Elaina Berger POV:

I woke up in a hospital bed, the sharp, antiseptic smell filling my senses. The first thing I did was call the morgue. I had my father's body moved to a private facility, away from the hospital, away from the Pattons' influence. I would not let them use him as a pawn in their sick games.

Then, I went to the records department. I needed to see it for myself. I pulled up the transplant logs, my hands shaking so badly I could barely type. It was all there, in black and white. A perfect match. A 99.8% compatibility rating. And the cancellation order, dated three months ago, signed by Brennan Patton.

He hadn't just redirected the heart last week. He had condemned my father to death months ago. All to secure a heart for the brother of the woman who was carrying his child. A woman he claimed meant nothing to him.

I suppressed the tremor in my hands, printed the documents, and drove back to the penthouse. The place was teeming with people, the air thick with perfume and the sound of clinking champagne glasses. The party to celebrate the pregnancy was in full swing.

My entrance silenced the room. I was still in my hospital scrubs, my face was pale, my cheek was scratched, and I was carrying a sheaf of papers that radiated fury.

Brennan' s smile froze on his face. He started towards me, his hand outstretched, but I walked right past him.

"You lied to me," I said, my voice dangerously quiet. I threw the papers at him. They fluttered to the floor, a stark white accusation against the marble. "You killed him."

Brennan's face went white as he looked at the documents. Hollie rushed to his side, ever the damsel in distress.

"Elaina, what is this?" she asked, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Brennan did this for me! My brother was dying! Your father was old, he had lived his life!"

She tried to touch my arm, a gesture of faux sympathy. I flung her hand away with such force that she stumbled backward, nearly falling.

"Your brother is a degenerate gambler who sold his own kidney to pay off his debts," I snarled, my voice dripping with contempt. "You begged Brennan for that heart not to save your brother's life, but to secure your position in this family."

"That's enough!" Brennan roared, stepping in front of Hollie, shielding her. "Your father's death was a tragedy, but Hollie is pregnant! Her well-being is my priority now!"

His priority. My father's life for his unborn child. The transaction was that simple for him.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. The grief and betrayal were a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs.

Brennan saw my tears and his expression softened. He mistook my heartbreak for surrender. "It's okay, baby," he murmured, taking my hand. "It's all over now."

He led me out to the back garden, where the party continued. I felt numb, disconnected from my own body. My eyes scanned the crowd and landed on a familiar face-one of the stable hands from Brennan's country estate. What was he doing here?

Suddenly, the night sky exploded in a shower of light and color. Fireworks. They burst into the shape of two letters: H and C. Hollie Cochran.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Two years ago, on this very same terrace, he had filled the sky with fireworks spelling out my initials, E.B., as he asked me to marry him. Another grand gesture, another beautiful lie, now repurposed for his new favorite.

Hollie clapped her hands in delight. "Oh, my!" she squealed, clutching her chest dramatically. "I seem to have dropped my earring!"

It happened in an instant. One of the horses, brought in for "atmosphere," suddenly reared up, its eyes wild with panic. It charged, not towards Hollie, but directly towards me.

"Brennan!" I screamed, a split second before the animal slammed into me. Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my arm as I was thrown to the ground. My wrist. My right wrist. My surgical hand. I tried to move my fingers, but the agony was excruciating. My career, my identity, everything I had worked for, was shattered in that single moment.

Through a haze of pain, I looked up. Brennan wasn't looking at me. He was rushing to Hollie's side, holding her close, protecting her. In his other hand, gleaming under the party lights, was the "lost" earring he had just "found."

It was a setup. All of it. The fireworks, the conveniently lost earring, the spooked horse. It was all a performance orchestrated to make me utterly and completely dependent on him.

He finally turned to look at me, his face a mask of concern. But as his hand reached for mine, I saw the truth in his eyes. He hadn't saved me. He had sacrificed me.

The world went dark as I lost consciousness.

Elaina Berger POV:

I woke up to the smell of roses and the soft beep of a heart monitor. Brennan was sitting by my bed, his eyes red-rimmed, his face a perfect picture of remorse.

"Elaina," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "The doctor said... your wrist... the nerve damage is severe. You might not be able to operate again."

The words hung in the air, heavier than any diagnosis I had ever delivered. I looked down at my right hand, encased in a plaster cast. I tried to wiggle my fingers. Nothing. Just a dull, throbbing ache where my future used to be. My world, once so clear and defined by the clean lines of a scalpel, dissolved into a terrifying, formless void.

Hollie appeared at the door, her face a mask of sorrow. "Oh, Elaina, I'm so, so sorry," she wept. "This is all my fault."

Brennan rushed to my side, taking my uninjured hand. "It doesn't matter, my love," he said, his voice earnest and pleading. "I'll take care of you. I'll give you everything. My fortune, my company, my life. It's all yours. You'll never have to work another day in your life."

He tried to wipe a tear from my cheek, but I flinched away from his touch.

I looked at him, my eyes feeling dead in my skull. "When the horse was charging at me," I asked, my voice a dead monotone, "who were you looking at?"

He looked shocked, as if the question had physically struck him. He opened his mouth, then closed it. He couldn't lie. Not about this. In that moment of pure instinct, he had chosen her.

He grabbed a fruit knife from the bedside table. "If you don't believe that I love you," he said, his voice cracking, "I'll carve my heart out right here to prove it to you." He pressed the tip of the blade against his chest.

I watched him, my expression unchanging. I felt nothing. No shock, no fear, not even pity. The man I had loved was gone, and this dramatic, manipulative stranger in his place meant nothing to me. My silence was more effective than any words. He slowly lowered the knife, defeated.

For the next few weeks, he played the part of the devoted husband flawlessly. He filled my room with flowers, hired a private chef to cook my favorite meals, and sat by my bedside reading to me for hours. One night, he even arranged for a private fireworks display outside my hospital window, spelling out my name. The nurses swooned. "You're so lucky, Dr. Berger," they'd say. "He loves you so much."

I would just smile, a bitter, knowing smile. On my spare phone, the one he didn't know about, I saw the bank alerts. After every grand romantic gesture, a large sum of money was transferred to Hollie's account. It was hush money. A payment for her silence, for her part in the performance.

He came into my room one afternoon, beaming. "I have a surprise for you," he announced.

I felt nothing. No anticipation, no curiosity. Just a weary resignation. I knew I would be leaving soon. My application for the Doctors Without Borders mission had been approved. My escape was just days away.

I was discharged from the hospital and Brennan drove me back to the penthouse. As we approached our bedroom, I heard them. Giggles. Moans. The unmistakable sounds of two people who couldn't keep their hands off each other.

I pushed the door open. They were on the bed. Our bed. Hollie was straddling him, her hands tangled in his hair.

"Brennan, my love," she cooed, "you were so clever. That accident was brilliant. Now Elaina is crippled and completely reliant on you. She'll never leave you now."

Brennan laughed, a low, satisfied sound. "She's mine. She always has been."

A wave of nausea washed over me. I stumbled back, my hand knocking over a vase in the hallway. It shattered on the marble floor.

The sounds from the bedroom stopped.