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.

Vivian sent someone to bring me to the hospital.

The hallway to the VIP wards was very quiet, and the smell of antiseptic hung in the air.

I walked down the long hallway and looked through the glass window to see Wendell lying in a bed.

His eyes were closed, his face was pale and ashen, and his lips were bloodless.

Vivian sat by his bedside, holding his hand. Her head was down, and her shoulders trembled minutely.

I opened the door and went in.

Vivian looked up. Her face was not tear-streaked as I had expected.

“You’re here.” Her voice was calm.

“Yes.”

She stood up and walked over to hold my wrist.

“Come outside with me. I have something to talk to you about.”

She pulled me to the end of the hallway.

The stark light shone on us, and I could hear nurses rushing about in the distance.

Vivian let go of my wrist.

“Wendell doesn’t have long to live.”

I was quiet.

Vivian raised her hand and placed it on my chest.

“He needs a heart transplant.”

I could feel the coolness of Vivian’s palm even through my shirt. She could feel my heartbeat under her palm. Her eyes were distant. She seemed lost in a dream.

“Your heart is the best match.”

Suddenly, I understood everything.

Vivian had drugged Wendell’s milk in the middle of the night to give him a heart attack. That way, he would have a good excuse for needing a heart transplant. The heart he needed was in my chest.

Vivian wanted Randall’s heart to go into a body that looked like his.

Everything she had done was intentional, from letting me see them getting intimate at the office to bringing him into our home.

She did not want to chase me off immediately because I still had value to her. Randall’s heart was still in my body.

I looked into Vivian’s eyes and saw determination there.

It seemed that I was not going to be able to escape this.

After calming my emotions, I calmly said, “Isn’t Randall’s heart the only thing you want, Vivan?”

Vivian’s expression froze.

“You didn’t fall in love with me at first sight back when we first met. You like lying on my chest and listening to my heartbeat because this heart belonged to Randall Summers.”

Vivian’s eyes widened. She was shocked, and I could see the disbelief in her eyes.

“Y-You know?”

“I know.” I pushed Vivian’s palm away.

She stood rooted to the spot, looking as if she had been struck.

I looked at Vivian, whom I had loved for the past five years. I had cooked countless meals for her, done all her laundry, and waited for her to come home for countless nights.

When I thought it all over, I realized those five years felt more like a dream.

It was a dream I had willingly lost myself in.

I took a deep breath and let out a chuckle.

“I can give you what you want, but I have a condition. I want a divorce and a fifty-million-dollar settlement. Once I get the money and the papers are signed, I’ll do the heart transplant. I’ll give you Randall back.”