My Husband Gave Our Daughter’s Heart to His Mistress

The underground parking garage smelled like damp concrete and stale exhaust.

Water dripped from the ceiling, making steady clicking noises on the hood of a parked car. I pulled my wet coat tighter around me. My shoulder throbbed where Kellen’s resident had shoved me, but I didn't care about the pain. I didn't have time for it.

My mind was already moving fast.

I am the CEO of Stewart Capital. I don't break down. I solve problems.

Kellen stole the heart meant for Meilani, but Mount Sinai wasn't the only hospital in the world. I could charter a private medical jet within the hour. I had contacts in Zurich and Berlin. I had enough capital to move mountains, buy private clinics, or fly an entire surgical team across the Atlantic. Meilani had maybe forty-eight hours before her vitals collapsed. That gave me two days to find another donor.

Two days to save my daughter's life.

I pressed my thumb hard against the face of my watch. The cold metal gave me something solid to focus on. I reached into my purse for my car keys, walking faster toward my black sedan parked in the VIP section.

Heavy footsteps echoed behind me.

I stopped. The garage was usually empty on level B3, reserved only for senior board members.

Three men stepped out from between two large SUVs.

They wore dark jackets and baseball caps pulled low. They didn't look like hospital staff. They didn't look lost, either. They moved with calm, heavy purpose, fanning out to cut off my path.

"Emberly Stewart?" the man in the middle asked. His voice was gravelly.

My heart kicked against my ribs, but I kept my chin up. "Who's asking?"

"Doesn't matter," he said. He didn't carry a weapon, but his hands were wrapped in thick leather gloves. "Someone paid good money to make sure you stay out of the way for a while. A message, you know? Just a lesson."

Dalia.

The realization hit me like a splash of ice water. This wasn't a sudden emergency. Dalia's collapse, the sudden heart transplant, the residents blocking the door—it had all been planned. Dalia knew who I was. She knew I could crush Kellen with a single phone call. So she had hired muscle to take me off the board before I could even fight back.

"Whatever she's paying you, I'll triple it," I said, keeping my voice firm. "Name your price. Stewart Capital has more cash than you will ever see in your life."

The man sneered. "We already took half upfront, lady. And we finish our jobs."

He lunged.

I didn't freeze. I swung my heavy leather handbag directly into his face. The metal clasp struck his cheekbone with a loud smack. He grunted, stumbling back.

I turned on my heel and bolted toward the stairs.

A hand grabbed the collar of my wet coat. The second man yanked me backward with violent force. My feet slipped on the slick concrete. I fell hard on my side, the impact knocking all the air out of my lungs.

A sharp burn ripped through my knee and elbow.

"Bitch," the first man spat, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek.

I rolled onto my back and kicked out wildly, my heel connecting with the third man's shin. He cursed, bending over. But there were three of them. The middle man grabbed my arm and dragged me across the ground. Before I could scream, he slammed me hard against a thick concrete support pillar.

My head snapped back against the stone.

Bright white spots exploded behind my eyes. The world spun. My purse broke open, spilling its contents across the dirty, oil-stained floor.

My phone slid three feet away. The glass screen spider-webbed on the concrete, but the display was still lit.

I slid down the pillar, gasping for breath. A warm trickle ran down my temple. Blood.

The men paused for a second, chuckling among themselves like they had all the time in the world. They were enjoying it.

My hand shook as I reached out with bloody fingers. I dragged the cracked phone toward me.

I had one shot. I didn't think about police response times. I didn't think about security guards. I thought of Kellen. He was still in the hospital. He was only two floors above me. He was Meilani's father. Even if he hated me, even if he loved his mistress, he wouldn't let men beat his wife to death beneath his own surgical suite.

I hit his speed dial.

I pressed the speaker button.

The line rang once.

My chest heaved. "Pick up," I prayed into the dim air. "Please, Kellen. Pick up."

It rang a second time.

Then, a soft click. The line connected.

"Kellen!" I choked out, tasting copper on my lip. "Kellen, help me! Level B3, there are men—"

"He's a little busy with me right now, sweetheart."

The voice on the other end was smooth, sweet, and completely calm.

Dalia.

My throat closed up.

"Put him on," I gasped, clutching the phone against my chest. "Put Kellen on the phone!"

From the other end of the line, through the quiet hospital room, came the sound of a man's low, relaxed laughter.

It was Kellen.

He was laughing. Light and easy, the way he laughed when he was pouring wine at a party. The way he laughed when life was perfect.

"Don't worry about him, Emberly," Dalia purred softly into the receiver. "I'm taking very good care of your husband. Enjoy your morning."

*Click.*

The screen went black.

The silence rushed back in, cold and absolute.

A heavy shadow fell across my face. I looked up through blurred eyes.

The three men stood right in front of me, circling in, cracking their knuckles against the dark concrete.