As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole.
I begged him for help, my vision blurring.
But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress’s giggle in the background.
“Stop the drama, June,” Cole snapped, his voice cold. “We’re about to go on stage. Don’t call again.”
He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm.
I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube.
Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress’s perfume. He didn’t hug me. He didn’t cry.
Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled.
“You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance,” he hissed. “My mistress, Alycia, says you’re faking it. Clean yourself up.”
He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia’s “groundbreaking” medical research.
I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym.
They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole’s money to survive.
They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity.
I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding.
I didn’t wipe it off. I signed my name right over it.
Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole’s house.
The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 1
Help me… the baby…
A sharp, tearing sensation ripped through June’s lower abdomen.
It was so sudden, so violently intense, that her fingers went numb. The glass of water slipped from her hand.
It hit the hardwood floor, shattering into dozens of jagged pieces. The sound echoed loudly in the massive, empty master bedroom of the Compton estate.
June tried to take a step forward, but her knees buckled.
A cold sweat instantly broke out across her forehead, sticking her hair to her skin. She collapsed onto the expensive Persian rug, her hands flying to her stomach.
Her lungs forgot how to pull in air. The pain wasn’t just a dull ache; it felt like a serrated blade twisting inside her organs.
Her vision blurred at the edges, turning gray. She knew her body. She was a medical researcher. This was not a normal pregnancy cramp. Her vital signs were crashing.
Her phone was on the nightstand, three feet away. It looked like a mile.
Trembling violently, June dragged her body across the floor. The jagged pieces of the broken glass bit into her knee, but she couldn’t even feel it over the agony in her abdomen.
She reached up, her fingers blindly clawing at the nightstand until she knocked the phone down.
The bright screen pierced her eyes. Her fingers were slick with cold sweat. She pressed the speed dial. Number 1.
Cole.
The phone rang once.
June squeezed her eyes shut, her fingernails digging so hard into her palms that the skin broke. Please answer. Please.
It rang a second time. Each second stretched out, heavy and suffocating.
Then, a click.
“What?” Cole’s voice came through the speaker.
It wasn’t a greeting. It was a wall of ice. In the background, June could hear the clinking of champagne flutes and the smooth jazz of a live band.
“Cole…” June gasped, her throat tight and dry. “Help me… the baby…”
Before Cole could respond, a high-pitched, sweet voice drifted through the receiver.
“Cole, who is it? We’re going to be late for the red carpet.”
Alycia.
June’s stomach lurched. The pain spiked, sending a wave of nausea up her throat.
“June,” Cole said, his tone dropping into a low, impatient growl. “If this is your pathetic attempt to stop me from attending the gala, it’s a terrible strategy.”
“No…” June choked out. She tasted something metallic in her mouth. Blood. “I’m bleeding. Please.”
“Stop acting,” Cole snapped. She could almost see him adjusting his expensive cufflinks, annoyed by her existence. “You are perfectly fine. We are walking on stage in two minutes. Do not call this number again tonight.”
“Cole, wait-“
The line went dead.
The dial tone buzzed in the silent room. It sounded like a death sentence.
June stared at the darkened screen. Her phone slipped from her weak grasp, landing on the rug.
A sudden, terrifying warmth spread between her thighs.
June looked down. A dark, thick pool of red was soaking into the intricate patterns of the Persian rug.
Blood. So much blood.
A primal panic seized her chest. She was losing the baby.
With the last ounce of strength in her shaking fingers, she grabbed the phone again and dialed 911.
“911, what is your emergency?”
“Compton Manor…” June whispered, her voice barely leaving her throat. “Hemorrhaging. Pregnant. Please hurry.”
She dropped the phone. Her head fell back against the floor.
Across the room, the massive flat-screen TV was muted, playing a live broadcast of the charity gala.
Through her half-closed eyes, June saw Cole. He looked breathtaking in his custom tuxedo. He was smiling.
He was smiling down at Alycia, who had her arm wrapped tightly around his. Alycia wore a stunning white gown, looking like a bride. Cole’s eyes held a tenderness that June had not seen in four years of marriage.
The contrast was brutal. He was in the spotlight, holding another woman, while his wife was bleeding out on his bedroom floor.
The wail of ambulance sirens pierced the night air, growing louder.
Downstairs, the heavy oak doors banged open. Footsteps rushed up the stairs.
Mrs. Lynch, the head housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. She didn’t gasp in horror at June’s pale face. Instead, her eyes darted to the floor.
“Good heavens,” Mrs. Lynch muttered in disgust. “You’ve ruined the antique rug.”
Paramedics shoved past the housekeeper. They dropped a medical bag and knelt beside June.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?” a paramedic shouted, shining a penlight into her eyes.
June couldn’t speak. The room started to spin.
They lifted her onto a stretcher. The movement sent a fresh wave of agony through her pelvis, and a silent tear slid down her temple.
Inside the ambulance, the fluorescent lights flickered.
“Blood pressure is tanking!” a medic yelled over the siren. “Eighty over forty! Suspected ruptured ectopic pregnancy. Step on it!”
The doors of the emergency room flew open. The wheels of the gurney rattled violently against the linoleum floor. The overhead lights passed by in a dizzying blur.
Nurses swarmed her. Scissors cut through her blood-soaked clothes.
“Where is the family?” a doctor demanded, holding a clipboard. “Where is the husband? We need consent for emergency surgery!”
A nurse leaned over June. “Mrs. Compton? Where is your husband?”
June forced her heavy eyelids open. She looked at the nurse. Her lips trembled.
“He…” June’s voice was a broken whisper. “He won’t come.”
The doctor didn’t wait. “We’re losing her. Get her to the OR now!”
The heavy doors of the operating room swung shut. A mask was clamped over her nose and mouth.
The sweet, chemical smell of anesthesia filled her lungs. Her last conscious thought was the sound of Cole hanging up the phone.
Hours later, the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor woke her.
June opened her eyes. The hospital room was dark, lit only by the streetlights of New York City filtering through the blinds.
Her abdomen felt hollow. A dull, throbbing pain radiated from her surgical incisions.
The room was completely empty. There were no flowers. There was no husband sitting in the chair beside her bed.
A nurse walked in to check her IV drip. She offered June a look of deep pity.
“Mrs. Compton,” the nurse said softly. “We tried calling the emergency contact number listed in your file several times. A Mr. Compton. He… he didn’t answer.”
June turned her head slowly to look out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver.
She didn’t cry. The tears were gone, replaced by a freezing, solid block of ice in her chest.
She closed her eyes. The June who loved Cole Compton had died on that operating table.
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 2
The divorce agreement.
The morning sun stung June’s eyes.
She was propped up against the stiff hospital pillows, staring at the screen of her phone.
The headline of the entertainment news site glared back at her: The Golden Couple of the Compton Empire.
Below it was a high-resolution photo of Cole and Alycia from the gala last night. They were laughing, their heads close together.
The door to the private room was shoved open with a violent force. It hit the wall with a loud bang.
Cole strode into the room.
He was still wearing the tuxedo pants and dress shirt from the night before. His tie was loosened. The sharp scent of expensive scotch and Alycia’s floral perfume clung to his clothes, filling the sterile hospital room.
He didn’t look at the medical chart hanging at the foot of the bed. He didn’t look at the IV line taped to her pale hand.
His jaw was clenched tight. He stopped right next to her bed, glaring down at her.
“Are you done throwing your little tantrum?” Cole demanded, his voice dripping with venom. “Using an emergency room to get my attention? You’ve hit a new low, June.”
June looked up at him.
His face, the face she had loved for four years, suddenly looked completely foreign to her.
“Get out,” June said. Her voice was weak, but the tone was absolute ice.
Cole’s eyes narrowed. He was used to her begging. He was used to her quiet submission. This sudden defiance felt like a direct challenge to his authority.
He leaned closer, his large hand snapping out to grip her chin. His fingers dug into her skin.
“You are my wife,” Cole sneered, his breath hot against her face. “I have every right to be in this room.”
June tried to pull her face away, but she was too weak. “Don’t touch me.”
Cole let out a dark, mocking laugh. “You staged this entire drama to drag me here from the most important night of my year. Don’t pretend you didn’t want me to touch you.”
He let go of her chin and suddenly shoved her shoulders back against the pillows, his weight pressing down on the bedframe. The movement was rough, a punishment for her defiance.
Panic seized June’s chest.
“Stop!” she screamed, her hands flying down to protect her freshly sutured abdomen. “I just had surgery!”
Cole’s prejudice was a thick filter, blocking out all reason. To him, this was just another lie, another dramatic act to manipulate him. He reached across her, his knee pressing hard into the mattress to gain leverage, intending to intimidate her into silence.
The sudden, jarring pressure on the bed radiated directly to her torso. A sharp, tearing sound seemed to echo in June’s head.
A blinding flash of agony ripped through her stomach. The stitches holding her flesh together snapped under the indirect but powerful strain.
“Ah!” June shrieked, her back arching off the bed. Her face turned the color of ash.
Cole froze. He felt her body go completely rigid beneath his hands.
He looked down.
A dark red stain was rapidly blooming across the white hospital gown, right over her lower abdomen. The blood seeped through the fabric, staining the pristine white sheets beneath her.
Cole stepped back quickly, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second.
But the shock quickly vanished behind a wall of cold indifference. He adjusted his cuffs, refusing to believe he had done any real damage.
“Is this what you wanted?” Cole sneered, looking at the blood. “To make a mess? You’re pathetic.”
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a custom ringtone. Alycia’s ringtone.
Cole pulled it out and answered immediately. The harshness in his face melted away instantly.
“Hey, Alycia,” he said softly, turning his back to June. “The doctors are saying it was just a minor scare, she’s being dramatic. I know. I’m leaving right now. I’ll be right there.”
He ended the call and glanced over his shoulder at June.
“Clean yourself up,” he ordered coldly. “Stop embarrassing the Compton name.”
He walked out of the room, letting the heavy door click shut behind him.
June lay on the bed, gasping for air. The physical pain was excruciating, but the nausea churning in her stomach was worse. She felt physically sick at the thought that she had ever let that man touch her.
She reached out with a trembling hand and slammed the nurse call button.
A nurse rushed in seconds later. When she saw the pool of blood on the sheets, she gasped and ran to the hallway, screaming for a doctor.
The medical team rushed in. They ripped the gown open and began applying pressure to the torn surgical site. “She’s hemorrhaging again! Get the crash cart! Page Dr. Evans, now!”
Through the chaos, June didn’t make a sound. She stared at the ceiling. Her eyes, once soft and pleading, hardened into sharp glass.
Once the bleeding was stopped and she was stabilized for the second time in less than twelve hours, the doctor left with a stern warning that she was to remain on strict bed rest for at least another week. Any sudden movement could be fatal.
June waited until the room was empty. Every muscle in her core screamed in protest, but she ignored it.
She reached into her small handbag on the nightstand. She pulled out a folded stack of papers she had prepared weeks ago.
The divorce agreement.
She reached over and ripped the IV needle out of the back of her hand. A drop of blood welled up and fell, landing directly on the signature line of the paper.
June grabbed a pen. Her hand was shaking, but she pressed the tip hard against the paper, signing her name over the drop of blood.
Then, she looked at her left hand. The massive diamond ring felt heavy. It felt like a handcuff.
She pulled it off. It slid easily over her knuckle.
She placed the ring directly in the center of the divorce papers, leaving it on the nightstand where it couldn’t be missed.
She picked up her phone and texted her best friend, Vera.
I’m done. I need out.
June didn’t wait for a reply. She ignored the doctor’s orders. She pulled her own clothes out of the small overnight bag Mrs. Lynch had carelessly packed.
She dressed herself, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood to keep from crying out in pain. Each movement was a slow, agonizing torture.
She walked out of the room, leaning heavily against the wall for support.
When she finally pushed through the sliding glass doors of the hospital lobby, the cold New York wind hit her face.
She looked back at the building one last time. She swore to herself, right then and there, that she would never bleed for Cole Compton again.
- SHORT DRAMA: She Killed Her Mom Chinese Drama Free Watch Online
While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her Chapter 3
He won’t be smiling for much longer.
A cherry-red Porsche Cayenne slammed on its brakes, tires screeching against the asphalt right in front of the hospital entrance.
Vera Vance threw the driver’s door open and sprinted around the hood.
When she saw June standing on the curb, swaying like a ghost in the wind, Vera let out a sharp gasp. June’s face was completely devoid of color, and a fresh patch of dark red blood was seeping through her coat.
“Oh my god, June!” Vera screamed, catching June just as her knees gave out. “What happened? Where the hell is Cole?”
June leaned her head against Vera’s shoulder. A weak, bitter smile touched her lips.
“Even hell is better than being in there,” June whispered.
“You’re bleeding through your coat!” Vera yelled, ignoring June’s attempt to walk. She scooped her arm around June’s waist and practically carried her to the passenger seat of the Porsche.
Vera didn’t take her to the Compton estate. She didn’t take her to her own apartment. She slammed the car into gear and sped toward Mount Sinai, a private hospital where she had connections.
Inside the car, the heater blasted. Vera gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, tears of pure rage burning in her eyes.
“I’m going to kill him,” Vera muttered, weaving dangerously through the Manhattan traffic. “I’m going to rip his heart out with my bare hands.”
June laid her head against the cool leather seat. Her vision was swimming.
As the car hit a bump, a fresh wave of pain washed over her, and her mind slipped backward.
“I thought he was my savior,” June mumbled into the silence of the car. “I was wrong. I was in love with a ghost.”
Vera glanced at her, confused but too focused on driving to ask.
They arrived at the private hospital. Vera’s connections bypassed the waiting room entirely. June was rushed into a VIP suite.
The attending physician examined the torn stitches. His face turned red with anger.
“This is severe secondary trauma,” the doctor snapped, looking at Vera. “Who did this to her? This requires a police report.”
Vera stood by the window, her arms crossed so tightly her nails dug into her own skin. “I’ll handle the police. Just fix her.”
They hung a blood transfusion bag and re-sutured the wound. The pain medication finally kicked in, pulling June into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When June woke up, the room was quiet. Vera was sitting in a chair beside the bed, her eyes red and swollen from crying.
Seeing June awake, Vera immediately poured a glass of warm water and held it to her lips.
“Did you sign the divorce papers?” Vera asked, her voice raspy.
June swallowed the water and nodded. “Signed. I’m walking away with nothing.”
Vera jumped up from the chair, her eyes wide. “What? Are you insane? That’s Compton money! You gave him four years of your life, and you’re leaving empty-handed?”
June looked at her best friend. Her eyes were completely calm, devoid of the panic and sorrow that had haunted her for years.
“I don’t need his money, Vera,” June said quietly. “I just want to erase his name from my life.”
Vera stared at her. She knew June was a genius-she had known her since college-but she had watched June play the role of a submissive housewife for so long that she had almost forgotten who June really was.
June reached out and grabbed Vera’s wrist. “Do me a favor. Go to my old storage unit. Bring me my old laptop. The thick black one.”
Vera frowned, confused. “Your college laptop? Why?”
“Just bring it.”
Two hours later, Vera returned with a heavy, outdated black laptop.
June placed it on her lap. She pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life.
Her fingers flew across the keyboard, typing a complex string of code into a black terminal window. A highly encrypted login screen popped up.
Vera leaned over, squinting at the screen. She couldn’t understand a single line of the code, but the sheer speed at which June was typing sent a shiver down her spine.
Just then, the TV mounted on the wall of the VIP room switched to the evening news.
A reporter was thrusting a microphone into Cole’s face as he exited a corporate building.
“Mr. Compton! Your wife was notably absent from the gala last night. Is everything alright with your marriage?”
On the screen, Cole stopped. He adjusted his suit jacket, his face a mask of perfect, polite concern.
“My wife is feeling a bit under the weather,” Cole lied smoothly to the camera. “She is resting at home. Thank you for your concern.”
Vera grabbed the TV remote and hurled it at the screen. The plastic shattered against the glass, leaving a spiderweb crack across Cole’s smiling face.
“Hypocritical bastard!” Vera screamed.
June didn’t flinch at the noise. She looked at the cracked screen, her fingers resting on the enter key of her laptop.
“Let him smile,” June said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “He won’t be smiling for much longer.”