My Blood Runs In Her Veins

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To force my mothers hand so I could be with Lydia, I severed my own index finger, ending my career as a surgeon before it even truly began.

She wept then, clutching my bleeding hand, swearing she would love me for the rest of her life.

Yet, on the very day my mother was named Chief of Surgery, Lydia stood before a crowded auditorium, had my leg shattered, and left me half-dead on the floor.

Then, she pointed a finger at my broken body and accused me of forcing myself on her.

"Dr. Miranda," Lydia had said, her voice carrying over the microphone, cold and clear. "You always said you loathed predators the most. That they aren't worth saving."

She had looked down at me, her eyes devoid of the warmth I had once worshiped.

"Now your precious, golden son is the very monster you hate. My husband caught him in the act and gave him what he deserved. He's dying right there on your stage. Are you still going to save him?"

Then, she leaned into the arms of my best friend, Simon, and walked out of the hall, thoroughly satisfied.

My mother did save me. She brought me back from the brink of death.

But I was left with a ruined leg, a permanent limp, and a three-year prison sentence.

The trauma of the scandal and my imprisonment shattered my mother. Unable to cope, she threw herself from the roof of the hospital, surviving only to slip into a persistent vegetative state.

Eight years later, we met again.

She was dressed in bespoke tailoring, the youngest Chief Medical Officer in the city.

I was barely clothed, sitting in a dim VIP lounge, selling my company to wealthy older women.

When our eyes locked across the crowded room, the world seemed to stop.

Tabithas hand was still slipped under my shirt, her fingers tracing the line of my ribs with a slow, deliberate familiarity.

My smile stiffened for a fraction of a second. I forced myself to look away from Lydia, tilting my head back to drink the vintage champagne Tabitha was pouring down my throat.

Yet, I could still feel a gaze burning into my bare shoulders.

"Dr. Miranda is usually so busy saving lives, I doubt she spends much time in places like this," Tabitha remarked, noticing Lydias prolonged silence. She had been staring at me since she entered the room.

Hoping to curry favor with the prestigious doctor, Tabitha pulled me closer.

"This one is my absolute favorite. Handsome, sweet-talking, and knows exactly how to please. As long as the money's right, you can play with him however you like."

To emphasize her point, Tabitha gave my hip a firm, possessive slap.

"If you're interested, Dr. Miranda, I'll foot the bill tonight. Let him keep you company." She gestured for me to pour Lydia a drink.

The shock in Lydias eyes slowly curdled into deep disappointment. She looked away, her posture stiffening.

"My child just recovered from a severe illness," Lydia said, her voice dripping with quiet disdain. "I don't touch filthy things. Id hate to bring bad luck home."

My hand trembled. A few drops of dark red wine spilled from the bottle, staining the hem of Lydias pristine white coat.

So, she had a child. Simon's child.

For the past eight years, I had traded my dignity for survival. I had been beaten, cursed at, and treated like a dog on a leash. I thought I was entirely numb.

But hearing those words from her mouth made my chest ache with a sudden, suffocating sharpness.

She was the one who had dragged me into this hell. She was the architect of my ruin.

And now, she stood there in front of the person buying me, calling me filthy.

Seeing Lydias brow furrow in annoyance, Tabitha immediately pushed me aside and gestured to one of her bodyguards. The man stepped forward and struck me across the face twice, hard.

"Dr. Miranda is right," Tabitha hissed. "You can't even pour a drink properly. Useless piece of trash."

She kicked me in the ribs, sending me sprawling onto the floor. "Get out of my sight! Don't let me see your face again tonight!"

My ears rang. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

My crippled leg buckled, scraping against a discarded bottle on the floor, sending a sharp, agonizing jolt up my spine.

As I struggled to push myself up, a pair of expensive, hand-crafted leather shoes appeared in my line of sight.

"Whats got you in such a bad mood, Tabitha?"

The familiar voice was like a needle pressing into my skull. I looked up to see Simon looking down at me, a cruel, mocking smile playing on his lips.

"Well, look who it is. If it isn't Lucas."

Simon looked me up and down, holding a hand over his nose as if smelling something foul.

"You used to be such a big deal, Lucas. A brilliant surgeon who couldn't keep his hands off a helpless girl."

He chuckled, turning to the rest of the room. "I guess you couldn't handle a real job after prison, so you decided to sell your body instead? Must be nice, getting paid just to lie on your back."

A wave of cruel laughter rippled through the lounge.

Simon and I had once been closer than brothers.

Back in college, when he worked part-time and got cornered by local thugs, I was the one who threw myself into the fight to protect him. I injured my shoulder and was nearly expelled.

Later, when he wanted to start his own business, I emptied my savings account to back him, living on instant noodles for a month just to keep him afloat.

Now, he sat among the wealthy elite, peeling back my scars for their amusement.

"Lucas was so obsessed with another man's wife back then that he literally sliced off his own finger to prove his devotion," Simon continued, thoroughly enjoying himself. "But when he realized she didn't want him, he snapped and forced himself on her. Her husband caught him and nearly beat him to death."

Simon pulled out his phone, scrolling through old files. "Look, Tabitha, it was all over the local news back then!"

"Simon, shut up!"

Lydias voice cut through the room like a whip. She glared at him, her face dark with anger.

Simon shrugged, slipping his phone back into his pocket, though the smirk never left his face.

One of Tabithas younger friends, a spoiled heiress who loved cruel games, tilted my chin up with the toe of her designer heel.

She tipped her glass, pouring cold gin over my head. I swallowed my pride, opening my mouth to catch the liquid, acting the part of the greedy, desperate dog they wanted me to be.

The room erupted into even louder laughter.

"At least he's well-trained," someone yelled.

Suddenly, a sharp crack echoed through the room.

Lydia had stepped forward and slapped the heiress across the face.

The laughter died instantly. Everyone stared at Lydia in stunned silence.

Lydia didn't say a word. She spared me one fleeting, unreadable glance before turning on her heel and storming out of the suite.

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

The amusement in the room had soured. The women lost interest, shoving a crumpled handful of hundred-dollar bills into the waistband of my low-slung trousers before leaving.

I dragged myself to the restroom, collapsing over the sink, and threw up violently.

Three months ago, I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. I didn't have much time left.

I knew Tabitha was volatile and liked to push boundaries. But my mother was still in the ICU, and the hospital bills were a black hole. I had to swallow the disgust, crawl into beds I hated, and let myself be used as a bargaining chip just to keep my mother's machines running.

I wiped my mouth, looking at my pale, hollow reflection in the mirror, and slapped myself hard across the cheek.

Suddenly, a soft, alcohol-scented warmth pressed against my back.

"Lucas. Tell me why. Why are you doing this to yourself?"

In the reflection, Lydias eyes were rimmed with red, her gaze filled with a desperate, painful confusion.

Outside, the autumn wind howled against the glass. In my pocket, my phone buzzed with another automated notification of my mother's outstanding medical balance.

I turned around, plastering a lazy, practiced smirk on my face. I slid my arms around her waist, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"It's easy money, Dr. Miranda. And the hours are flexible. Need a companion tonight? Three hundred dollars. I'll do whatever you want."

Lydias face flushed scarlet, her eyes welling with tears.

"Lucas," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Is that all you think you're worth now? Three hundred dollars?"

She reached out, her fingers trembling as they brushed my shoulder. "Everything that happened back then... it was a misunderstanding. I can compensate you. I can make up for all of it. Just stop throwing your life away like this."

The heavy scent of expensive perfume and alcohol hung between us.

I looked at her beautiful, familiar face and laughed out loud.

Three hundred dollars could buy my mother another week of life support. I was dying, and I didn't have a single penny to spare. For my mother, I would swallow any amount of filth.

I used to be a cherished son. My mother was a world-renowned surgeon, respected by everyone. Doors flew open for me.

And now?

The eight years of humiliation I had endured, the prison time, the broken bodydid she honestly believe a "misunderstanding" and some money could wipe the slate clean?

My stomach flared with a sudden, burning pain that radiated through my chest.

I sneered, rolling my eyes as I pushed her away. "If you're not buying, Dr. Miranda, don't stand in the way of my business."

Lydia looked stunned. Then her brow furrowed, and she called out to my retreating back.

"Lucas... how is your mother?"

I froze, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached.

When my mother was young, she had been assaulted by a man whose identity was never discovered. My father, upon learning the truth years later, turned to alcohol and beat her systematically. She finally gathered the courage to take me and run, divorcing him.

Because of her past, the very concept of sexual assault was her deepest trauma. It was the source of all her lifelong nightmares.

And yet, she had to watch her own son be branded with that exact crime.

It was the final blow that broke her. She jumped from the building because she couldn't bear the shame and the grief.

"My mothers life is none of your business," I said, my voice flat, and walked out.

By the time I reached the hospital and paid off the outstanding balance, my account was completely empty. My oncologist had sent me several texts, begging me to come in for palliative treatment.

I sat on a plastic chair outside the ICU, staring at the floor.

I hadn't eaten all day, and the alcohol was eating away at my stomach lining. The pain was excruciating. I pulled a stale, dry piece of bread from my bag and began to chew on it slowly, staring blankly at the sterile walls.

Before I could finish, a shadow fell over me.

Simon stood in front of me, chewing gum with a smug look on his face. Beside him was a heavy-set man wearing a thick gold chain, followed by a handful of freelance paparazzi holding cameras.

"Hey, Bruce," Simon said, pointing at me. "Thats him. That's the boy toy Tabithas been keeping on the side. I hear she's spent over fifty thousand dollars on him this year alone."

Simon smiled. "He's got great reviews. Tabitha absolutely adores him."

I realized then what Simon had done. He had brought Tabithas husband, Bruce.

Bruce was a notorious local loan shark. Without a word, he adjusted a heavy brass knuckle on his fist and punched me squarely in the stomach twice.

I collapsed onto the floor, coughing up a dark pool of blood onto the linoleum.

"You pathetic, parasitic piece of trash," Bruce spat, kicking me in the ribs. "You think you can spend my family's money and get away with it?"

"If you don't spit out every single dime you took from my wife by tomorrow, I'll make sure you leave this hospital in a body bag."

The hallway was quiet at this hour, but a few patients and nurses gathered at a distance, murmuring. The camera flashes blinded me as the reporters took photos of my pathetic state.

I closed my eyes, letting the light wash over me.

Over the years, I had become notorious in these circles. When angry spouses found out about me, they would beat me, strip me, and leave me on display. I was used to it.

Seeing no reaction from me, Simons smile faltered. He noticed a silver chain slipping from my pocket.

With a cold laugh, Simon snatched the pocket watch out of my shirt pocket. "Hey, Bruce, I bet he stole this vintage watch from Tabitha too. Let's smash it."

My eyes snapped open. I lunged forward like a rabid animal, scrambling on my knees to grab it.

"No! Please!"

It was the last thing my mother had given me before she fell into the coma. I had kept it close to my heart for twenty years.

I fell to my knees, slamming my forehead against the cold floor over and over, begging them.

"Please, Bruce, give it back. It's my mother's. I'll pay you back the money, I swear! Just give it back to me and I'll go!"

Bruce sneered, spitting on the floor near my head. He raised his hand to throw the watch against the wall when a sharp slap echoed through the corridor.

Bruces head snapped back.

"Mr. Miller, you are currently committing aggravated assault on hospital property," Lydia said, her breath shallow and uneven. She had clearly run all the way here. Her face was flushed, her eyes burning with fury.

Bruce held his cheek, furious, but when he saw it was the Chief Medical Officer, his anger dissolved into a greasy, flattering smile.

"Dr. Miranda... Simon told me this guy owed us some money. I got a bit carried away. My apologies."

He carelessly tossed the watch onto the floor and stepped on it, grinding the glass under his heel.

"You're lucky tonight, kid. If I don't see double the amount by tomorrow, you're dead."

With a wave of his hand, Bruce and his thugs walked away.

Simon stepped forward, trying to explain himself to Lydia, but she cut him off with a harsh whisper.

"I told you never to touch him. Get out of my sight. Now."

Simon glared at me, his eyes full of resentment, before turning and walking away.

I crawled across the floor, gathering the cracked pocket watch into my palm, and carefully slipped it back into my pocket. Using the wall for support, I forced my aching body upright.

I dragged my bad leg toward my mothers ward.

But Lydia grabbed my arm. "You need to get those wounds treated first."

I yanked my arm away, ignoring the pain, and kept limping forward.

Lydia didn't argue. She called two orderlies and had them carry me to the emergency room.

She insisted on treating my wounds herself. Her hands were incredibly gentle as she cleaned the cuts on my face, her brow furrowed in anger.

"Lucas, if I hadn't shown up, they would have killed you."

She paused, looking into my eyes. "I just saved your life. You don't have a single thing to say to me?"

The familiar scent of her shampoo filled my senses, making me incredibly irritated.

I looked at her, a bitter smile touching my lips.

Saved my life?

Did she forget that I was the one who saved hers first?

When we were in college, she was diagnosed with leukemia. I was the one who secretly matched her bone marrow. I gave up an exchange program abroad to undergo the extraction procedure, lying in a hospital bed for a week. Since then, my immune system had been shot, and I was constantly sick.

What did she want me to say now? Thank her for letting me live like a stray dog?

Years ago, she had given herself to me, promising me a lifetime of happiness. The very next morning, she stood before the board and accused me of rape, having my leg shattered in the process.

I survived, yes. But my mother jumped off a building because of it.

I closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"Thank you, Dr. Miranda. Since I'm still alive, I guess I can go back to serving my wealthy clients."

Lydia froze, her eyes filling with tears.

"Lucas... why do you have to be so cheap? Why do you insist on living like this?"

If this were eight years ago, I would have pulled her into my arms and comforted her. Now, looking at her tears, I only felt a deep, exhausting irony.

She was the one who sent me to prison. She was the one who made me an outcast. I had to sell my body to keep my brain-dead mother alive. I lived like a ghost, neither human nor beast.

And now she was asking me why I was cheap?

Lydia pulled a black titanium card from her coat and forced it into my hand.

"There's five million dollars in here. Stop doing this to yourself."

I looked at the card, a mock-grateful grin stretching across my face. "Thank you, boss. If you ever need me, I'm available twenty-four-seven."

I turned and walked away, ignoring the sound of her sharp intake of breath behind me.

The next morning, a torrential downpour hit the city.

In my half-asleep state, my phone rang. It was my cousin, Jacob.

"Lucas... Aunt Margaret... she's gone."

The world went entirely silent. My heart felt as though it had been carved out of my chest, and my limbs began to shake uncontrollably.

I tried to stand, but my bad leg gave out, and I crashed heavily onto the floor.

By the time I scrambled to the hospital, Jacob was sitting outside the room, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"I came to visit her," Jacob gasped, his voice cracking. "And a group of men suddenly burst in. They pulled all the plugs on her machines, saying we were behind on payments and she had to be discharged."

"The man leading them looked like Simon. He leaned down and whispered something in Aunt Margarets ear... and then her heart rate just went flat..."

Hearing this, I sank onto the floor, my face devoid of color. I raised my hands and slapped myself across the face, hard, over and over again.

It was my fault. All of it.

Trembling, I pulled out Lydias black card and stumbled to the billing department.

The clerk ran the card through the machine and frowned.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Miranda, but this card is frozen."

I froze, staring at her. "That's impossible! There's five million dollars on that card!"

The clerk looked at my disheveled appearance, her expression turning into one of disgust.

"Mr. Miranda, given your reputation, I highly doubt you own a black card. Did some wealthy woman give this to you in a drunken stupor and freeze it the moment she woke up?"

"If you can't pay the bill, why don't you go find another client? A few sweet words and a smile, and I'm sure you'll get your money."

My face burned with a deep, suffocating humiliation.

I clenched my teeth, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Please, just try it one more time. My mother... my mother is in the morgue. I need to pay the release fee."

Losing her patience, the clerk threw the card out of the window, letting it slide across the floor.

A crowd had gathered around the lobby, whispering and pointing.

"Isn't that Dr. Miranda's son? The one from the news years ago? He couldn't get the girl, so he forced himself on her."

"Yes, that's him. I heard his sugar mommy's husband beat him up yesterday. Who knows whose card he stole."

"What a tragedy for Dr. Miranda. Such a brilliant physician, ruined by her own son."

"A man living like that... hed be better off dead."

I tried to block out the voices.

As I reached down to pick up the card, a heavy leather shoe stepped directly onto my fingers.

Simon stood over me, holding his phone up with a cruel grin. "Look at the camera, Lucas. Smile!"

He snapped a photo, looking at the screen with satisfaction. "Eight years, and you still look as pathetic as ever."

"Oh, by the way," Simon leaned down, his voice a poisonous whisper. "The doctor just signed the death certificate. You finally killed your mother."

He laughed, a sound of pure triumph.

My chest felt hollow, as if a vital organ had been ripped out. The pain was so intense it went numb.

I didn't say a word. I just kept clawing at the card beneath his shoe, my tears blurring my vision.

"Who did you say is dead?"

Lydias voice shattered the air.

I looked up blankly.

Lydia stood there, her face completely pale.

The billing clerk immediately put on a flattering smile. "Dr. Miranda, you might not know, but this gigolos mother has been a vegetable for eight years. She just passed away because he couldn't pay the bills."

"He killed her."

Lydias voice shook. "Is... is that true?"

Before I could speak, Jacob lunged forward, shielding me with his body. His eyes were bloodshot as he glared at Lydia.

"Yes! It's true! Your revenge is finally complete! Are you happy now?"

"Lydia, the only reason I don't lay a hand on you is because my aunt taught me better!"

Years ago, Lydias father had been framed for a crime he didn't commit and spent years in prison. By the time he was released, he had terminal cancer. He had tried to get an appointment with my mother, who was the top specialist in the state.

But at that time, my fathers abuse had reached its peak. My mother was on the verge of a breakdown.

In a moment of severe distress, she had snapped at him, saying, "I don't save beasts like you."

Lydias father had frozen, his dignity shattered, and left. He died shortly after.

After his death, Lydia had targeted me. She was the most brilliant, beautiful doctoral student at the university, and she had thrown herself into my life, rendering me completely defenseless.

The moment I fell in love with her, I became the weapon she used to destroy my mother.

On the day she accused me, as I lay bleeding on the stage, she had choked me, screaming into my face:

"Why wouldn't your mother save my father? He was innocent! He wasn't a beast!"

"Everyone calls her a saint, but she has no heart!"

"I want both of you to live in agony for the rest of your lives!"

During my years in hell, I had wanted to explain the truth to her. But I had no strength, and no dignity left to offer.

A suffocating pain seized my chest. My stomach flared again, a metallic taste rising in my throat.

"Lydia," I choked out, pushing myself up. "You hated me so much. Don't tell me you didn't know about any of this."

"Are you pretending to be innocent now just to play with me a little longer?"

I forced myself onto my feet, wiping a trail of dark blood from my mouth.

I needed money. Money was the only thing that mattered now.

My mother needed a funeral. I had debts to pay. I didn't have the luxury of grief.

I pulled out my phone and started a live stream on a local escort platform, setting my price.

"One hundred dollars an hour," I muttered to the screen.

Before I could finish, Bruce appeared from the crowd, kicking me hard in the chest.

"You worthless parasite! I heard your mother died. Even if she's dead, you still owe me my money!"

I crawled back to my knees, slamming my head against the floor. "Please, Bruce, just give me a few days. I'll get the money."

Bruce grabbed my phone, looking at the stream. "Still trying to sell yourself? Aren't you afraid someone will report you and send you back to prison?"

Lydia couldn't bear it anymore. She grabbed my arm, trying to pull me up, her voice cracking with desperation.

"How much do you need? I'll give it to you. I'll pay for the funeral. I'll pay off all your debts. Just please, stop this!"

I shook my head, my grip tight on my phone. I began to peel off my shirt in front of the camera, forcing my battered body into a suggestive pose.

"One hundred dollars. I'll do whatever you want."

"Lucas! Stop! I'll pay! I'll pay everything!" Lydia screamed, dropping to her knees, begging me.

But my bad leg was screaming in pain, and I couldn't hold myself up any longer. I tumbled to the floor, pushing her hands away.

"I can't afford your money, Dr. Miranda."

Jacob pulled me into his arms, weeping openly. "Lucas, please, don't do this. Is she worth it?"

"If you hadn't donated your bone marrow to her back then, she would have been buried eight years ago!"

"Can't you think about yourself for once?"

Lydias entire body went rigid.

She grabbed my hand, her fingers trembling violently, her eyes wide with horror.

"You... you were my donor?"