Donating My Heart to His First Love

My fingertips slipped from the edge of the heavy paper.

Edwin snatched the organ donation agreement before it could flutter to the glass table. His dark eyes darted across the ink. He rubbed his thumb over my signature, checking if it would smear. He searched for a forgery, a mistake, a trick.

He found nothing.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked up, his brow pulling together in a sharp knot of annoyance.

"That is it?" he demanded.

"I signed it," I said, folding my arms across my chest.

"No tears? No screaming?" He took a step toward me, crushing a piece of the broken picture frame beneath his boot. "You usually throw a glass. You usually tell me how much you sacrificed."

"You have the paper, Edwin."

"You are not even going to bring up the kidnapping," he pressed, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "Come on, Victoria. This is your favorite part. Tell me how you took a knife for me two years ago. Remind me about that five-inch scar on your ribs. Tell me how much you bled for me in that warehouse so I feel terrible about asking for your heart."

I stayed completely silent.

He waited. The quiet stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"Nothing?" he snapped.

"I signed where you told me to sign," I replied, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a fight.

He stared at me, genuinely thrown. He wanted the hysterical woman who begged for scraps of his affection. He wanted the guilt trip so he could justify his cruelty. I gave him nothing.

The front door opened again. Three assistants hurried into the living room, their soft-soled shoes padding lightly against the hardwood. The lead assistant, a pale woman clutching a massive garment bag, nervously reached out.

Edwin shoved the signed agreement into her hands. "Get this to the surgical team immediately. Tell them we have a donor."

"Yes, Mr. Mercer," she squeaked, grabbing the papers and rushing back out to the corridor.

The other two assistants stepped forward, unzipping the garment bag they carried. Yards of white silk and heavy pearl embroidery spilled out, catching the harsh light of the chandelier.

It was a wedding dress.

Edwin turned back to me. He reached out, his fingers clamping hard around my chin. He tilted my head up, forcing me to meet his cold gaze.

"This is your reward," he sneered, his thumb pressing violently into my jawbone. "You begged to be my wife. Now you get to play the part."

He grabbed the gown from the assistant and shoved it hard against my chest. I stumbled back, catching the massive weight of the fabric before it hit the floor.

"Wear it to the hospital tomorrow," Edwin ordered, releasing my chin. "I arranged for the press to be at the entrance. I will make sure the media captures exactly how 'willing' you are to save Rose."

"A wedding dress for an organ donation," I said, my tone flat.

"It tells a story," he replied, pacing away from me. "I want the headlines to say you gave your life for our love. It makes for perfect PR. The board will stop questioning my leadership if they see us united in a tragic romance."

"You are turning my death into a press release."

"I am giving you what you wanted," he shot back. "You get to die as Mrs. Mercer. Put it on. Let me see if it fits."

I looked at the heavy white fabric in my hands.

"Now, Victoria," he snapped.

I did not throw the dress at his head. I did not scream.

I carried the massive, suffocating weight of the gown to the center of the room. I let my sweater drop to the floor. The assistants watched in stunned silence as I stepped into the silk alone.

I pulled the heavy fabric up my legs and over my hips. Reaching behind my back, I grabbed the metal tab and pulled the zipper up my spine.

The rough, stiff edge of the pearl embroidery bit directly into my skin. It scraped hard against the raised, five-inch scar on my left ribcage—the exact spot where a kidnapper's blade had nearly ended my life two years ago. I had thrown myself in front of Edwin that night.

Now, the friction of the pearls burned against the old wound.

"It fits," I said, my voice empty.

Edwin glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sweeping over the white silk. He did not smile. "Good. Do not take it off."

Fourteen hours later, the glaring fluorescent lights of Memorial Hospital’s VIP suite buzzed above my head.

The heavy silk weighed me down like lead. The pearls dug relentlessly into my scar with every breath I took, a constant, abrasive reminder of my past foolishness.

Edwin sat on the leather sofa near the door. He scrolled through his tablet, ignoring the reporters he had paraded me past in the lobby just an hour ago.

"The surgical prep starts in twenty minutes," Edwin announced, finally breaking the silence. "The cameras got enough footage outside. You look like a saint."

"Did they get a good angle of the ring?" I asked, glancing at the massive diamond he had forced onto my finger in the limousine.

"They got everything," he replied, his tone entirely businesslike. "The stock prices are already stabilizing. People love a sacrifice."

"Are you going to hold my hand while they put me under?"

He scoffed, tossing the tablet onto the cushion next to him. "I need to be with Rose. She is terrified."

"Terrified of getting a healthy heart."

"Terrified of the surgery, Victoria. Have some sympathy. She did not ask for her body to fail."

"And I did not ask to be butchered."

"We made a deal," he warned, his voice hardening. "Do not start acting like a victim now. You signed the paper. You put on the dress."

"I am merely stating a fact."

Footsteps approached the suite from the hallway.

"Edwin?" a weak, high-pitched voice called out.

Edwin’s head snapped up. He shot to his feet, smoothing the front of his jacket.

Before he could reach the handle, the heavy door swung open.

Rose stepped into the room. She wore a pale blue hospital gown, her dark hair framing her pale face. Despite her supposed failing heart, her cheeks held a faint flush of color, and her posture was remarkably steady.

In her right hand, she gripped a large, steaming paper cup of coffee.

She did not look at Edwin. Her eyes locked directly onto me, narrowing at the sight of the elaborate white wedding dress.

"Rose, what are you doing out of bed?" Edwin asked, rushing toward her. "You need to rest before the transplant."

"I just wanted to see her," Rose murmured, her voice trembling perfectly. "I wanted to thank my savior."

She bypassed Edwin entirely, stepping deeper into the suite.

"You do not need to thank me," I said, keeping my distance.

"But I do." Rose walked faster, her grip tightening on the coffee cup. "You are giving up so much for me."

She did not stop walking. She closed the distance between us in three rapid strides, her eyes flashing with a sharp, calculated malice that completely contradicted her fragile tone.

"Rose, wait," Edwin warned, stepping behind her.

She lunged forward.

The plastic lid popped off the cup as Rose slammed her body directly into mine, hurling the scalding black coffee straight at my chest.