I was born with a weak heart. When I was nineteen, I got a heart transplant that allowed me to survive. Soon after, I met my wife-to-be, Vivian Cosby.

Three years after we got married, I found a note in her phone that was not deleted. The date was marked as the day we met.

The text simply read, [I found him. His name is Quinn Waverly. The heart is with him.]

When I looked through the notes further, I saw a man’s photo, captioned with a name. [Randall]

There was another line of text in her notes. It read, [Randall, through your heart in his chest, I will show you the world.]

I finally understood.

The first time we met, she had not been taken aback because it was love at first sight, it was simply shock.

The tears she shed when she proposed were not because of me.

In the night, she would always lay her head on my chest. However, she was not listening for my heartbeat, but his.

Tonight, she came home very late. As usual, she held me tightly and buried her face in my chest.

“Your heartbeat always makes me calm.”

I did not open my eyes, nor did I ask about Randall.

This was the first time I realized that one could hear a heart beat so loudly that it echoed, even through so many layers of skin and muscle.

Randall…

The person who had donated her heart to me years ago was named Randall Summers. That was too much of a coincidence.

After Vivian fell asleep, I unlocked my phone and searched for the names Randall Summers and Vivian Cosby.

After a few minutes of looking through the results, I finally found it.

There was an article on a local car accident five years ago. The victim was named Randall Summers.

The crash was a very severe one, and Randall had almost died on the spot. His parents had chosen to donate his organs.

I was the recipient of his heart.

I kept looking and managed to find more information about Randall.

He had been engaged at the time of his death. As for his fiancee? Her name was Vivian Cosby.

My Vivian Cosby.

I regarded Vivian’s familiar face as she slept beside me. Suddenly, I did not know how to face this reality.

It took me almost all night to process this truth.

When I woke up, I found Vivian lying atop my chest.

Her eyes were shut, and her breathing was even.

This was her habit. Every morning, no matter what time it was, she liked to put her head on my chest and listen to my heartbeat.

“What time is it?” I asked softly.

Vivian ignored me. It was only after she spent another half minute listening that she slowly lifted her head.

“It’s 8 a.m.”

I got up and went to freshen up in the bathroom.

When I got out, Vivian was gone.

On the bedside table was a photo of us at our wedding. I did not know when it had been placed there.

I stared at the photo for three seconds.

In the photo, I was smiling unreservedly as Vivian held my hand. However, her gaze was pointed away from the camera.

Back then, I thought that she did not like being photographed.

At 10 a.m., a call came in.

It was Vivian calling, and her voice was very impatient.

“I left a document at home. It’s on the desk in the study, in a blue folder. Can you bring it to me at the office?”

“Sure.”

“You have to bring it here in twenty minutes. It’s very important.” She paused before continuing, “Come straight to the CEO’s office. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

After hanging up, I went to the study to find that folder. Then, I hailed a cab to her office.

During the trip, I kept wondering why she was so impatient today and why she could not wait to have her assistant collect the document.

I took the elevator straight to the top floor. When I got out, the door to the CEO’s office was ajar.

I was about to knock when I heard a soft chuckle from the inside.

It was a man’s laugh. It was playful and held the hint of intentional amorousness.

My hand stilled in midair before I followed through and pushed the door open.

What greeted me was a rumpled Vivian leaning in her office chair.

A young man was seated on the armrest and bent over her. Their actions were very intimate, and he was leaning down to kiss her cheek.

When he heard the door open, the man turned around. It was the first time I saw this man’s face clearly.

He was young, and his features were well-sculpted.

His eyes and the cut of his jaw made him look so much like Randall.

There was a roar in my head as everything I had guessed before became proven in truth.

Instead of rushing forward as I usually would, I did not. I did not feel angry.

My gaze shifted slowly toward Vivian.

She was looking at me.

She did not seem panicked or guilty. She did not try to hide away at all.

Her gaze was like a bucket of cold water, waking me up from a dream.

I walked into the office with steady steps and put the folder on her desk.

“Here’s the document. I’m leaving now.”

As I turned around, I saw that Vivian was flabbergasted. Disappointment flashed in her eyes.

What had she been anticipating?

Had she expected me to rage and throw a tantrum like a madman? Was she waiting for me to do that so she would have a reason to detest me and leave?

I walked out and closed the door softly.

That night, around 9 p.m., Vivian actually brought that man home.

The man wore a white shirt, and it gave him a fresh and clean vibe.

He stood by Vivian’s side like a sweet, obedient younger brother.

When Vivian looked at him, her gaze was warm and soft.

“His name is Wendell Burns. He’s staying in the master bedroom tonight. You can have the guest room.”

Wendell glanced at me, and there was a challenge in his eyes.

Abruptly, I found the whole situation absurd and nearly laughed out loud. However, I managed to swallow the laugh back down.

“Sure.” I nodded.

When I passed them by, I paused and added, “Remember to change the sheets after. I’m particular about that.”

Vivian’s expression darkened in an instant.

In the guest room, I could hear the noise of activity from outside.

I heard Vivian’s gentle murmurs, Wendell’s low chuckles, and the door of the master bedroom shutting. Then, there was silence.

I slowly slumped on the floor by the bed and buried my face in my palms.

My heart beat steadily in my chest.

At some point, tears had started to fall.

I got into bed and lay down. I fell into a dazed sleep.

When I woke up, I stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. It took a few seconds before I remembered where I was.

Right, this was the guest room.

I got up and went to the kitchen for some water.

When I got to the entrance of the kitchen, I saw Wendell holding Vivian from behind. They were whispering to each other by the island.

Wendell angled his head to kiss her. His movements were bold.

Vivian’s hand was on his chest, wrinkling the shirt that was originally mine.

I suddenly felt like puking.

After resting for a couple of minutes, I circled them to get to the water dispenser and got myself a glass of water.

Wendell stopped what he was doing, freezing in place.

Vivian had stopped as well. Her gaze followed me. Her gaze burned into me so hard that I felt like a hole would soon appear.

I languidly drank my water. After I finished, I put down the glass and turned to leave.

At the door, I paused and turned back to look at them.

“The kitchen door wasn’t closed properly. I’ll shut it for you.”

I closed the door and separated them and whatever they were doing from me.

I heard Wendell say, “There must be something wrong with him.”

Then came Vivian’s voice, low and annoyed. “Shut up.”

The corner of my mouth twitched as I stood outside.

Sunlight shone on me. It was soft and warm. I looked at that shaft of light and suddenly recalled the past.

I was nineteen years old and had just finished getting my heart transplant. I thought that I had gotten a new lease on life and could live well from then on.

Back then, I did not know there were worse things in life than death.

I went back to the guest room and stayed there for about an hour. I only went outside again once I was sure they would no longer be in the kitchen.

When I got to the living room, Wendell blocked my path.

He had changed into workout clothes.

“What’s your name again?” He tilted his head to the side, and his voice was unkind.

“Quinn Waverly, right?”

I did not respond and walked around him.

He followed. While standing behind me, he said sarcastically, “I didn’t think you would be so good at swallowing your pride. But I’ll tell you something. I’m the one Vivian loves. You’d best get smart and get a divorce so I can be her husband instead.”

I got myself another glass of water and took a drink. Then, I turned to him.

Upon closer inspection, he really did look like Randall.

He was not a perfect match, but the hint of it was clear. There was just something about his features.

It was no wonder that Vivian picked him.

I actually kind of wanted to tell him that he was only a stand-in, but his attitude was just too poor.

“Don’t be so pleased with yourself. You’re only a homewrecker.”

Wendell’s face went pale. “You—”

The sound of footsteps cut him off.

Wendell’s expression shifted instantly. He quickly grabbed the glass from the table and smashed it to the floor. Then, he fell gracefully along with it, hitting the edge of a cabinet on his way. He let out a pained moan.

He held his arm and looked at me with furrowed brows.

“Mr. Waverly, I only wanted to help you get your water. If you don’t welcome me here, you should have just said so!”

The door opened, and Vivian rushed in.

She looked at the shattered glass and at Wendell by the cabinet. Then, she looked at me. Her gaze turned icy.

Without hesitation, she came before me and raised her hand.

Her slap landed solidly on my face.

I stumbled backward and bumped into the dining table. It hurt so much that I nearly cried out.

There was a buzzing in my ear as my vision blurred.

Vivian carefully helped Wendell up. Her voice was achingly gentle. “Where does it hurt? Let me look…”

Wendell’s lips were tightly pursed, and he looked as if he was holding back some great pain.

“It’s not Mr. Waverly’s fault. I was off-balance and accidentally made him mad.”

Vivian had her arm around him as she stood up. She did not look at me and went straight to the master bedroom.

I stood in place and watched them leave. I saw how Vivian talked him through the pain.

I slowly raised a hand and wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. The sticky blood stained the tip of my finger.

I looked at it for a long time before heading back to the guest room.

It was dark, and the buzzing in my ears kept going. I could still hear my heartbeat, though.

The tears did not stop flowing.

Wendell was moving in for good.

From that day on, my home housed three people.

Or, perhaps, it had always housed three people.

It was only that the third person hid in Vivian’s heart, in her phone, and in her notes.

It was only at this point that he had gained a face, a body, a voice.

He could stay brazenly in my room and wear my clothes, taking up all of my wife’s time.

Vivian was openly and unfailingly adoring of him.

She would hug him before leaving and kiss him when she came home.

At night, before going to bed, she would personally heat up a glass of milk and bring it back to the master bedroom for Wendell.

After Vivian slapped me, my sleep became worse and worse. I frequently woke up in the middle of the night and stayed awake until morning.

One night, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, counting my heartbeats.

After counting to some random number, I heard noise outside.

I got up and quietly opened the door a crack.

The living room light had not been turned on, but the kitchen was brightly lit.

The yellowish light seeped through the doorway. I walked toward it and looked through a crack in the door.

Vivian was in the kitchen. Her back was to me. She held a glass of milk in one hand. In her other hand was a small baggie.

She looked down and concentrated as she poured the powder in the baggie into the milk. Then, she used a teaspoon to mix it in well.

My heart skipped a beat.

Vivian was drugging Wendell, but with what? Why would she do this?

The questions followed me back to bed.

At dinner the next evening, Wendell suddenly clutched his chest. His face went white, and it took him a long time to feel normal again.

He saw me watching him and tried to make a sound of disdain. Before he could finish making the sound, he started coughing violently.

He was not faking at all.

During the next few days, Wendell’s health seemed to get worse. He even seemed to be on the brink of death.

During dinner on another night, he had just lifted his cutlery when he suddenly fell forward and slammed into the dining table.

“Wendell!”

Vivian immediately burst upright and grabbed him. They left.

The night breeze drifted in through the cracked windows.

My heart was beating very fast for some reason. I had the feeling that something big was going to happen.

The next day, Vivian told me that Wendell had had an acute heart failure. He needed to have a heart transplant, or he would die within a month.