Chapter 4

David had always been dependent on me, long before he stole my money. In the early days, he called my financial acumen 'our little secret weapon' . He' d come to me with business proposals and investment ideas, and I, with my 'Golden Eyes' , could see the flaws, the hidden risks. I' d gently steer him toward safer, more profitable ventures. He took the credit, of course. His friends saw him as a savvy businessman with a golden touch. But his Midas touch was mine. He wasn' t a king; he was just a man who had married the oracle.

He resented it. He hated that his success was tied to me. That' s when the manipulation began to escalate. He started talking about my 'gift' as something unstable, something that needed to be tethered to him to be safe.

That led to the biggest deception of all: the surgery. He found a doctor, a charismatic man who spoke of esoteric energies and biological harmony. They told me that my unique physiology, the source of my intuitive financial success, was creating an imbalance. They claimed a small bone marrow transplant to David would stabilize both of us, tying my 'luck' to his physical well-being and protecting me from burning out. He framed it as an act of ultimate commitment, a way to literally bind our lives together.

He said it was for my own good. He said it was for our family. He begged me, telling me he was scared of losing me to the pressures of my own talent. I was so in love, and so tired of the relentless pace of my career, that I believed his twisted logic. I agreed to the procedure.

I woke up with a permanent, deep-seated ache and a constant chill. My once boundless energy was gone. I became weaker, more susceptible to illness. David, on the other hand, seemed to flourish. His business ventures, now guided by the dregs of my advice, had a slightly higher success rate. He thought he had siphoned off a piece of my magic. In reality, he had just crippled me.

I remember one winter, I came down with a severe case of pneumonia. The weakness from the procedure had compromised my immune system. I was in bed for two weeks, my fever spiking dangerously. I begged him to stay home with me one evening. I was scared.

"I can' t, Sarah," he' d said, buttoning his coat. "Olivia' s startup is having a crisis. She needs me."

"David, please," I' d whispered, my breath shallow. "I just need you here for a little while."

His phone buzzed. A text from Olivia. I saw the preview on the screen. "Davey, I' m so stressed I could die. I need you now." It was theatrical and manipulative, even then.

"I have to go," he said, his voice impatient. He didn't even look at me as he walked out the door. He just shut it behind him, leaving me alone in the dark, shivering with fever and a pain that had nothing to do with the pneumonia. He chose her fake crisis over my real one. He didn't just neglect me; he actively chose to abandon me when I was at my most vulnerable.

That was the moment the first crack appeared in the foundation of my love for him. I realized he didn' t see my sacrifice as a gift. He saw it as a right. My health, my well-being, my very life force, was secondary to his desires and Olivia' s ambitions. He hadn't just taken a piece of my body; he had taken my agency, my strength, and he expected me to be grateful for it.

Now, standing in the kitchen as he reeled from the financial blow, I saw that same cold indifference in his eyes. He wasn't angry because he loved me and felt betrayed. He was angry because his asset had just liquidated itself. His property had just walked off the lot. The well he had been drinking from for years had suddenly run dry, and he was dying of thirst.

He had forgotten that I was the one who dug the well in the first place.