1 I saw the numbers hovering over their heads right before I was scheduled to go under the knife to save my mother’s life.

It started as a flicker, then solidified into a cruel, neon reality. Above my older sister Serena’s head, the compatibility rating glowed at a staggering 80%.

Above Weston, my twin brother—born only minutes after me—it pulsed at 85%. Stunned, I blinked rapidly, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I made a frantic excuse and retreated to the hospital bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. When I looked into the mirror, the number above my own reflection was a dismal 60%.

My blood turned to ice. I tried to tell myself it was a hallucination brought on by preop stress, a glitch in a brain starved of sleep.

But then, through the thin partition of the vanity wall, I heard my mother’s voice—hushed, urgent, and devoid of the warmth she usually reserved for my siblings. "Keep your mouths shut about the donor results," she hissed to Serena and Weston. "Serena’s wedding to the Price heir is weeks away.

I won't have her scarred or weakened. I won't let a surgery ruin her future." "And Weston," she continued, her voice softening with maternal doting, "he’s a man. He’s the legacy.

I can’t have him compromising his health for me." Then came the needle that popped the bubble of my world. Her tone flattened when she spoke of me. "It doesn’t matter for Natalie.

Her husband is already stepping out on her with that actress, and she’s getting rid of that baby anyway.

Losing a kidney is the least of her problems." The words felt like a jagged blade plunged directly into my chest.

To test her—to see if she cared for me at all—I had spent weeks playing the part of a woman in a crumbling marriage.

I had even let her believe I was going to terminate my pregnancy, the first grandchild of the Blackwood estate, just so I could be "healthy enough" to save her.

I was the least compatible match in the family. And yet, I was the only one she was willing to sacrifice. Fine.

If I’m not the match she wants, she’s not getting the kidney she needs. "Marcus," I said into my phone, my voice trembling but certain as I leaned against the bathroom tile. "I need a car.

Now. Get me away from the clinic." "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood," my husband’s lead assistant replied immediately. "I’ll have a driver at the north entrance in five minutes.

Should I alert Hudson?" I thought of Hudson.

He was currently in London, finalizing an international merger that would solidify the Blackwood name for the next century. "No," I whispered. "Not yet." I tucked my phone into my bag.

A notification chimed. It was a message in the family group chat from my motherinlaw, Eleanor. Natalie, sweetie, have you… have you gone through with the procedure yet?

I’m not trying to pressure you. I just keep thinking about you in that hospital. I want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself. Please don’t overthink this.

When I didn't reply immediately, a notification from my banking app popped up. A wire transfer of one million dollars. A little something for you, Natalie.

Buy yourself something that makes you smile. We love you. My eyes blurred with hot, stinging tears.

In the seven years I’d been married to Hudson, the Blackwoods had never pressured me to produce an heir.

Even now, when I told them I was choosing my mother’s life over my pregnancy, they had offered nothing but silent, agonizing support.

And here was my biological mother, trading my health for my siblings’ convenience. I typed a quick message back to Eleanor: I’m keeping the baby. I’m coming home.

I barely hit send before the bathroom door was nearly kicked off its hinges. "Natalie!

What the hell are you doing in there?" Weston’s voice boomed, dripping with his usual entitled impatience. "The surgeon is waiting.

You aren't getting cold feet, are you?" He shoved the door open before I could reach for the lock. "You’re the only match we have.

Don't you dare screw this up for Mom." I didn't say a word. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face so hard my palm stung. "I am your sister, Weston.

You will speak to me with respect," I spat. He recoiled, his eyes wide with fury.

Just as he raised a hand to strike back, Serena stepped in, her silk wrap fluttering as she grabbed his arm. "Natalie, honey, don't be upset," Serena said, her voice a saccharine trill. "Weston is just stressed.

We all are. It’s almost time for your… appointment.

The termination needs to happen before the transplant prep begins." "I’m not terminating the pregnancy," I said, stepping past them into the hallway. "And I’m not giving up a kidney." The color drained from Serena’s face. "What?

Natalie, what are you talking about? You’re the only one who can save her.

Do you want to watch her die?" She began to sob, her theatrical cries drawing the attention of other patients in the ward. "She’s your mother!

How can you be so heartless?" "Look at her!" a woman in a nearby waiting chair whispered loudly. "To leave her own mother to die?

What a monster." The murmurs of the crowd rose like a tide, but I looked at the numbers glowing above my siblings' heads—80% and 85%. "I want the original lab reports from the county hospital," I said, my voice dead calm. "I want to see your results, not the summaries you gave me." 2 The initial tests had been done at a smaller, rural facility near my mother’s house while she was in "critical condition." I had never questioned them.

I had simply flown in, terrified, and stepped up when they told me I was the only hope. "We already told you the results!" Weston shouted, his face reddening. "You’re just looking for an excuse to be a coward!" I gave him a thin, cold smile. "The results.

Or the deal is off." I didn't wait for an answer. I walked out of the ward, down the stairs, and into the waiting black Town Car.

Marcus was there, holding the door open with a grave expression. "Ma'am, are we going to the Blackwood estate or the apartment you’ve been renting?" "The apartment first.

I need to pick up something." When my mother "fell ill," I had moved into a cramped, twobedroom walkup in a gritty part of town.

I told her Hudson had kicked me out after his "affair" went public. I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her. It wasn't pity. It was relief.

If I was a social pariah with nothing left, then taking my kidney wouldn't lead to any messy legal blowback from the Blackwood lawyers.

I walked into the dusty apartment and looked at the mantle.

My father’s urn sat there, next to a framed photo of him in his police uniform. "I’m sorry, Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I tried to keep the peace.

I tried to be the daughter you wanted me to be. But I can't let her destroy me anymore." I carefully tucked the urn and the photo into my bag.

As I turned to leave, I heard a commotion outside. "You can't go up there!" Marcus was shouting. "Mrs. Blackwood doesn't want to see you!" "Mrs.

Blackwood?" Weston’s voice sneered. "Natalie Whitaker got dumped months ago!

Get out of our way, you pathetic rentacop!" I heard a heavy thud—the sound of Marcus being shoved against the hallway wall.

I stepped out of the door just as Weston and a couple of his "buddies" reached the landing. "There she is. The Golden Child," Weston mocked, holding up his phone.

He was livestreaming. "Hey guys, back again.

Today’s episode: My sister, the billionaire's exwife, tries to murder our mom by skipping out on her surgery." He leaned in, his breath smelling of cheap energy drinks. "The clinic called.

Your abortion appointment was ten minutes ago.

If you don't get in the car right now, I’ll make sure everyone knows exactly what kind of bitch you are." He glanced at his phone, grinning at the comments. "Don't worry, babe," he said into the camera, likely to his influencer girlfriend. "I’m not the one going under the knife.

I promised you that." The 85% above his head seemed to mock me. I helped Marcus up. His forehead was scraped, bleeding slightly. "Marcus, call the police.

File a report for assault." "Assault?" Weston laughed. "You’re delusional, Nat.

This is a family intervention." Serena stepped forward then, her eyes redrimmed. "Natalie, please… I’m begging you. I’m marrying into the Landros family.

I just want Mom to be there to see me walk down the aisle.

If I have to undergo surgery now, the recovery… the scars… the Landros family expects perfection." I looked at the 80% above her head.

Then I looked past them to my mother, who was sitting in the back of a beatup SUV at the curb, a catheter bag hanging visibly from her waist, her face a mask of pale, calculated suffering. "Mom," I called out, my voice echoing in the narrow stairwell. "Is it true?

Am I really the only one who can save you?" 3 "Natalie, please," my mother whimpered, leaning against the car door. "Just give me the kidney. I know I wasn't always fair.

I know I was hard on you. But it was because I was so sick after I had you… I was paralyzed for a year. I couldn't help but resent the pain you caused me." The old script.

The guilt she had fed me since I was five years old. She had carried twins, but somehow, all the physical toll was blamed on me, never Weston. "I'm done," I said.

I turned to get into the car. "You're not going anywhere!" Weston lunged, grabbing my shoulder. I stumbled, the weight of his grip bruising my skin.

As I tried to steady myself, Serena’s foot shot out, tripping me. The bag slipped from my hand. The urn hit the pavement with a sickening crack.

The lid popped, and a cloud of grey ash spilled onto the dirty concrete. Time stopped.

I fell to my knees, frantically trying to scoop the remains back into the broken vessel, my coat getting stained with the dust of my father. "Weston! Serena!" I screamed.

I stood up and leveled a blow at Weston’s face, then turned and struck Serena. The cracks of my palm against their skin were the only sounds in the sudden silence of the alley.

Weston’s eyes turned murderous. "You deadbeat bitch," he growled, raising his fist. "Natalie," Serena hissed, her voice low and venomous. "The Landros family won't accept a bride with a missing organ.

You’re already ruined. Just go to the clinic.

Get rid of the brat and give up the kidney." She shoved me hard, sending me sprawling toward the ground again. "What do you think you're doing?" Marcus yelled, trying to intervene, but Weston’s friends held him back. "Blackwood's wife?" Weston laughed into his phone camera. "Look at her.

Natalie, you’re an actress. You really thought you could pull off the 'wealthy socialite' act? Dad always said you were the one who knew how to manipulate people.

He even spent his last moments alone with you just so he wouldn't have to look at us." He turned the phone toward me as I sat in the dirt. "Live, everyone!

Watch the fall of the fake Mrs. Blackwood!" I pulled my phone from my pocket. My voice was a low, dangerous rasp. "Weston, turn off the stream. Now.

Or the Blackwood family will erase you." "Erase me? With what?

Hudson’s mistress?" He laughed, checking his notifications. "Wait… what’s this?" Serena gasped, her phone lit up in her hand. "Weston… shut it down.

The Blackwood Group just issued a press release." 4 "Hudson Blackwood denies all rumors of infidelity," Serena read, her voice trembling. "He was photographed in London… at a highend boutique.

Buying a custommade nursery set." The silence that followed was heavy. "Is… is the affair a lie?" Serena whispered, looking at my stomach. "Is that really the Blackwood heir?" "Don't be stupid!" Weston snapped. "She wouldn't risk a billionaire's kid to give Mom a kidney.

She’s playing us!" He turned to Serena. "Call your fiancé. Ask him what the word is." Serena dialed with shaking fingers. "Caden? Caden, it’s me.

I need to ask—is Hudson Blackwood still with his wife?" The voice on the other end was loud, muffled, and punctuated by the sounds of a party. "Serena?

Why are you asking about Blackwood? Stay out of that circle, babe. Men like him… they keep the wife at home and the fun on the side. Everyone knows the marriage is a shell.

Now hang up, I’m busy." Serena exhaled, her confidence returning. "See? It’s a PR stunt. The marriage is dead." Weston grinned.

He pulled a small orange bottle from his pocket. "Well, if you won't go to the clinic, we’ll just bring the clinic to you. This is an abortifacient.

A friend of mine at the pharmacy hooked me up. If you won't do it the easy way, we’ll do it the hard way.

You’re giving Mom that kidney tomorrow, pregnant or not." He began to unscrew the cap, stepping toward me. "Stop!" Serena screamed suddenly, looking at her phone. "Weston, look at the news!

The Blackwood Group just filed for a temporary injunction against… us?" I looked at my mother.

She was watching me, her eyes darting between her children. "Mom," I said. "Do you know what Dad told me before he died? He told me to forgive you.

He said there’s no such thing as a mother who doesn't love her child." I gestured to the spilled ashes on the ground. "When I got married, you skipped the ceremony to take Serena to a corporate mixer.

When I was hospitalized with hyperemesis, you didn't answer my calls because you were helping Weston edit his vlog.

Look at Dad’s ashes and tell me—am I really the only match?" The alley went silent. "Natalie, you're killing her!" Serena yelled. "If you don't do this, she’ll die!

She might as well kill herself right now!" My mother took the cue.

She began to wail, throwing herself against the side of the car, her head striking the window with a dull thud. "It’s my fault! I should just die!

I’m a burden to my beautiful children!" "Natalie! You did this!" Weston shouted into his phone. "Are you seeing this, guys?

She’s driving our mother to suicide!" I looked at my phone.

I hit the speed dial for a number I hadn't called in weeks. "Eleanor," I said, my voice cold as stone. "There are people in the alley. They’re trying to force me to take a pill.

They’re trying to kill your grandson."