New beginning: Billionaire love story (Claire and Alex)
Chapter 268 Blood Type

Alexander's voice echoed through the hall of the hospital, louder than intended. "Blood donor?"

The doctor nodded solemnly. Abigail's parents, Mary and Richard, traded anxious glances as Mary asked, "Doesn't the hospital have any blood in stock?"

The doctor sighed and looked genuinely regretful. "We're out of her blood type. Unfortunately, it's not a common one, and we don't have any left."

Mary's face fell, and Richard laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. They both knew their blood types didn't match Abigail's, so they couldn't help. Joan, Alexander's mother, moved forward, putting a gentle hand on Mary's arm.

"I'm so sorry, Mary," she told her. "If my blood were a match, I wouldn't hesitate for one second to donate." Her voice was full of sympathy.

Mary nodded, welling up but not spilling. "Thanks, Joan."

The two women hugged; the serious weight of the moment pressed heavily on those in the room. Alexander, standing aside, watched the tense and worried faces of Abigail's parents and Joan's silent apology. He could feel something inside him stir. Without really giving too much thought, he blurted out, "I'll donate my blood."

Everyone in the room turned to him in surprise. The doctor merely blinked at him, clearly appreciative, yet practical at the same time. "What's your blood type?" he asked.

Alexander froze. His face turned serious, his scratching at the back of his neck. "Uh. I don't actually know."

The doctor's eyebrows rose slightly, but then he nodded. "Well, we can test your blood. The nurse will show you to a room where we can take a sample."

As the doctor left them, Richard turned to Alexander; his face a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion, "Thanks, Alexander. We can't replace the words to say just how much this means." Alex raised his hand almost diffidently: "Don't thank me yet. We don't even know if my blood type matches her."

Richard gave a weak smile. "Still, that you offered. It means much."

Alexander nodded, his face a little awkward from all this weight of appreciation. "Abigail is my childhood friend," he said softly. "I could never ignore her when she needs help."

But the moment the words had left his lips, his mind started to wander, and guilt slowly crept in to remind him that, in truth, there was at least one occasion when he had overlooked someone in distress who needed his help.

His mind began to flash three years back in time Claire-to the ways he had neglected her then, which, now in retrospect, made him cringe at the thought of all that cold indifference of which he had been capable.

One incident he remembered: Claire was trying to cook. She wasn't the best of cooks; that much he teased her for. Maybe he had teased too much. He knew he had told her she couldn't cook, that she was always reliant on the maid, and most cruelly of all, she wasn't 'wife material.' He hadn't been kind, nor even noticed when his words hurt her.

One day, Claire burned her wrist while cooking. He remembered seeing the burn but doing nothing to help her while he just sat there acting nonchalant, pretending it didn't bother him. She was trying so hard to prove herself from his harsh comments, and all he did was sit back and watch.

It wasn't even the worst, the burn on her wrist. She'd also cut her fingers more than once but never told him. Claire just kept smiling and serving him the food with bandaged hands, as if she didn't hurt.

His chest was now constricting in guilt as he reflected on how callous he had been. Every memory of how he treated Claire back then made him worse: How could he have been so heartless, so blind to what she needed?

Claire sat at her desk, staring down at her wrist. The faint scars from three years ago were still there, and no matter what she tried, they wouldn't disappear. She'd used every ointment imaginable, but the wounds refused to fade, as if they were determined to stay and remind her of everything she'd been through with Alexander. The pain, the heartbreak, the endless cycle of hurt-it was all wrapped up in those small, stubborn scars.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the buzzing of her phone on the desk. Speak of the devil. Alexander was calling. She blinked at the screen, not moving to pick it up. Usually, he'd send a text. So why was he calling her now?

The phone kept vibrating, buzzing loudly against the wood of her desk. Claire gritted her teeth, trying to focus back on the document she was typing. But the sound was starting to grate on her nerves, making it impossible to concentrate. "Ugh, fine!" she muttered, grabbing her phone and answering with an annoyed, "What?"

On the other end, Alexander's voice was soft and hesitant, which instantly made Claire suspicious. "Claire," he began. "Abigail's in the hospital."

Claire's frown deepened, her irritation fading into confusion. "What? Why is she in the hospital?"

Alexander took a deep breath before replying, his voice strained. "She was in a car accident."

The words hit Claire like a punch to the stomach. She froze, her mind going blank. Abigail? In a car accident? She'd just seen her earlier today, and she'd been perfectly fine. This couldn't be happening. "What? It can't be." Claire said, her voice quieter now, disbelief creeping in. She stood up suddenly, grabbing her bag without even thinking. "What hospital is she in?"

Alexander quickly gave her the name, and without another word, Claire hung up, practically throwing her office door open in her rush. On the other side stood Matthew, looking amused as he leaned against the wall. "Going on a date?" Matthew joked, raising an eyebrow.

Claire wasn't in the mood. Her face was tense, serious, and she replied curtly, "Abigail got into a car accident."

Matthew's expression shifted instantly from playful to shocked. "Wait, what? Abigail?" His eyes widened in disbelief.

Claire nodded, her thoughts racing, but Matthew quickly straightened up, his own sense of urgency kicking in. "I'll drive you," he said, his tone serious now. Without wasting any more time, they both rushed out of Metacortex and headed straight for the hospital.

During the ride, the tension in the car was palpable. Matthew kept glancing over at Claire, as if trying to gauge how she was feeling, but she didn't say much. Her mind was too occupied with worry for Abigail. Finally, Matthew broke the silence. "How did you replace out?"

"Alexander called me," Claire

muttered, almost reluctantly. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I wasn't even going to pick up. You know how he is-whenever he calls, it's usually about something completely irrelevant. But if thadn't answered... I wouldn't have known."

Matthew nodded quietly, understanding her frustration. He was no fan of Alexander either, especially considering her history with him. "Honestly, I probably would've ignored his call too. But... I guess it's good you picked up this time." Claire stared out the window, her thoughts a whirlwind. "We were just working with her earlier. And now this? It doesn't make sense."

Matthew didn't have an answer for that. He just kept driving, and the two fell back into silence as they made their way to the hospital.

When they arrived, Claire barely

waited for the car to stop before she jumped out and rushed inside. She made a beeline for the reception

"

desk, her heart racing in her chest. "I'm looking for Abigail Hastings," she said breathlessly to the nurse.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look and quickly directed her to the first floor. Claire nodded her thanks and hurried off, with Matthew close behind.

As soon as they reached the waiting area, Claire spotted Alexander, Joan, and what she assumed were Abigail's parents. Alexander was the first to notice her, and he immediately got up, walking over with a serious look on his face. "Claire," he said, his voice low. "What's your blood type?"