No More Strategy, Only Love

They Want My Rare Blood

As I was wheeled out of the basement, I caught sight of Vincent Carson carefully braiding Irene Yatez's hair. My useless son stood off to the side, clapping his little hands with glee.

"Irene, you're so beautiful! Dad, when are you going to marry her?"

Vincent shared a warm smile with Irene, who bashfully lowered her head. The creak of my wheelchair cut through the serene moment.

Vincent looked at me indifferently. "Three years ago, you sabotaged Irene's chance to win that award. Do you regret it now?"

I raised my eyes briefly to meet his. After three years of being imprisoned in a basement, I was already extremely disappointed with him.

Silence hung between us as I looked away, focusing on my legs. Irene's voice, syrupy and soft, broke the quiet. "Vincent, are you still upset with me?

"During the finals, she took my manuscript. I was so frightened that I went to the media. I could never have foreseen my fans reacting so wildly…"

'Fans? She has the nerve to call them fans, huh?' I cursed deep down.

The truth was Vincent couldn't stand to see his darling Irene pained, so he paid thugs to cripple me.

She orchestrated the whole thing, taking my place and becoming known to the world as a genius screenwriter. Yet, when the final competition arrived, she floundered and fabricated a story to mask her incompetence.

Just then, Frank Carson, my son, came running over and gave my wheelchair a hard shove.

"You evil woman! How could you steal from Irene?"

Irene patted his head with feigned gentleness, and her voice dripped with saccharine falsehood as she murmured, "Frank, it's not right to speak so of your mother."

Without hesitation, Frank burrowed into her embrace, his cheek pressed against her shoulder. "Irene, she's not my mom. Dad's divorcing her soon, and then you, the kind and lovely Irene, will be my mom!"

I clutched the tattered, yellowed photo in my pocket, a wry smile formed on my lips.

Over the past three years, every time I was on the verge of collapse, I would think of Frank. He was still so young, and he needed me.

But now, when he looked at me, I saw only hatred in his eyes. Was this truly the child for whom I was prepared to sacrifice everything?

Vincent sneered, "Even a child understands better, Kelsey. How do you still not see it? You've lived carefree these past three years. Did you ever consider how Irene has managed to survive?"

'Carefree? That dark, rat-infested basement was home to nothing but vermin and, occasionally, slimy snakes.

'My legs had been shattered and left untreated. One could smell the decay if they got close enough. If not for Frank, I would have ended my misery by smashing my head against the wall long ago. Is that his idea of carefree?' I thought bitterly.

Vincent stared at my legs in disgust. "You only injured your legs.