Fifteen days later.

Theodore Valentine's private investigator finally located Isabella Valentine's hideout in a remote mountainous area.

She was holed up in an abandoned farmhouse, surrounded by overgrown weeds. The cell reception was spotty at best.

Theodore stood before the dilapidated wooden door, his face dark with fury.

"Isabella, how have I treated you all these years?"

Leaning against the peeling earthen wall, Isabella let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, wonderfully. You even gave the company shares to Alexander."

"That was a temporary measure!" Theodore slammed his palm against the doorframe. "Your mother could've taken everything from me at any moment!"

"Then why not give them to me?"

"You're too easily manipulated." Theodore pulled two documents from his briefcase. "Sign this—donate part of your liver to me—and all of this will be yours."

Isabella took the papers, her hands trembling slightly.

Three luxury penthouses in the city center. Fifteen percent of the Valentine Group's shares.

Enough to last her three lifetimes.

But the thought of a scalpel slicing open her abdomen made her shudder.

"Dad, how could you bear to see me suffer?"

"I'd rather not die waiting!" Theodore broke into a violent coughing fit. "The hospital waiting list would take forever!"

"You could buy a donor!"

"Family transplants are safest!" Theodore suddenly threw down another document. "Sign it, or forfeit your inheritance!"

Staring at the black-and-white text, Isabella's tears splattered onto the paper.

With trembling hands, she signed her name and bolted out the door.

Just as she reached the village entrance, Adrian Sullivan's call came through.

"Heard you gave up your inheritance?" His voice dripped with mockery.

Isabella choked back a sob. "The surgery would leave a scar..."

"Idiot!" Adrian sneered. "Now that you're penniless, why would I marry you?"

"You—"

"Don't be naive. This was always a business arrangement." A lighter clicked on the other end. "If you'd let your own father die, what kind of wife would you make?"

The call ended abruptly.

Standing under the scorching sun, Isabella felt only an icy chill.

Back in the hospital room, Theodore summoned Alexander Valentine.

"Son, you're my only hope now."

Alexander nodded silently.

Three days later, he found a Type AB donor through a black-market broker.

In a dim café, the man called Hammer Ulrich stared with venomous eyes.

"Two hundred grand. Take it or leave it."

Alexander studied the recently paroled rapist, his stomach churning.

But for his father, he signed the contract.

On the day of the surgery, Victoria Windsor arrived in stilettos.

Hammer's gaze slithered over her like a serpent.

"Remember that night twenty years ago, sweetheart?" He breathed into Victoria's ear.

Her face turned deathly pale.