Chapter 1 - The Theft of Life
I was dying of end-stage heart failure when my husband stole my only donor heart to save his unforgettable first love. As I broke down crying in my hospital bed, the old woman sharing my ward suddenly spoke up, "Child, I'll get you another heart. Just become my heir."
Dr. Evans looked at me with the expression of a man delivering a reality crueler than any disease. "Your husband, Liam, personally processed the transfer authorization. The donor heart has been redirected to Mercy General Hospital."
That heart was a flawless match, legally registered under my name. It was my only hope after six agonizing months on death's door. Now, Liam was stealing it to save Khloe—his gilded childhood sweetheart he never truly let go of.
My phone vibrated aggressively on the nightstand. The caller ID flashed: Liam Vance. I swiped the screen with freezing fingers.
"I've handled the logistics of the organ," Liam announced, his voice as sterile as a boardroom negotiation. "Khloe’s vitals are crashing. She has waited two years. Please, Clara, be understanding."
"Liam, that heart is mine." A hot tear finally broke free. "If you take it, I will die."
"You aren't going to die. Don't be dramatic," he snapped, exasperation leaking into his tone. "I've pulled strings. We’ll find a new donor next month. Khloe is terrified of the anesthesia. I have to go."
Click.
While his legally wedded wife suffocated, he was holding another woman's hand. The phone clattered to the floor. Suddenly, the cardiac monitor ceased its steady rhythm, erupting into a frantic, high-pitched wail. My heart rate plummeted.
Dr. Evans lunged forward, shouting for the crash cart. A swarm of nurses materialized, plunging icy needles into my collapsing veins. But my vision was already blurring into a tunnel of dark gray. I surrendered to the darkness.
I'm done, I thought. Let it end.
"Child."
May you like
A raspy voice sliced through the chaos of my fading consciousness. It didn't belong to a doctor. It came from the shadowed corner of the room, from the neighboring bed I thought held a comatose patient.
"Open your eyes, child. We have work to do.
