I was by myself in the hospital when the doctor finally said the words out loud.

“Alina, the treatment on your bone marrow isn’t responding anymore. Transfusions will only delay things. You need a transplant as soon as possible, or your organs will start failing.”

I just nodded. Like I was processing it. Like I was still fully there. But I wasn’t.

My hands were trembling when I reached for my phone and dialed Viktor. My husband. Five years of marriage. A mafia king everyone feared—someone who could make people disappear with a single order. The same man who was supposed to be mine in a way no one else could ever be.

The line rang.

Once. Twice. Again.

Then it cut off.

I tried calling again, but it didn’t even bother ringing anymore.

My throat tightened as I stared at the screen, waiting like there was still something to hope for. Like an idiot who didn’t know better.

Instead, Instagram opened on its own.

A post.

From her.

My twin sister.

Same womb, different world. The one who left because she always said she deserved more—better cities, better opportunities, better everything. The one who never bothered hiding how much she resented that I had him first.

She was smiling in the picture, soft and almost innocent, her fingers loosely tangled with a man’s hand.

I knew that hand.

I knew that watch too. I was the one who gave it to him.

Viktor.

My stomach dropped before I even read the caption, but I forced myself to anyway.

“The man I’ve loved in secret is finally mine. Even if this is only borrowed time, I want it to last forever.”

My thumb slipped before I could stop it.

I liked the post.

Only after did I realize my face was already wet.

Not even a minute passed before my phone started ringing like it was going to break. His name flashed repeatedly, urgent, almost panicked.

I answered.

“Alina—don’t hang up,” he said quickly, voice rough like he’d been running. “Just listen to me.”

I stayed silent.

“I already know what you saw,” he continued. “But it’s not what it looks like. I swear. She agreed to be your donor—bone marrow. She said she’d help you. But she had a condition. Just one month. She wanted me to act like her husband during that time. That’s all. I never touched her. I never crossed any line. I did everything for you. Everything, Alina.”

My throat burned when I finally spoke. “Viktor… are you telling me that’s true?”

“Yes,” he answered too fast, then softened. “You’re my wife. You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. I won’t survive it.”

A laugh escaped me, but it cracked halfway.

“Then why does it sound like you didn’t hesitate at all when you agreed?”

Silence.

Only his breathing filled the line.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than any denial.

Memories I didn’t ask for started flooding in.

Him showing up at three in the morning just because I mentioned my bones were aching and I couldn’t sleep. Him returning with greasy street dumplings like it was some grand offering. Him buying me a pair of shoes I casually pointed at once, pretending it was nothing. Him kneeling under fireworks on my birthday, holding a ring like his hands weren’t shaking.

“Wait for me after graduation,” he had said then. “I want forever with you, Alina.”

And I believed him.

Everyone did.

Viktor Calhoun—mafia boss, merciless to the world, but always gentle when it came to me.

When I was diagnosed six months ago, he never let go of my hand. Not once. He cried harder than I did, like I was already gone.

“If you give up, I give up too,” he told me. “Don’t leave me behind.”

After that, he searched everywhere. Legit hospitals, underground clinics, black-market doctors—anything. At one point I even caught him trying to donate his own blood, knowing it wouldn’t help. I once saw a draft of his will too. He didn’t even bother hiding it.

He wasn’t afraid of dying.

And then there was her.

He paid her.

One hundred million pesos. Clean transfer. No hesitation. Mafia money moving like nothing.

For her studies. Her future. Her so-called freedom.

But apparently, that still wasn’t enough.

Because she didn’t just want money.

She wanted him.

And the worst part was—he gave her that too. Even if he keeps insisting it’s still for me.

For the fourth time in six months, my twin backed out again.

There was always an excuse. Always another delay. And every time, Viktor ended up by her side like she was the one slipping away.

First time—she fainted. Said her sugar dropped. He stayed in her hospital room for three nights. Didn’t come home. Didn’t even send a message.

Second time—she claimed she couldn’t sleep. Anxiety attacks, nightmares. He sat through her therapy sessions, holding her hand until morning like he belonged there.

Third time—fever. The same day I collapsed during treatment, nurses calling his name over and over. He still left. Went straight to her.

And now this.

A new condition.

If he agreed to be her “husband” for one month, she would finally donate.

Just one month.

I was already in bed when he told me. My hands were shaking so badly I had to grip the blanket just to steady myself.

“Viktor,” I said, forcing my voice not to break. It still did anyway. “Just pay her more. Double it. Triple it. I don’t care. Don’t agree to her conditions. Please. Just make her do the transplant.”

There was a pause.

I heard him inhale slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully.

“Alina… we already owe her too much,” he said at last. “I can’t pressure her. She’s helping you. We should be thankful.”

Something inside me snapped clean.

“Owe her?” My voice rose despite me trying to stop it. “One hundred million isn’t enough? Or is there something else you feel like you owe her?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, I heard her in the background—soft, sweet, perfectly staged.

“Viktor… I burned my hand! It hurts… come here…”

His voice changed instantly.

“I’ll call you back,” he said quickly. “She needs me.”

Then the line went dead.

Just like that.

I kept staring at the phone until the screen dimmed. Something in me didn’t just hurt anymore—it emptied out completely, like everything had been scraped away and nothing was left behind.

I turned to the doctor.

“If I don’t get the transplant,” I asked quietly, almost like I didn’t want the answer, “how much time do I really have?”

He exhaled, tired, honest.

“A month. Maybe less. Your body is deteriorating fast. If we do the transplant soon, there’s still a chance. If not—”

“I understand,” I cut in softly. “It’s fine.”

I looked away from him.

“I won’t do it anymore.”

Because I knew my sister too well.

She wasn’t delaying it by accident.

Every day she stalled meant another day with him. And I was tired—tired of waiting, tired of begging, tired of being the only one still holding on.

That evening, I went back home.

The sky outside was painted gold and soft orange, like the world was pretending to be gentle for once. For a moment, I almost believed it. Almost thought maybe this was how endings were supposed to feel—quiet, merciful.

Then I stepped inside.

And what was left of me finally broke.

Viktor was sitting in the living room when I got home.

My twin was tucked against his side, pressed far too close for comfort, casually feeding him slices of fruit as if he already belonged to her. She looked relaxed. Content. Victorious. Like all she had left to do was wait for me to die so she could collect what she thought was hers.

“Alina!”

Viktor shot to his feet the second he saw me. The expression on his face was a strange mix of relief and guilt. He immediately held out a small gift box.

“I bought this for you,” he said quickly. “If you accept it, then it means you agree. You’ll let me stay with her until this is over so she can help you. Please, Alina. Just say yes.”

My gaze settled on the box.

I didn't touch it.

Didn't even raise a hand toward it.

“I don't want the gift,” I replied.

My lips trembled, but I forced my voice to remain steady.

“I'll agree anyway.”

He blinked in surprise.

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

The single word felt like glass in my throat.

My twin immediately stood and hurried over. She wrapped her fingers around my arm as though we were close sisters again instead of enemies sharing the same blood. Her smile was bright enough to fool anyone who didn't know her.

“That's great,” she said cheerfully. “Then let's get along from now on, okay? No being jealous. Viktor is only helping me experience my dream. He already promised me one month. After that, everything goes back to normal.”

Slowly, I removed her hand from my arm.

“I won't be jealous.”

The tension visibly left Viktor's shoulders.

He immediately disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a bowl of soup. The smile on his face was almost proud, as if we'd just solved everything and become one big happy family.

“I made this for you,” he said. “It's good for rebuilding blood. Eat a little.”

The aroma was comforting.

Familiar.

For one stupid moment, I wanted to trust him.

I lifted the spoon and took a sip.

Instantly, fire spread through my throat.

My eyes widened.

“No—”

I grabbed my chest.

Cold sweat broke out across my skin.

“Shrimp,” I choked out. “You put shrimp in this. Viktor, I'm allergic. You know I'm allergic.”

His face lost all color.

“I thought...” He looked horrified. “I thought it was peanuts. I got them mixed up.”

My twin tilted her head innocently.

“No, darling. You're remembering mine.” She smiled sweetly. “I'm the one allergic to peanuts. I told you that last week, remember?”

The room spun.

A sharp pain tore through my chest.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe.

Couldn't think.

Couldn't do anything except stare at him.

He remembered her allergy.

Not mine.

The last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me was Viktor shouting my name.

As though it mattered now.

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at another hospital ceiling.

Viktor sat beside the bed.

His eyes were bloodshot, his face exhausted. He was gripping my hand so tightly it almost hurt.

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out the moment he realized I was awake. “It was an accident. Please believe me. I've canceled everything. For the next few days, I'm staying with you. Only you. I swear it won't happen again. Just... please forgive me.”

I turned my face away.

“You don't have to apologize.”

My voice came out quiet.

“Your place is already beside her. Just focus on remembering what she likes now. Take care of her.”

I paused.

“And stay away from me, Viktor. I'm serious.”

Panic immediately flashed across his face.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Nothing between us is real. It's just an agreement. One month, that's all. I'm pretending because she's the only one who can save you. Stop making it into something else. You're my wife. You're the person I love.”

He reached toward me.

Instead of taking his hand, I pulled the blanket higher.

“I'm tired,” I whispered. “I want to sleep.”

His hand lingered awkwardly in the air before dropping back to his side.

After a moment, he stood.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Get some rest.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

For some reason, the sound hurt more than it should have.

The second he was gone, I opened my eyes.

Tears slipped silently into my pillow.

Pointless tears.

Because I already knew the truth.

My time was running out.

Aplastic anemia was slowly consuming me, patient and relentless.

Later that day, I forced myself out of bed.

Every step felt heavier than the last.

I made my way to the closet and pulled out an old dust-covered box hidden behind stacks of forgotten things.

Inside was an entire lifetime.

My lifetime with him.

Movie tickets from our first date.

A cheap bracelet he'd bought from a night market back when he still laughed easily.

Polaroids from happier days, before guns, blood, and mafia business started taking up more space than love.

Every picture showed me smiling.

And in every single one, Viktor's arms were wrapped around me.

My chest ached.

I spent hours sitting on the floor, sorting through every memory.

Touching every insignificant little object as though it would be the last time.

Maybe it was.

When dawn arrived, I carried the box outside.

I lit a small brazier.

Then, one by one, I fed our memories to the flames.

The fire climbed higher.

Photographs curled and blackened.

Promises turned to ash.

Then a furious voice shattered the silence.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Before I could react, my twin charged toward me and shoved me hard.

The brazier tipped over.

Burning coals scattered across the ground.

Several landed against my arm.

I gasped as pain shot through me.

“Bianca—”

I stumbled backward, clutching the burn.

She didn't stop.

She lunged toward me again, her eyes blazing with outrage that I knew was completely fake.

“If you didn't want me here, you could've just said so!” she cried. “Why are you burning my things?”

To anyone else, she sounded hurt.

To me, she sounded pleased.

The commotion brought Viktor running outside.

The moment he saw her, he rushed straight to her side.

“What happened?” he asked, pulling her close protectively. “Are you okay?”

She buried herself against his chest, already crying.

“Viktor...” she sobbed. “She hates me so much. She started burning all my things. Look! She doesn't want me here!”

Only then did he look at me.

For the first time in weeks.

My heart stopped.

But what I saw in his eyes wasn't love.

It was disappointment.

“Alina...” His voice was heavy with disapproval. “How could you do something like this? After everything she's sacrificed for you? After agreeing to help with your treatment? This is how you repay her?”

I couldn't breathe.

Slowly, I bent down and picked up a half-burned photograph from the ashes.

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it.

“Look closely.”

My voice cracked.

“These aren't hers.”

I held up the charred photograph.

“They're mine. Ours.”

It was a picture from the previous winter.

Viktor had wrapped his scarf around my neck because I kept complaining about the cold.

For a moment, his expression froze.

“Why...” His voice softened. “Why would you burn these?”

A bitter laugh escaped me.

“Because they're ruined.”

My eyes stung.

I tossed the photograph back into the fire.

“I don't want them anymore.”

“No.” He took a step forward. “Alina, these are our memories. You told me we'd look through them together when we were old. Why would you throw them away?”

A small, broken smile touched my lips.

“Don't you understand, Viktor?”

My voice trembled.

“I'm dy—”

“Viktor!”

My twin's voice cut through mine.

She held up her hand dramatically.

“I think I burned it when the brazier fell.”

Just like that, I ceased to exist.

His attention left me instantly.

The concern in his eyes vanished from my direction and settled completely on her.

“Come inside,” he said, taking her hand. “I'll put some ointment on it.”

With one arm around her shoulders, he guided her toward the house.

He never looked back.

Not even once.

My arms throbbed from the burns, but I barely paid attention to them. I made my way back to my room, grabbed the first-aid kit from the cabinet, and soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. The moment it touched my skin, pain shot through me so hard it stole my breath.

Even so, it hurt far less than watching Viktor slowly erase me from his life.

There was a time when the smallest injury would send him into a panic. If I got so much as a paper cut, he'd act as though I'd suffered a life-threatening wound, dragging me off to the infirmary while I laughed at him for being ridiculous. Back then, I secretly adored it. His concern made me feel cherished. Important.

Now, he hadn't even noticed the burns on my arm.

Hadn't asked a single question.

He'd simply turned around and walked away with my sister.

Like I wasn't there.

That night, I lay in bed and finally stopped fighting the tears. They slipped down my cheeks and landed on the burns, making them sting all over again. I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood, trying to keep myself from crying out loud.

But no physical pain came close to the ache sitting in my chest.

The following days only confirmed what I already knew.

I'd been pushed out of my own place in Viktor's world.

My twin never left his side. She attached herself to him so completely that he couldn't move across a room without her finding an excuse to pull him back.

At dinner, she poked his arm and pouted dramatically.

"Viktor, feed me some shrimp," she whined. "It tastes better when you do."

I sat quietly, moving food around my plate without eating much.

Without hesitation, he picked up the shrimp and fed it to her.

She smiled and leaned against him, completely comfortable.

As if I wasn't sitting right there.

Later that evening, they settled on the couch to watch a movie.

She tucked herself against his chest and whispered, "Hold me tighter. The scary scenes make me nervous."

His arms immediately tightened around her.

No hesitation.

No second thought.

Nothing.

Whenever I happened to walk past them, she'd look up at me with that fake, innocent smile.

"Alina, you promised, didn't you?" she'd ask sweetly. "You don't mind us being close?"

Every time, I forced the same small smile.

"Of course not."

Eventually, it became my answer to everything.

I wasn't even sure anymore whether I was pretending or if I'd simply stopped caring.

The truth was, my body was failing faster every day.

The one person who could save me was my own sister.

The woman who shared my blood.

The woman who was supposed to be my donor.

Instead, she dangled that possibility over my head like a prize, always close enough to see but impossible to reach.

And I kept losing.

---

That evening, I stood in front of the mirror.

The woman staring back barely looked familiar.

My skin had turned pale.

My body looked fragile.

I wasn't even sure how much longer I'd be able to stand on my own.

That's when I made up my mind.

I needed one last photograph.

A picture for my funeral.

If Viktor ever forgot my face completely, at least there would be one image left behind. One version of me that still looked alive.

Still smiling.

Still me.

At the photography studio, the photographer smiled politely.

"You have very elegant features," he said while adjusting the camera. "Is this for an ID? Graduation photo?"

I looked directly into the lens.

Outside, I appeared calm.

Inside, I already felt like a ghost.

"It's for my funeral."

The photographer blinked.

His hands faltered for a moment.

I didn't explain.

Didn't elaborate.

I simply sat there as the flash exploded in front of me and imagined the photograph sitting on top of my coffin one day.

Afterward, I waited near the counter for the printed copy.

Then I heard laughter.

A familiar laugh.

Low.

Warm.

His.

Followed by my sister's bright giggle.

My entire body stiffened.

When I turned around, I saw them entering together.

Arm in arm.

Looking exactly like a happy couple.

"Alina?" My sister widened her eyes in exaggerated surprise. "What are you doing here?"

I slipped the photo into my pocket before she could see it.

"Just had a picture taken for an ID," I replied evenly. "What about you?"

She immediately leaned into Viktor's side.

"We wanted a photo album," she said happily. "We did a photoshoot a few days ago. We're just here to pick up the prints."

Viktor glanced toward me.

"She insisted," he explained. "I only went along with it because she kept asking. When you're healthy again, we can make our own album."

My chest tightened painfully.

Still, I simply nodded.

I couldn't trust my voice.

A staff member called them over to review the photos.

I quietly turned toward the exit.

Before I could leave, my twin grabbed my wrist.

"Come help us choose," she said. "You always have better taste than I do."

Before I could refuse, she pulled me toward the computer screen.

The moment I looked up, I wished I hadn't.

There were dozens of photographs.

Them holding hands.

Them smiling at each other.

Them standing beneath a sunset while he kissed her.

Them dressed in matching white outfits while he wrapped his arms around her from behind.

Every picture felt like another knife sliding into my chest.

"Which one do you think is best?" she asked brightly. "Which one looks the happiest?"

I couldn't answer.

My throat had completely closed.

Then suddenly—

CRASH!

A deafening sound tore through the studio.

Shelves tipped over.

People screamed.

Everything happened at once.

Viktor immediately threw himself toward my sister, covering her body without even thinking.

Meanwhile, the corner of a falling metal shelf slammed into my shoulder.

Pain exploded through me.

I screamed.

Warm blood soaked through my blouse almost instantly.

"Viktor! It hurts!" my sister cried dramatically, clutching a tiny scratch on her arm.

His face turned white.

"You're bleeding," he said in panic. "We need to get you to a hospital."

Without hesitation, he scooped her into his arms and rushed toward the exit.

For a brief second, he looked back.

Our eyes met.

I was trapped beneath the shelf.

Blood pooled around me.

One second.

Two seconds.

Then he looked away.

And left.

I eventually forced myself to stand.

The room spun around me.

Still, I somehow managed to drag myself to the hospital alone.

The doctor frowned deeply while stitching the wound.

"Why didn't someone bring you in immediately?" he asked. "You lost a significant amount of blood. This injury isn't minor."

I clenched my jaw as the needle pierced my skin.

"I didn't have anyone to bring me."

The doctor hesitated.

Then he said, "That's strange. A young woman came in earlier with nothing more than a small scrape. Her boyfriend was terrified. He demanded every possible test."

A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it.

"That boyfriend was mine too."

The doctor froze.

After that, he didn't ask another question.

He simply finished the stitches in silence.

Late that night, I was sitting in my room changing the dressing on my wound when the bedroom door opened.

Viktor stepped inside.

The moment he saw me struggling with the bandages, he stopped moving.

His eyes immediately landed on the stitched wound.

The color drained from his face.

"Alina..."

His voice cracked.

He crossed the room in seconds.

"What happened to you?"