Chapter 3

3

Paige stared at me, her eyes as distant as if she were looking at a complete stranger.

"How did you become such a monster? If I had known you were this vile, back then..."

I cut her off sharply: "If I had known you were nothing more than a cheap, revolving door, I never would have pulled you out of the ocean eight years ago!"

When the Prescott family went bankrupt, Paige's father had leaped from a skyscraper, and her mother had followed him into death.

Vicious loan sharks had shattered Paige's legs and dumped her into the freezing coastal waters to drown.

I was out on my small fishing boat when I spotted her floating body and brought her home.

I truly believed that two broken souls could keep each other warm in a cruel world.

Yet Felix's sudden return had turned our eight-year marriage into a humiliating farce.

The system's warnings had revealed just how disposable I was in her eyes.

Looking at Paige dripping with coffee, I felt deep regret for saving her life for the very first time.

Suddenly, Felix let out a frail gasp.

He leaned heavily against the mahogany desk, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

"Paige, my head hurts... I feel so dizzy."

Without even wiping the coffee from her face, Paige spun around and caught him in her arms.

Without casting a single glance in my direction, she helped Felix over to the leather sofa.

I turned on my heel to leave, but her sharp voice halted me.

"Felix collapsed because of your violence. Do not move an inch!"

She pressed the intercom button and summoned her private physician.

After hearing Paige's absurd demand, the doctor wiped beads of cold sweat from his forehead.

"Ms. Prescott, while Mr. Pierce and Mr. Mercer both share Type A blood, mild anemia does not strictly require an emergency direct transfusion."

"Even if we proceed with a transfusion, standard hospital protocol requires..."

"That takes too much time," Paige interrupted, her voice chilled like ice.

"Since Logan had the audacity to lay his hands on Felix, he must take full responsibility for the consequences."

"Draw his blood right now."

The system urged me in my mind: "Do not just stand there. Start raising hell!"

I dug my fingernails into my palm, spun around, and kicked the double doors of the executive suite wide open.

"Urgent request for Type A blood! Ten thousand dollars for every hundred milliliters in cash!"

I turned back and locked eyes with Paige's stunned, furious gaze.

"What is the matter, Paige? Surely you are not too cheap to spare a few bucks for your precious darling?"

Outside the office, dozens of corporate employees began crowding around the doorway.

"Ms. Prescott, Mr. Pierce, I am Type A! I even have an active donor card! Are you really paying ten grand per hundred milliliters?"

I offered a cheerful smile: "Your CEO is desperate to save Mr. Mercer. The more donors, the better!"

Leaving the chaotic scene behind, I pushed through the whispering crowd and headed straight back to the villa.

Guided by the system, I spent several hours drafting an updated, ironclad divorce settlement.

It was past two in the morning when Paige finally stumbled through the front door.

She carried the unmistakable scent of luxury men's cologne.

She had completely forgotten that I was severely allergic to heavy fragrances.

Picking up the divorce agreement from the coffee table, she let out a series of cold, mocking laughs.

"Logan Pierce, demanding that I walk away with zero assets? Have you completely lost your marbles?"

She threw a medical organ donation consent form straight at my chest.

"Stop playing these pathetic games. You either sign this willingly, or I will have people hold your hand down to sign it."

I flipped through the pages, and sure enough, it was an agreement surrendering my kidney.

Paige took a pen and scribbled a modification on the divorce contract: "Felix's internal organs are failing. Help him out, and consider it a final favor to me."

"As compensation, I will grant you one hundred thousand dollars."

She stared at me with icy contempt: "Do not get greedy. It makes me feel as if you only rescued me eight years ago for my money."

Perhaps convinced she held absolute power over me, she walked straight into the master bedroom to sleep.

A chilling breeze drifted through the window, sending a shudder down my spine.

Obeying the system's precise instructions, I powered on the desktop computer in her study.

Her social media master password was effortless to crack; it was the exact date Felix had boarded his flight abroad years ago.

After all, she had permanently tattooed those exact numbers onto her left ankle.

I snapped high-resolution photos of the organ donation form and uploaded them across her verified corporate social media accounts.

The caption read: Seeking a compatible kidney at premium price. One hundred thousand dollars per organ. Serious inquiries, call immediately.

Beneath the post, I attached Paige Prescott's private mobile number.