug little smirk. "Oops, fell asleep. Don't need the meds now. Hemi's like that—can't stand to see me in pain. He's coming back soon. He's always stuck to me and the baby. You should go. You're just an eyesore."

She shut the door like she won.

I chucked the meds in the trash. On the way back, I collapsed.

Woke up two days later, hooked to machines.

Dr. Carter looked grim. The infection had spread. Less than a week left.

I checked my phone—fifty missed calls.

Hemi: [What now? Run off with another rich guy? Get to this location. Now.]

Dr. Carter told me not to move. I yanked out the IV anyway.

Walking felt like dragging myself through fire. Every step threatened blackout.

First thing Hemi did when he saw me?

Handed me a reflector board. Wedding photos.

Sun blazing. Vision fading. The whole scene felt unreal.

Hemi in a suit, looking at me like I was still his whole world.

Twelve—he used his scholarship money on candy for me.

Sixteen—took punches in underground rings to buy me a necklace.

Eighteen—those flowers still sit in my crystal cabinet.

Twenty-two—he wore that same suit and told me forever.

Funny how your life flashes before you. Like a sad little movie reel.

I was stumbling again, carrying something heavy, when—

"Elise? What are you doing here?!"

The shout stopped me cold. I looked up.

Selena, our old friend.

She stormed over and slapped me.

My face stung, and blood trickled from my nose again.

"You've got some nerve showing up! Did you forget how you ditched Hemi? Now that he's loaded, you come crawling back."

Whispers buzzed around us.

"That's the heartless ex-wife."

"Shameless."

"She still dares to show her face."

I searched the crowd for backup. Hemi just stood there. Watching.

Didn't move.

Then he walked up, eyes cold. "Do you regret it?"

Regret?

I smiled, wiped the blood from my nose.

How could I regret it? I only ever wanted him happy.

I bit my lip, half-grinned, held out my hand. "Hemi, ten grand for damages. Fair, right?"

He lost it. Grabbed my collar.

"Is money all you ever care about?"

Then—bam—a handful of checks slapped across my face.