The Everwinter of Their Regret

Asher was trembling so hard his teeth chattered, his lips moving but forming no words.

He remembered it clearly. After the avalanche five years ago, everyone had told him that it was Imogen who organized the rescue team and risked her life to pull him out.

When he woke up, the first person he saw was Imogen. She clung to him, weeping about how terrified she'd been, how she'd overcome her fear just for him.

As for me, when the rescue team carried me back to town, I was a mangled mess, barely breathing. I lay in a coma at the hospital for two weeks, clinging to life.

Everyone, including Asher, thought I was only injured because I was reckless and overconfident. He even scolded me harshly for it, saying I would never grow up, that I only caused trouble, and was nothing like the brave and kind Imogen.

Now, this recording presented the bloody truth right before his eyes.

Imogen's face had also turned deathly pale. She grabbed Isaiah's arm, frantically explaining, "No... it wasn't like that... I was there too... I was just so scared..."

Isaiah frowned. He looked at the mangled, bloody image of me in the footage, then at Asher's ashen face. For the first time, a flicker of doubt crossed his eyes.

Cole also stood up, his expression one of pure shock. "Is... is this real? Ava..."

My strength was draining away. The pain in my chest came in waves, each stronger than the last.

I could feel my consciousness fading, but the screen did not stop. It would continue to drain my life until it had broadcast all the evidence, or until I died.

The screen flickered again, loading the second file.

This time, the light focused on Isaiah, sitting on the dais. His heart sank. A cold dread washed over him.

The scene switched to three years ago, in a hospital's ICU.

Isaiah lay on the bed, convulsing violently. Beneath his pale skin, dark veins spread from his heart across his entire body.

His eyes were shut tight, his breathing shallow.

"It's a rare genetic blood disorder," the hospital's lead physician announced grimly. "We're out of options. His only chance is a perfectly matched bone marrow transplant."

Isaiah's expression became as grim as Asher's. He remembered this scene clearly.

Three years ago, he had been on the brink of death from a sudden onset of his genetic blood disorder. The entire medical team was helpless. Everyone thought he was going to die, that the Blackwood Group was about to lose its CEO.

In the footage, Imogen knelt by his bed, crying in anguish. Asher and Cole stood by, their expressions grave.

As for me, I was there too. I looked at the dying Isaiah, then turned and walked out of the ward.

Seeing me leave, Imogen immediately turned to Asher. "Look at her, Asher. Isaiah is dying, and she doesn't care at all."

Asher watched my retreating back, his eyes filled with pained disappointment.

The memory's perspective shifted, following me. I slipped into an unmarked car and sped toward a notorious underground clinic on the outskirts of the city.

That clinic was a den of illegal medical experiments and black-market drug trades, a forbidden place that normal people would never dare to enter.

I rushed in without a second thought, the clinic's filthy water soaking my shoes.

I navigated through the wretched place and finally, before a surgical room enclosed by iron bars, I met the legendary underground doctor.

He was bone-thin, but his eyes glinted with a sharp, calculating greed.

"What do you want, little girl?" he asked.

I knelt before him and pleaded in a trembling voice, "Please, save Isaiah. He has a blood disorder and needs a bone marrow transplant."

The doctor let out a harsh laugh. "I can save him. But what can you give me in return? My help doesn't come cheap."

I looked up, my gaze unflinching. "To save him, I'll give you anything."

The doctor sized me up, a strange curve to his lips. "Of course."

"You are very healthy, a perfect immune system. You're stronger than most, with a faster recovery ability."

"So, the deal is this—I save him, but I want you as payment, as the exchange."

"From now on, your body will grow weak, riddled with illness. You'll be unable to handle any real strain. Your health will fail, and each flare-up will bring unimaginable, agonizing pain."

"Do you accept?"