Ethan Roscente clutched his head, knuckles turning white.

His bloodshot eyes remained fixed on the glowing red light above the operating room.

"Jenna will be fine..." His whisper was hoarse, barely audible.

The operating room doors swung open abruptly.

A masked doctor strode out. "Family of Jenna Roland?"

Ethan shot to his feet and rushed forward. "I'm her husband. How is she?"

The doctor removed his mask, expression grave. "She's suffering from postpartum hemorrhage. We need Type B blood immediately, but our blood bank is running low. Is anyone here Type B?"

Ethan's face drained of color.

"I'm not..." His voice shook. "Can you transfer blood from another hospital?"

The doctor shook his head. "There's no time."

Stella Laurent wrung her hands. "I'm not Type B either!"

Then a familiar voice cut through the tension.

"What happened to Jenna?"

Lucien Valois approached swiftly, his suit jacket draped over one arm, forehead glistening with sweat.

Ethan's gaze turned icy as he blocked his path. "What are you doing here?"

Stella quickly intervened. "Mr. Valois, Jenna's hemorrhaging after childbirth. She needs Type B blood!"

Without hesitation, Lucien rolled up his sleeve. "I'm Type B. Take mine."

Ethan grabbed his collar. "Don't think this will—"

"Enough!" Lucien shoved him away. "Saving her comes first!"

The doctor made a swift decision. "Follow me."

Lucien hastily handed his documents and phone to Stella before following the doctor into the operating room.

The sharp scent of antiseptic assaulted his senses.

A nurse handed him sterile scrubs. "Change into these first."

Fumbling with the garments, Lucien shuddered as the cold alcohol swab touched his skin.

When the final door opened, the sight on the operating table froze his blood.

Jenna lay motionless, her face paper-white. The sheets beneath her were soaked crimson.

His legs nearly gave out.

"Will she..." Lucien's voice trembled. "...make it?"

A gurney was wheeled over. "We need that transfusion now!"

As the needle pierced his vein, Lucien stared fixedly at the ceiling.

"Take more," he rasped. "However much you need."

The nurse frowned. "Regulations limit donations to 400 milliliters."

"That won't be enough!" He tried to sit up.

"Don't worry," she pressed him back down. "Additional blood is en route from other hospitals."

Only then did Lucien relax against the bed, closing his eyes.

He remembered coming only to collect his medical report, only to encounter a frantic Ethan in the hallway.

How cruelly ironic fate could be.