It had been five years since my fiancé Jackson died due to an accident. Not only was he my first love, but also my bodyguard. He swore to keep me safe, and yet he left me alone.

But his death wasn’t in vain when his family decided to donate his heart. It went to Joseph Jones, heir of a wealthy family, and also a close friend of my fiance. And yet… the thought that Jackson’s heart still beat in his chest was enough for me to say yes when Joseph asked me to live with him.

No ring and wedding ceremony. Just words to comfort me: “Stay with me. Even if we’re not married. Be by my side… so you can still feel his heart.”

And I agreed. Because maybe, just maybe, if I stayed close enough to Joseph, if I listened to his heartbeat at night, I could still feel Jackson’s love.

But five years is a long time. And in those years, Joseph had been nothing but patient. He cared for me, cherished me, made me laugh, wiped my tears. Somewhere in between, my foolish heart began to love him—not because of Jackson’s heart, but because of the man Joseph had shown himself to be.

Tonight, on our fifth anniversary, I decided it was time. I wore the silver ring he had once given me, a promise ring I had always been too afraid to answer. I slipped it on, my hands trembling, and waited until we were on the cruise deck, the ocean glimmering beneath the lights.

“Joseph,” I said softly, my voice shaking. “I’m ready now.”

He looked at me, brows lifting.

I held up my hand, letting the ring catch the glow of the chandeliers. “I’m ready for the marriage. Let’s do it. I realize now that it’s no longer Jackson. It’s you. You’re the one I want.”

I expected joy. Relief. Perhaps even tears.

Instead—Joseph scoffed. His lips curved into something cruel. “Marriage? I don’t think that’s necessary right now.”

My heart stopped. “What? What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. “I don’t think we can get married. The company is demanding too much from me. Maybe we can postpone it next year.”

“Postpone?” My voice cracked. “But… you told me you’d wait. You promised—”

He cut me off sharply. “And you rejected me then, Ysabel. That was your choice. Why blame me now? I see no reason for marriage anymore. It’s not like you contribute to my business. You don’t even have a family to bring into this. What’s the use?”

I froze, staring at him. His words sliced into me. “I left my home… to be with you. You know that, when they told me it was a bad idea to live with you without marriage,” I whispered. “I gave you everything.”

Joseph smirked, his tone biting. “So what? Do you regret it now? Don’t be a hypocrite, Ysabel. You only agreed to stay because of Jackson’s heart. You used me, too. You wanted to keep a piece of him alive through me.”

My lips trembled. “But still, you know—”

“Finish your food,” he snapped, rising from the table. “I have something else to do tonight.”

Before I could answer, his phone rang.

He picked up, and from the faint voice that carried over the line, I recognized the butler. “Sir Joseph, something happened to Miss Hannah. Her husband hurt her. She’s in the hospital.”

Joseph’s face paled. He didn’t even look at me. He didn’t explain. He just rushed out.

The name cut me like a blade. Hannah. Six years ago, Hannah was his fiancée. But when she learned Joseph had a heart condition, she left him, marrying someone healthy and richer. And the same week… Jackson died.

Jackson was also Joseph’s friend from college. They had shared years of camaraderie, laughter, even rivalry. Perhaps that was why, when tragedy struck, Jackson’s family agreed to give his heart to Joseph. It was their way of honoring their son’s friendship, and of making sure his heart kept beating, even if not in his own chest.

When Joseph woke up, he was devastated. He didn’t even want to live because Hannah was gone. I stayed by his side, trying to comfort him, knowing he carried the heart of my lover inside his chest.

And then—he asked me to be with him.

He offered me marriage then, desperate to hold on to something, to someone. But I wasn’t ready. How could I be? He was Jackson’s friend, and I still saw Jackson every time I looked at him. I thought living together would be enough.

My parents were furious when they found out. To them, it was unthinkable that I would even consider being with Joseph. “He’s using you,” they spat. “Do you not see? He has Jackson’s heart, and you’re confusing grief with love.”

Even Jackson’s parents looked at me with the same disgust. They had agreed to give Joseph the heart because he had been their son’s friend, not so I could end up at his side. “You’ve betrayed Jackson,” his mother whispered, her eyes full of pain. “Even if Joseph has his heart, he is not him.”

But I stayed. Because part of me wanted to believe love could grow from this twisted fate. Maybe Joseph would want this so I won’t be alone.

But now that Hannah was back. It seems I had no place again…

I stayed in the cruise that night, numb. The laughter of other passengers rang hollow in my ears. My plate sat untouched. My tears fell quietly as the memories of Jackson, of Joseph’s promises, twisted like knives.

I went up to the deck, staring at the endless stretch of sea. The night sky had turned heavy, clouds gathering, the scent of rain sharp in the air.

I whispered to no one. “Where do I go now?”

The first drops of rain fell, soft at first, then harder, pelting against the ship’s railing. The deck cleared as people rushed inside. But I stayed. Crying beneath the storm.

The thunder roared. Lightning flashed. And then—

The ship jolted. A violent crash, the sound of metal groaning, the ocean heaving with sudden rage. Screams filled the air as passengers scrambled.

I staggered back, my heart racing, the world spinning. Another wave slammed against the side, drenching me, pulling me closer to the rail.

“No!” I cried, clutching it—but my hands slipped.

The cold sea swallowed me whole.

And then—darkness.

The first thing I felt was nothing.

Not the sheets against my skin. Not the heaviness of my limbs. Not even the sting of my lungs that had fought to breathe water instead of air. My body was an empty vessel, still and unresponsive, but my mind—my mind hovered between darkness and awareness.

And in that haze, voices broke through.

“Sir, we can’t drain more blood,” the doctor’s tone was strained, panicked. “She drowned, her lungs were filled with water. Her body won’t hold. If we continue, she’ll die—especially knowing she’s also pregnant with your child.”

Pregnant? My heart jolted. No. That couldn’t be. I never even suspected. My cycle was always irregular, unreliable at best. And most of the time—Joseph and I used protection. Condoms, precautions, anything to avoid surprises. I never dared to hope… because we weren’t married yet.

But then came Joseph’s voice. Familiar. Sharp. Cold.

“I don’t care if she’s pregnant. And if she dies? So what?” His words cut deeper than the tubes piercing my skin. “She matches Hannah’s blood type. Hannah needs this more. Between them, I’ll always choose Hannah. Ysabel is nothing. Not even my wife. Do it now.”

The sound of the machines blurred, the edges of my consciousness collapsing. I wanted to scream, to fight, to demand why—but my body betrayed me. Darkness pulled me under.

When I woke again, agony consumed me. Every muscle throbbed, my veins hollowed as if someone had scraped life itself from inside me. Memories of what I heard replayed, twisted with doubt. Was it a dream? Was it real?

A nurse appeared at my bedside, offering a strained smile. “Miss Ysabel, you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood. You were found unconscious after drowning. You must stay for recovery.”

I swallowed hard, my lips trembling. “I… was I—pregnant?”

Her eyes widened, then softened with pity. “I don’t think so. There’s no record.”

But I heard it. I knew what I heard. Pregnant. Child. Died. My womb felt empty, my chest hollow. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as the truth clawed at me.

“What about… my husband?” The word cracked on my tongue, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Joseph wasn’t my husband. Just the man I had given my life to, the man who had Jackson’s heart, the man I had foolishly believed would love me.

“Did someone visit me?”

The nurse hesitated, then shook her head. “No one has come. You’ve been asleep for three days already.”

I forced a trembling smile. “Please. Leave me alone.”

The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed me whole. That was when the ache settled in—not the physical pain, but the kind that gnawed at the marrow. I thought it was love.

I thought five years of devotion meant something. I wanted to believe that his care, his touch, his presence was real. Yet still, it wasn’t. To him, I was never love. Just convenience. Just pity. And me? I was a fool. A fool who mistook borrowed warmth for a promise, who gave my heart to a man who never truly wanted it.

My chest tightened, and for the first time in years, my thoughts drifted back to Jackson. Jackson—wild, reckless, full of life. He had never once made me feel like an afterthought.

With him, every word was truth, every touch was certainty. If he were here, he would never have let me rot in this bed alone. He would never have given me up for someone else’s sake. Jackson would have fought for me. Protected me. Loved me without condition.

And now his heart beat inside Joseph. The cruel irony cut deeper than any blade.

I waited the entire day, staring at the door, praying Joseph would come. He didn’t.

By nightfall, something in me snapped. Pain laced every step, but I forced myself out of bed, the IV tugging against my arm. The hallway lights were dim, cold. That’s when I heard it—his voice again.

I froze.

“…are you sure it’s okay that you’re here?” Hannah’s voice. Her tone was low, nervous. “What about Ysabel? You drained too much of her blood for me.”

Joseph scoffed, his voice a knife. “I don’t care about her. She won’t die. And even if she does, what then? It’s not like she matters. The baby already died. She’ll never know.”

The ground tilted beneath me. Baby. Died. Never know.

He continued, his words merciless. “I never wanted her. I only pitied her. Joseph—” he paused, his voice breaking only to twist into bitterness. “Joseph died because of me. I was drunk, reckless. I crashed into his car. I killed him. His family gave me his heart out of pity, not knowing I was the reason he died. You left, I was devastated. So I used her. A bed warmer. Nothing more. But now that you’re back, and you’ve divorced that bastard husband—let’s get married.”

Hannah gasped softly. “Joseph… of course, I would love that! I regretted leaving you.”

My stomach twisted, bile rising to my throat. My knees nearly buckled, but I pressed against the wall, forcing my sobs down.

Every word was a dagger. Every word burned the love I had clung to into ashes.

Joseph. It was Joseph. The man I had trusted, the man I had given five years of my life to—he was the reason Jackson was gone. All those nights I cried myself to sleep, mourning my first love, never once had I imagined the man sleeping beside me carried such a secret. He had crashed into Jackson. He had killed him. And then, instead of confessing, he had hidden it behind his sickness, behind his pity, behind his manipulations.

The man who carried Jackson’s heart had been the very hand that ripped him away from me.

My tears blurred everything. My breaths came shallow and broken. It felt like betrayal layered upon betrayal, until I couldn’t tell where the grief ended and the rage began.

I stumbled away, desperate for air, desperate for escape. My eyes caught a telephone on the corner desk. My hands shook as I grabbed it, my breath ragged.

There was only one number I had memorized, one lifeline I had never dared to use.

When the line clicked, my voice broke. “Brother… it’s me. Ysabel.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale on the other side.

“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”

“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. My voice cracked as I clung to the only lifeline I had left. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”

There was silence on the other end. A silence that stretched like a blade against my throat. And then came the scoff, sharp and bitter.

“Right now?” My brother’s voice was laced with anger. “You’re asking for my help now—after everything? After you left us, after you chose him over your own blood? You betrayed us and Jackson, Ysabel. For that man. And now you come crawling back?”

My chest heaved. “It’s my mistake—I know it’s my fault now. But please, listen to me. He’s the reason why Jackson died—” My sobs choked me, words tumbling out raw and broken. “He killed Jackson… so he could get his heart. He killed our baby, too. I was wrong. I should have never loved anyone aside from Jackson. Never.”

My hand trembled as I tightened my grip on the receiver. “Please. Pick me up. I swear, I’ll do anything you want from me. Anything.”

On the other end, silence stretched again, until finally his sigh reached me. “Fine. At least you finally came to your senses. I’ll pick you up in five days. Settle everything. After that, you’re done with him. Do you understand?”

My knees buckled as relief and despair collided. “Yes,” I whispered, trembling. “Yes.”

I dropped the receiver, my whole body quivering violently. The room spun, darkness swarming in from every corner until I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. I fainted—slipping into oblivion.

When I woke again, I was cradled against Joseph’s chest. His hands shook me gently. “Ysabel? What are you doing out here? You’re not yet okay—why are you walking around? Come on, you’ll collapse again.”

His voice was soft, concerned, the voice that once fooled me into believing I was loved. He carried me back to the room, setting me on the bed with a gentleness that now felt cruel.

“Ysabel,” he murmured, brushing the damp hair from my face. “I’m sorry… for everything. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I should’ve been there when you woke up. I should’ve taken better care of you. I was just… overwhelmed, distracted with the company… I didn’t mean to neglect you.”

His excuses poured out like honey, sweet but suffocating. Each word layered with guilt, but none of it touched truth.

I forced myself to look away, to keep my tears buried deep. Pretending ignorance was my last weapon now. I lowered my lashes and whispered, my voice fragile, “It’s fine, Joseph. I’m sorry too… for causing trouble. For worrying you.”

Inside, my chest screamed with the truth I already knew—that his apologies weren’t for me, that Hannah’s name on his lips meant more than mine ever would. But I feigned submission, nodding like the fool he thought I still was, because pretending was easier than shattering completely in front of him.

He fed me spoonfuls of warm soup, his eyes heavy with guilt, his words dripping with remorse.

Once, I would have melted. Once, I would have believed him. But now—I knew better. His apologies were empty shells, rehearsed, meant to keep me docile.

And then the butler burst into the room. “Sir Joseph, something happened to Miss Hannah! She’s vomiting again. The doctor is asking you to come immediately!”

The moment her name left his lips, Joseph dropped everything. He shot up from his chair. In his haste, the bowl of soup tipped, scalding liquid spilling across my arm.

I screamed, the burn searing into my skin. But he didn’t even look at me. Didn’t even hesitate. And just like that—he was gone.

I clutched my burned arm, trembling from both pain and fury. I treated it myself, wrapping it with cold compress, tears blinding my vision.

That was the last straw. I couldn’t do this anymore.

The next morning, I signed the discharge papers myself. Weak and aching, I forced my body out of that hospital and straight to the cemetery. My feet carried me to Jackson’s grave, and there—I collapsed.

My fingers traced the letters of his name carved into stone. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Jackson. Because I fell for him. Because I let myself be fooled. Because the man who carries your heart is the same one who destroyed you. And me.”

My tears fell onto the earth as if I could water his memory back to life. In the haze of grief, I felt something warm, something familiar—like arms wrapping around me. Jackson. In my dream, he was there, pulling me into his chest, whispering against my hair, You’re not alone.

I woke to find myself drenched in tears. But his embrace lingered in my chest, a phantom comfort.

Dragging myself home, I tried to find air in lungs that barely wanted to breathe. And then I saw it.

A billboard towered above the city lights, bold letters screaming the headline:

“Second Chances Are Sweeter Than the First: Joseph Jones to Wed Hannah Mill.”

The picture was cruel. Joseph, smiling, Hannah beside him, radiant and triumphant.

My body froze, my heart hollow. So this was why he never married me. This was why every promise turned to dust.

But I did not cry. Not anymore. My tears had run dry. My love had burned to ashes.

Because in five days, I would be dead. And when that happened, every single one of them would regret it.