"You have to ask him for money, Celina!" My mother' s grip on my arm was fierce, her nails digging into my flesh. Her eyes, usually so calculating, were now wide with panic. "He owes it to us! Your father is dying!"

I flinched, pulling my arm away. My face was cold, my voice devoid of emotion. "He hates me, Mother. He won' t give us a dime."

Slap!

The sharp crack echoed in the sterile hospital corridor. My cheek stung, a burning sensation spreading across my face. My mother glared at me, her eyes blazing with fury. "Useless! You' re utterly useless!"

My lips trembled, but no sound escaped. A bitter cold seeped into my heart. I remembered another time, three years ago, when another man had threatened everything.

Flashback

Justin Neal. He had intercepted me, his face a mask of sinister charm. "I have proof," he'd purred, "of your mother's affair. A scandal that would destroy your family, and Broderick's reputation by association."

Then, the offer. "Leave Broderick. Publicly break off your engagement. In return, I will provide the funds to save his family's business. And yours."

I saw Broderick then, haggard and desperate, battling to keep his family afloat. His shoulders, usually so broad and confident, were slumped with the weight of responsibility. My heart ached to see him so broken.

If leaving him, if being misunderstood, meant saving him, then so be it. My love for him was absolute. I would take on any pain, any infamy, if it meant his survival.

I took Justin's money, saving both our families from ruin. Then, I found Broderick. I said hateful things, things that would cut him deep, pushing him away, making him believe I was the greedy, opportunistic woman he now thought I was. It had to be convincing.

I never thought I would see him again, not like that. Not as my husband.

End Flashback

But fate had other plans. The very next day, Broderick' s father sought me out. "Celina," he' d said, his eyes kind, "I understand the difficult position you were in. My son… he needs a wife. He needs you."

He was offering me a way back, a way to be close to Broderick, even if it was under false pretenses. Initially, I refused. My heart was broken, my pride in tatters.

Then, the next morning, my family received a substantial sum from Broderick's family. It was an arrangement, a transaction. My family, greedy and opportunistic, had sold me.

Broderick, forced into a marriage he didn' t want, had hated me ever since. He believed I had orchestrated the entire thing, using his father to trap him.

I walked out of my father' s hospital room, the familiar ache in my abdomen flaring up. I popped a painkiller, dry swallowing it, trying to ignore the bitter taste of my own life.

Then I saw her.

Standing just around the corner, her blonde hair catching the harsh hospital light, was Kacey Cotton. My best friend. And the woman Broderick loved.

Our eyes met. I quickly looked away, trying to escape, to avoid the inevitable confrontation. My heart hammered in my chest.

"Celina!" Her voice, sweet yet sharp, stopped me.

I clenched my jaw, my teeth grinding together, but I kept walking. I couldn't face her right now.

"Oh, Celina," she cooed, catching up to me, her hand landing lightly on my arm. Her eyes, usually so kind, now held a glint of malicious triumph. "I heard your family is going bankrupt. How sad."

I stopped, turning slowly to face her. "Get lost, Kacey," I said, my voice cold, a stark contrast to my usual gentle tone.

A smirk played on her lips. "Broderick is with me," she whispered, leaning closer, her breath warm against my ear. "He' s been here all night, worried sick about my condition. We were talking about our future."

My heart twisted, a raw, excruciating pain. I knew this, of course. I had known for a long time. But hearing it from her, delivered with such cruel satisfaction, was a different kind of torture.

"Good," I said, forcing a smile. It felt like my face would crack. "Then you two can discuss the divorce as well. I' ll make it easy for him."

Kacey laughed, a brittle, mocking sound. "Oh, Celina. Don' t you see? He' s not going to divorce you. He' s going to keep you tied to him, just to make you miserable." Her eyes sparkled with a predatory glint. "It' s his revenge, darling. For everything you' ve put him through."

She leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Did you know… he' s never even touched you? He told me. He said you were… dirty."

A wave of nausea washed over me. My vision blurred. She was insinuating I had been with Justin, that I was tainted. The lie he believed.

"Get your grubby hands off me, Kacey!" I snarled, pushing her away with a sudden, unexpected surge of anger.

She stumbled back, losing her footing. Her eyes, wide with feigned shock, met mine just as she reached the ground. She landed hard, a muffled thud echoing in the deserted corridor.

Just then, Broderick burst through the double doors at the end of the hall, his eyes scanning the scene. He saw Kacey on the floor, her face pale, her lips trembling. And he saw me, standing over her, my hand still outstretched from the push.

His eyes, when they met mine, were colder than the Arctic ice. Pure, unadulterated hatred.

Broderick' s face was a thundercloud as he scooped Kacey, fragile and trembling, into his arms. He hurried her away, his back a rigid wall of disapproval. Kacey, ever the damsel, managed a weak, pained whimper. She was a delicate flower, he believed, easily bruised.

The next thing I knew, my bedroom door burst open, slamming against the wall with a force that rattled the entire house. Broderick stood there, his eyes blazing, a storm brewing behind them. He strode towards me, his hand clamping around my arm, yanking me roughly to my feet.

"You wicked, evil woman!" His voice was a low snarl, each word dripping with disgust.

I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Why don' t you just strangle me then, Broderick?" I challenged, my voice raw. "End it."

Tears blurred my vision, but I didn' t blink. "I never betrayed you," I whispered, the words a hollow echo of a truth he refused to hear.

A sharp, searing pain tore through my abdomen, and I gasped, my body trembling uncontrollably.

He merely sneered, a cruel twist of his lips. "Do you truly expect me to believe your pathetic lies, Celina? After all you' ve done?" He leaned closer, his voice laced with venom. "Why would Justin Neal, a man from a family as powerful as his, give you money, if not for some sordid transaction?"

The pain was overwhelming, stealing my breath, stealing my voice. What was the point? He wouldn't believe me anyway. He never had.

I forced a brittle smile. "Believe what you want, Broderick." I spat the words, the defiance a desperate shield against the crushing despair.

I pushed his hand away, trying to stand, to escape this suffocating torment. But before I could, he slammed me back onto the bed, his body pressing down on mine. I struggled, my hands flailing, but his weight was crushing.

His mouth moved to my ear, his breath hot against my skin, but his words were chilling. "You' re disgusting, Celina. Tainted." His voice was laced with pure contempt.

My heart, already a fractured thing, shattered. His hatred, his disgust, pierced through me, leaving me hollow, bleeding internally.

His hand went to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one. "Perhaps," he murmured, his eyes cold and calculating, "I should properly 'examine' what you' ve become."

A fresh wave of terror washed over me. My body thrashed, my hands pounding against his chest, but it was like hitting a brick wall. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to scream, to cry, but no sound escaped.

Then, the pain. A dizzying, nauseating agony in my stomach, forcing me to curl into a fetal position.

"Still faking it?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"My stomach…" I whimpered, the words barely audible through clenched teeth. "It hurts… so much."

My mind screamed for the painkillers. I had to get to them. With a desperate surge of adrenaline, I shoved him. He stumbled back, crashing into the nightstand.

My purse, which I' d carelessly tossed onto the bed earlier, tumbled to the floor. The painkiller bottle, along with a stack of papers, rolled out.

His eyes, sharp and predatory, fixed on the scattered documents. He bent down, his hand reaching for them.

"No!" I cried out, my voice raspy with panic. I lunged forward, trying to snatch them away, to protect my secret.

But he was faster. His fingers closed around the papers, pulling them free. His gaze, once cold, now filled with a strange, dawning comprehension as he read the words.

Terminal diagnosis.

My body went limp, collapsing onto the floor. My secret, exposed, felt like a gaping wound.

He picked up the small pill bottle, examining the label, then looked back at me, his face a complex mix of emotions I couldn't decipher. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, with a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the papers and the pill bottle onto the bed. "Another one of your pathetic tricks, Celina?" His voice was a vicious lash. "Forging documents for sympathy? You truly are despicable."

He stooped, his hand reaching out. For a moment, I thought he might help me. But his touch was cold, his fingers gently wiping away the sweat from my forehead. It was a gesture of mocking tenderness.

"Even if you were to die, Celina," he whispered, his voice devoid of pity, "it wouldn' t pain me in the slightest." He scoffed, looking at me with disdain. "You' re just imitating her."

He shook his head, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You' re too young for a terminal illness, Celina. This is just another one of your elaborate lies, isn't it?"

He turned and walked out, leaving me alone on the cold floor. I dragged myself to the bed, my fingers fumbling for the abandoned pill bottle. I dry swallowed a handful, the bitterness now familiar.

I stared at the ceiling, a single, mirthless laugh escaping my lips. Tears streamed down my face, hot and endless.

My phone vibrated, a harsh interruption to the suffocating silence. I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my hand shaking as I answered. It was my mother.

"Did you get the money from him?" Her voice was shrill, laced with panic.

"No," I said, my voice flat. "I won' t ask him for money."

"Then ask Justin!" she shrieked, her desperation palpable. "Are you just going to sit there and watch your father die?"

My grip tightened on the phone. My eyes, cold and empty, narrowed. "And what about you, Mother?" I asked, my voice dangerously low. "Do you care so much about Father' s life? Or just about keeping your affair with… Gerald a secret?"

A choked gasp on the other end. Then, a click. She had hung up.

The specialist urged me to stay in the hospital, but I refused. I wanted to be home, in my own bed. He prescribed stronger painkillers, and I promised to take them. A lie, of course. I just wanted to leave.

As I arrived home, Broderick' s car screeched out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel. He was driving fast, a blur of expensive metal and furious urgency. I rarely saw him this agitated. A strange unease settled in my stomach.

I started to call out, to ask what was wrong, but the car was already a distant speck. He didn' t even glance my way.

"The other lady, Miss Kacey, she had an emergency," the housekeeper explained, her voice hushed. "A severe heart condition, they said. She was rushed to the hospital."

My heart sank, a heavy, dull ache. I knew. I always knew.

I made my way to the hospital where my father was admitted. As I walked down the sterile corridor, I saw Broderick pacing outside a room, his jacket askew, his tie loosened. His eyes were red-rimmed, his lips a thin, tight line. He looked utterly distraught.

My heart twisted with a familiar pain. He loved her so deeply. He must be suffering terribly.

I remembered a time when he had looked at me with that same intensity, that same desperate concern. We had been so happy once, before the misunderstandings, before the lies. I had truly believed our love was unbreakable. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Now, I was dying. And he was grieving for another woman.

A thought, cold and clear, solidified in my mind. If I was going to die anyway, if I was going to disappear from his life forever, I could at least do one last thing for him. I could make his path to happiness a little smoother. I could ease his pain, even if he would never know it was me.

I hoped my death would erase his hatred, leaving only a faint, forgettable memory. And in my next life, I wished for a path that wouldn't cross his again.

The doctors were telling Broderick that a suitable heart donor was almost impossible to find, and Kacey didn' t have much time.

That' s when I filled out the organ donation forms.

"I want to donate my heart," I told the coordinator, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "After… after I' m gone."

They tested me. A perfect match for Kacey.

I walked out of the hospital, the crisp evening air biting at my exposed skin. I pulled the bottle of painkillers from my purse and, with a final, resolute act, tossed them into a nearby trash can. There was no point now.

"Celina!"

My body stiffened, a cold dread creeping up my spine. A hand clamped down on my shoulder, firm and possessive. Justin Neal.

His fingers, surprisingly gentle, traced the small scar on his index finger-a phantom reminder of a time long ago, when I had bitten him in a desperate struggle to get away. He had been obsessed with me then, and that obsession had never truly faded. He had come to me, years ago, when Broderick's family was on the brink of ruin. He wanted me, had always wanted me, and saw Broderick as a rival.

"Leave him," Justin had demanded, his voice a low growl. "Be with me, and I will save his family from ruin."

I remembered Broderick, proud and defiant, brought to his knees by the cruel twists of fate. His family, once so powerful, was facing utter destruction. Justin's family, on the other hand, was untouchable, capable of crushing anyone who stood in their way. I had no choice but to accept Justin's offer. My sacrifice was the only way to save Broderick.

Justin's laugh was chilling, devoid of warmth. "Still thinking of him, are you?" He ran a finger down my cheek, his eyes gleaming with a disturbing intensity. "Look what he did to me." He gestured to the ugly scar that ran down the side of his neck, a jagged line from ear to collarbone. "Tell me, Celina. How should I make him pay?"

I felt a familiar sense of dread. Justin Neal was a man who always got what he wanted, by any means necessary.