Chapter 2

The night was endless and pitch-black.

Nicholas was gone, and with him went the last bit of life in the room.

His crisp cologne still lingered in the air, tangled with the heavy, post-sex haze, twisting into something nauseatingly ironic.

Diana lay curled on the wide bed as cramps seized her stomach in waves, and cold sweat soaked through her thin nightgown.

That was when the phone on the nightstand rang—sharp, out of place.

An unfamiliar number.

She swiped to answer, and a sweet, upbeat woman's voice came through. "Hi, is this Ms. Russell? This is Angel Baby Boutique."

The moment she heard it, Diana's mind went blank.

The caller didn't catch anything wrong and kept going, cheerful and professional. "So, about a year ago you ordered a custom solid-wood crib from us, and we're doing a follow-up. Is the baby using it comfortably? Sleeping well?"

Baby. The baby she hadn't even had time to feel kick before his father ended it with his own hands.

Diana's grip on the phone started to shake so hard she could barely hold it. Her breathing stalled.

The voice on the other end continued, slightly uncertain now, "Ms. Russell? Are you there? Is the connection bad?"

"He's dead." Diana forced the words out like they were being torn from her throat, her voice breaking into scraps.

Silence.

Then the customer service rep stumbled over herself, panic flooding her apology. "I—oh my God, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I really didn't…"

Diana didn't listen. She hung up and hurled the phone across the room.

She drew her knees to her chest, buried her face against them, and finally let the sobs she'd swallowed all night rip free.

Raw. Animal.

By morning, Diana dragged her wrecked body to the hospital, holding herself upright on sheer will.

Her mother's heart transplant was scheduled for today.

It was the only thing she had left to cling to, the single pale light in a life that had gone dim and mean.

Outside the ICU, the attending physician, Dr. Jones, strode toward her, moving fast—too fast—his expression set and heavy.

Diana's stomach dropped. Something cold and awful clamped around her heart.

"Dr. Jones," she started, forcing the words out, "my mom's surgery time—"

Hayden Jones let out a breath, as if it cost him. "Ms. Russell, I'm sorry."

"The donor heart that was a match—" He paused, and that pause felt like a blade, "the donor's family decided at the last minute to allocate it to another patient."

The world exploded in front of Diana's eyes. The hallway tipped and spun.

"What did you say?" She grabbed Hayden's arm, fingers digging in until her knuckles went white. "Are you kidding me? The surgical notice was issued. We signed the paperwork. How can you just give it to someone else?"

It clearly hurt him, but he only tried to keep his voice even. "Ms. Russell, please calm down. This was the donor family's decision. The hospital is obligated to follow it."

"Decision? Everything was fine yesterday. And today they just change their minds?"

Diana's voice grew sharp, her eyes red with fury. "Who? Who took my mother's heart? Was it not enough money? Did someone offer more, and now you're treating my mother's life like a joke?"

Her barrage of questions drew the attention of everyone in the hallway.

Hayden looked stuck, then lowered his voice. "The other case is truly urgent. It's a child. Please, try to understand."

"As for the donor family, we really don't have the authority to interfere. Your mother will have to keep waiting."

Diana let out a laugh that sounded wrong even to her—thin, jagged, closer to crying than humor.

"Waiting?"

"How long can she wait? A day? An hour? The next second?"

"Isn't first come, first served the most basic rule?" She swallowed hard. "It's the same life on the line. Or does it only matter whose life it is?"

Hayden's shoulders sagged. He watched her with a look that was half pity, half helplessness, and said nothing.

Then the pain in Diana's stomach detonated, sudden and vicious, as if an invisible hand had reached inside her and started tearing.

Cold sweat flooded down her spine in an instant. Her knees buckled; she nearly went down on the tile.

Her vision swam, and the edges of everything blurred, like she was slipping toward some black drop-off.

A harsh ringtone yanked her back from it.

Nicholas.

Diana sucked in a breath that shook all the way through her ribs. With everything she had, she steadied her trembling hand and hit answer.

On the other end, his voice came at her like a slap—impatient, irritated.

"It's nine. Where the hell are you?"

"Nicholas…" Diana's mouth barely worked. Each word tasted like blood. "I'm… at the hospital. My mom's surgery… something happened…"

A cold, mocking laugh cut in. "Diana, not this again. Another pathetic lie. What is it this time—your mom's dying, or you're dying? Anything to avoid the divorce, huh? You've really got no bottom."

"I'm not lying!" The last thread of control snapped.

She clung to him like he was the final thing keeping her from drowning, voice shaking, pleading so hard it hurt. "It's true. My mom's heart—someone took it at the last minute. Nicholas… please."

She choked on the word, dignity crumbling in her hands.

"You have connections," she rushed on, desperate. "You can fix this. Right? Just say the word."

"Help my mom, and I'll do anything. I'll sign today. We can go get divorced immediately. I'll walk away with nothing. I swear I'll never show up in front of you again."

If he wanted to, he could do it.

If he said one sentence, her mother could live.

The line went quiet for a moment.

That brief silence lit a sick, impossible hope in Diana's chest.

And then his voice came back, icy with amusement.

"Help you?" Nicholas drawled. "Diana, did you forget what you are? What makes you think you get to ask me for anything?"

"I know I don't deserve to," Diana sobbed, tears spilling fast. "But it's a life. My mom—she's innocent."

"Innocent?" The word came from Nicholas's mouth like a shard of glass, packed with hatred so sharp it made her skin prickle.

"That's hilarious, Diana. Why would I help the mother of a murderer?"

Diana froze like she'd been struck. "What… what murderer? What are you talking about? I don't understand."

Nicholas's voice turned vicious, rough with fury, like he wanted to tear her apart through the phone.

"Don't use that filthy voice to bother me again."

"And if you want my attitude," he said, each word deliberate, ruthless, "then hear it clearly: I curse your mother to die soon. Maybe she'll get reincarnated faster that way."

The call cut off.

Diana leaned against the cold wall, her spirit shattered, as her body slowly slid down, feeling as if her soul was being drained away inch by inch.

Why?

Why would he say something like that? Why would he hate her—and her mother—this much?

Just as the darkness threatened to swallow her whole, her phone buzzed softly in her pocket.

A text message.

From an unfamiliar number.

With shaking fingers, Diana opened it.

There was only one line.

[The one who took your mother's life-saving heart was Nicholas.]