Michelle Harris was wheeled into the ER, barely conscious, her heart rate dropping to dangerous levels.

"Patient has severe internal bleeding, needs emergency hysterectomy immediately. Her condition's critical—get her family in here right now!"

Was this really it? Michelle's eyelids felt like they were weighed down with lead, too heavy to even flutter open.

"Doctor, please..." Her thoughts were already slipping into the dark fog of unconsciousness, but just before she lost her hold on reality, she caught a nurse's voice: "Dr. Cruz, the family signed off on the surgery."

Those words crushed the last tiny shred of hope Michelle had left. The beep of the heart monitor beside her flatlined into a steady, dead hum.

"Dr. Cruz, her heart's stopped!"

"Get the defibrillator, now!"

The nurse hurried out to find Logan Harris, shoving a critical condition notification form into his hands. "Michelle Harris' heart stopped. We just need your signature here—we're doing everything we can."

Logan's brow furrowed, frozen in place for a split second. "What do you mean her heart stopped? I thought this was just a routine procedure?"

He spun toward the ER doors, trying to shove his way in, but the nurse blocked his path. "Sir, you can't go in there!"

A steely edge hardened Logan's face, his voice sharp enough to cut. "I'm going in to see what's happening. Move."

He brushed right past the nurse's protests and burst through the doors—just in time to see the defibrillator jolt Michelle's chest. The sight squeezed his heart so hard it ached out of nowhere.

"Sir, you have to leave!"

The nurse's shout made Dr. Thomas Cruz pause, but he snapped his focus right back to resuscitating her seconds later.

Logan pushed past everyone to get to Michelle's side and shouted, "Michelle Harris, I warned you. If you die on me, I'll make sure your grandmother joins you. Don't believe me? Go ahead and try it."

The second the words left his mouth, Michelle's heart rate spiked back to life. The monitor beeped steadily again, her heartbeat back to normal. A wave of unexpected relief washed over Logan, even if his face stayed as cold and unreadable as ever.

After a grueling fight to bring her back, Michelle was finally stable enough to move out of the ER. Logan wheeled her out himself.

As they left, Thomas pulled off his surgical mask, his gaze dark and pensive. It lingered on Logan's retreating back, heavy with quiet disapproval.

Michelle woke up the next morning to find Logan asleep in the chair beside her bed, his eyes ringed with exhaustion from a sleepless night.

"You're awake," he said softly, standing up to move to her bedside.

Just looking at him dragged up the memories of the last moments before she blacked out. Tears stung her eyes, but she pushed them down and said, "Three lives, and my womb... I've paid my debt to Josephine Perkins. Logan, let's get a divorce."

When she said divorce, Logan knew he should've agreed right away. But for some weird reason, the words that came out were: "Don't even think about it. You think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you feel like it?"

Bang!

A loud crash from the hallway cut them off. Logan's head snapped toward the door, glare sharp. "Who's there?"

The hospital room door swung open, and Josephine stepped in, her face pulled into a solemn, concerned expression. "It's me. I heard Michelle was admitted, I just came to check on her..."

"You should be resting yourself," Logan murmured, slipping an arm around Josephine right in front of Michelle. "She's going to be fine, there's no reason for you to wear yourself out staying here."

Michelle bit down hard on her lower lip. It felt like someone had driven a knife straight through her heart, letting a freezing cold wind pour into the hollow.

"Haven't you put on enough of a show? I need to rest, so just leave!" Michelle's voice was ice cold as she stared at the pair. But Josephine just walked past Logan, gently pushing him aside.

Michelle tried to pull back, pressing herself deeper into the mattress, but Josephine reached out. Her touch was light, her eyes glistening with what looked like regret. "Michelle, I've let the past go. Don't worry—I'm not going to come between you and Logan."

"Josephine, you deserve an Oscar.. If you didn’t want everything to fall apart, why didn’t you just come clean back when it mattered? You’ve just been pining after Logan this whole time, haven’t you? I’m handing him over to you, so cut the bullcrap and stop parading your little act in front of me," Michelle said icily, yanking her hand away.

Josephine stumbled back a few steps, and Logan caught her right before she fell. "You okay?" he asked.

Michelle smirked to herself. How did she miss it before? The girl just came out of major surgery, and she still managed to fake this whole helpless act? Logan was really that naive?

"Logan, don’t worry about me. Just… get this sorted with Michelle. I never meant to come between you two," Josephine breathed, tears spilling down her cheeks, all soft and broken to tug at his heartstrings.

Michelle sank back against the pillows and turned her face away, but the next second Logan wrenched her right back up. His expression was ice cold, dark menace glinting in his eyes. "Apologize to Josephine."

"Apologize for what?" Michelle shot back, her glare never leaving his face. "I’m giving you full permission to be with her. Is that a crime now?"

Logan’s brows slammed down, his gaze cutting through her like a knife, like he wanted to rip her apart piece by piece. "Michelle, pushing my buttons won’t get you anywhere. Maybe you don’t care what happens to you anymore, but your grandma…"

Smack!

Michelle slapped him so hard her palm stung, fire blazing in her eyes. "Don’t you dare use my grandma as a bargaining chip. If you hurt her, I will never forgive you. Not ever."

You could cut the tension in the hospital room with a knife. Logan just stood there, frowning, frozen as he stared at her. When the hell had this woman gotten so goddamn defiant?

"Logan, are you okay? Does it hurt?" Josephine cooed, reaching out to cup his cheek all gentle and concerned, then spun back to Michelle, sharp and accusatory. "Michelle, how could you hit him?"

"We’re not even divorced yet, so this is none of your damn business," Michelle snapped, jabbing a finger at the door. "Get out right now, or I’m calling the cops."

"You’ve got some real guts, Michelle," Logan spat, then stormed out without a single look back.

Michelle watched Josephine linger by the door like she had more to say, and she huffed a dismissive breath. "Even if we do get divorced, you’ll never be Mrs. Harris. You really think Logan forgot about that little incident, huh?"

"Michelle!" All of Josephine’s fragile act dropped in a second, and she lunged for Michelle’s throat—until the door swung open wide.

Josephine wrenched her hand back so fast, shooting Michelle a venomous glare. "We’re not done," she hissed before marching out.

All the tension coiled in Michelle’s shoulders melted the second the door clicked shut. She curled up on the bed, staring blankly out the window, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. "How could she ever think you could find real love in a business arrangement?"

Logan had been born with a severe heart condition. It had been stable for years, but a sick heart is still a sick heart—nothing is ever certain. The Harris family had stepped in when Michelle’s family was drowning in medical bills and desperate for help. Her parents couldn’t be saved, but at least they’d kept her grandma alive.

To pay back their kindness, she’d agreed to their terms. She’d spent years ready to step up whenever Logan needed her.

The door creaked open again, yanking Michelle out of her thoughts. A masked man walked straight toward her, his steps steady and purposeful.

"Who are you?" Michelle Harris gasped, yanking back on pure instinct. But before she could make another move, a stranger pressed a chloroform-soaked cloth hard over her nose and mouth.

"Help…" The word barely slipped past her lips before the world dissolved into blackness. When light finally pricked her eyelids again, she jolted awake, her brain spinning and disoriented.

The endless clicking of a camera echoed through the small room, shutter after shutter snapping photos of her. A man loomed over her, his greasy hands roaming where they shouldn’t. Adrenaline exploded through her veins. Michelle recoiled and shoved him away as hard as she could. "Get off me! Don’t you fucking touch me!"

Ignoring the searing pain shooting from the cuts on her body, she scrambled for the discarded clothes scattered at her side and yanked them on fast. Just as she finished, the door creaked open. "You done? Mr. Harris is waiting."

Michelle froze, cold dread creeping up her spine. Logan Harris?

"It’s finished. You can go now," the photographer said, to her shock.

Confusion and shock crashed over Michelle in waves. Had they only come here to take photos? Panic screamed at her to get dressed and run—who knew what worse things they had planned next. She didn’t need to be told twice.

Meanwhile, the man who’d assaulted her dialed a number. "Ms. Perkins? It’s done."

Josephine Perkins’ laughter trickled through the line, cold and sharp as a knife. "Excellent. Make sure those photos get delivered to her grandmother."

"Will do."

By the time Michelle had run blocks away, her legs burned enough to slow her down. That’s when her phone rang. She fumbled it out of her pocket and answered, breathless. It was Mrs. Wilson, her neighbor, her voice tight with worry. "Michelle, it’s Mrs. Wilson from next door. I heard strange noises coming from your house earlier, but when I knocked, your grandmother never answered. I have a bad feeling about this. You need to come home right now."

Ice shot through Michelle’s entire body. She mumbled a rushed reply and bolted for home, her heart hammering against her ribs. Frantic, she dialed her grandmother over and over again, but every call went straight to voicemail. A heavy, sickening dread settled deep in her gut.

Please, Grandma, be okay. Please be okay.

When Michelle burst through her front door, she found her grandmother lying motionless on the living room floor. "Grandma!" She sprinted to her side, fumbling for her phone to call an ambulance, that’s when she spotted it—a crumpled photo clutched tight in her grandmother’s limp hand. Michelle’s heart dropped straight through her feet. It was one of the photos from the attack.

The ambulance arrived minutes later. Her grandmother was raced straight to the ER, but it wasn’t long before a doctor stepped out, his expression soft and sorry. "I’m so sorry. We did everything we could…"

The words hit Michelle like a punch to the chest. She stumbled backward as her grandmother, covered head to toe in a plain white sheet, was wheeled out past her. She lunged forward, sobs tearing out of her throat. "Grandma, I didn’t do those things. Those photos are fake. Wake up. I need you. Please don’t leave me…"

Michelle’s cries were raw, tearing her throat apart, and the whole hospital corridor echoed with her heartbreak. Grief and shock crashed over her all at once. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she crumpled to the cold tile floor, unconscious before she even hit it.