I Went Bankrupt And My Husband Left Me.I Sold My Plasma For $40 Then Found Out It Was Worth Millions
Alexander remained in intensive care for three days, his recovery proceeding more slowly than the medical team had hoped, but without major complication. During this time, I found myself in a strange limbo, no longer actively donating blood, but not yet released to return home. Blackwood explained that I needed to remain available for potential additional donations during Alexander’s recovery phase, but I suspected there was more to my continued presence at the clinic than medical necessity.
On the fourth day post-surgery, I was finally permitted to visit Alexander. He was awake but heavily medicated, his usual sharp alertness dulled by painkillers and fatigue. Various tubes and monitors connected him to machines that beeped and hummed, tracking his vital functions with clinical precision.
«Harper,» he said when he saw me, his voice a rasp of its usual resonance. «You’re still here.»
«Where else would I be?» I replied, taking the chair beside his bed. «Someone has to make sure all that golden blood wasn’t wasted.»
A ghost of his usual smile touched his pale lips. «Always practical.»
We sat in companionable silence for several minutes, the beeping monitors a strange counterpoint to the unspoken current between us. Finally, he spoke again, each word clearly requiring effort.
«I had a dream during surgery. You were there.»
«Was I planning an event?» I asked lightly.
«No.» His gaze, though clouded by medication, held mine. «You were standing at a crossroads holding something bright in your hands. You offered it to me, but then…» He frowned slightly, the memory slipping away. «I can’t recall the rest.»
«Sounds like an anesthesia dream,» I said, oddly disturbed by his description.
«Perhaps.» He shifted slightly, wincing. «Or perhaps symbolic. You quite literally offered me your life force.»
«For three million dollars,» I reminded him. «Hardly a selfless gesture.»
«We both know it wasn’t just about the money.»
His eyes drifted closed, fatigue overtaking him. I sat with him until he fell asleep, troubled by his words. He was right, of course. Somewhere along this strange journey, the transaction had become something more complex than a simple exchange of blood for money. I’d begun to care about this man—his recovery, his future, his solitary existence despite his vast wealth. It was unexpected and slightly alarming.
As I left the ICU, I nearly collided with a tall, impeccably dressed Asian man who shared Alexander’s sharp features and penetrating gaze, though softened by youth.
«Mrs. Bennett, I presume,» he said, extending his hand. «David Richter, Alexander’s son.»
I shook his hand, noting his firm grip and assessing gaze. «You’ve come from Singapore?»
«As soon as I could arrange it.» A flicker of something, defensiveness perhaps, crossed his face. «Contrary to whatever my father may have implied, his family does care about his welfare.»
«He said very little about his family,» I replied diplomatically.
David’s expression suggested he didn’t believe me, but he let it pass. «The doctors tell me your blood saved his life. Our family owes you a debt of gratitude beyond the financial compensation.»
There was something rehearsed about his gratitude that reminded me of Gavin at his most professionally charming. I wondered how much this young man, who had clearly inherited his father’s business acumen if not his warmth, knew about my arrangement with Alexander.
«I should let you visit your father,» I said, stepping aside.
«Actually, Mrs. Bennett, I was hoping we might speak privately first.» He gestured toward the waiting area. «There are some aspects of your arrangement with my father I’d like to discuss.»
Warning bells rang in my mind. «Any discussions about my agreement should include Tim Blackwood and the attorneys who drafted it.»
«Of course,» he said smoothly. «I simply thought a preliminary conversation might be beneficial. My father, while brilliant in business, can sometimes be… impulsive when his health is concerned.»
«Your father struck me as quite methodical,» I countered, «and I found Blackwood to be extremely thorough.»
David’s polite smile tightened slightly. «Mrs. Bennett, my concern is simple. My father has developed a personal interest in you that extends beyond the medical necessity of your blood type. This could complicate matters when he’s thinking more clearly.»
The implication was clear. He believed I was somehow manipulating Alexander during his vulnerability. The suggestion stung more than it should have.
«Mr. Richter, I have no designs on your father or his fortune beyond our existing agreement.» I met his gaze directly. «I came here to donate blood and be fairly compensated for it. Any personal connection that developed was initiated by Alexander, not me.»
«I meant no offense,» he backpedaled, though his eyes remained cool and assessing. «I’m simply looking out for family interests during a difficult time.»
«I understand completely,» I replied, thinking of Gavin’s sudden renewed interest in ‘family’ once money entered the equation. «Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for a follow-up examination.»
That evening, Andrea found me on my balcony, staring out at the mountains as twilight painted them in shades of purple and gold. She handed me a glass of wine, a small luxury now that my donations were complete.
«You seem troubled,» she observed. «Is it Alexander’s condition?»
«Partly,» I admitted, «and a rather tense conversation with his son.»
«Ah, the prodigal son arrives.» Andrea leaned against the railing. «He’s been here less than a day and already the staff is talking about him. Very demanding, very corporate.»
«He thinks I’m taking advantage of his father’s vulnerability,» I said, the words bitter on my tongue.
«Are you?» she asked bluntly.
I turned to her, surprised. «Of course not.»
«Then why does it bother you what David Richter thinks?» She sipped her wine. «Unless you care more about Alexander than you’re admitting.»
The question hung in the air between us, uncomfortably precise. Did I care about Alexander Richter? The wealthy, powerful banker who had swept into my life on the back of a biological coincidence? The man whose blood money would resurrect my financial life? The patient whose recovery I found myself invested in beyond any practical consideration?
«It’s complicated,» I finally said.
«Life usually is.» Andrea smiled sympathetically. «Look, whatever’s happening between you and Alexander, or not happening, it’s nobody’s business but yours. Not his son’s, not Blackwood’s, not even mine.»
«There’s nothing happening,» I insisted, perhaps too quickly. «We’ve just connected somehow, found common ground despite our very different circumstances.»
«If you say so.» Her tone made it clear she wasn’t entirely convinced. «By the way, Blackwood mentioned they’re planning to move you to the residential wing tomorrow. Alexander’s stable enough that they don’t need you quite so close at hand medically.»
The news should have been welcome. The residential wing was apparently even more luxurious than my current suite, with more independence and privacy. Instead, I felt a twinge of… what? Disappointment at being moved further from Alexander? The thought was absurd.
«That makes sense,» I said neutrally. «Did he mention how much longer I’ll need to stay in Switzerland?»
«Another two weeks, possibly three,» Andrea replied. «They want you available for any complications, plus there are some follow-up donations scheduled once Alexander is stronger.»
Two more weeks in this strange bubble, suspended between my old life and whatever came next. Two more weeks of conversations with Alexander, watching him recover, navigating the complex dynamics with his son and staff. Two more weeks before I had to face Gavin and his legal maneuvers, before I had to decide what to do with my unexpected wealth, before I had to rebuild my life from the ground up.
«What will you do when you go back?» Andrea asked, as if reading my thoughts.
I took a long sip of wine, considering. «Start over, I suppose. Pay off my debts. Find a place to live. Help Mia return to school.»
«And professionally?»
The question gave me pause. I hadn’t thought much beyond the immediate financial relief the Richter payment would provide. My catering and event business was irreparably damaged, not just financially, but reputationally. Starting over in the same industry would be an uphill battle at best.
«I don’t know,» I admitted. «Twenty years in one business doesn’t prepare you well for a midlife career change.»
«Unless,» Andrea suggested, «you use what you’ve learned about crisis and recovery to help others navigate similar situations.»
The idea resonated unexpectedly, echoing conversations I’d had with Alexander about transforming failure into opportunity. Before I could explore it further, my phone buzzed with a text from Blackwood.
Mr. Richter is asking for you. If you’re available, he seems quite insistent despite medical advice to rest.
I showed Andrea the message, and she raised an eyebrow. «Nothing happening, hm?»
«He’s probably just bored and restless,» I said, setting down my wine glass. «You know how terrible patients can be.»
«Oh, I do,» she agreed with a knowing smile, «especially when they only want to see one specific visitor.»
I ignored her implication and headed back inside to change before returning to the ICU. Whatever was happening between Alexander and me—this unexpected connection, this mutual recognition of something I couldn’t quite name—it deserved exploration, not denial. And if his son or anyone else had opinions about it, well, I’d survived the collapse of my business and marriage. I could certainly handle a disapproving heir to a banking fortune.
