Donating My Heart to His First Love

The heavy oak door splintered as Edwin kicked it open, his expensive Italian shoes stepping over the wreckage.

He didn't even look at the packed suitcase by my feet.

Instead, he tossed a medical consent form onto the glass coffee table, the pages scattering.

"Stop these pathetic games, Victoria," his voice was ice, devoid of the warmth he usually reserved for Rose.

"Rose has a failing heart, and yours is a perfect match."

He leaned down, his eyes locking onto mine with absolute cruelty.

"Sign the organ donation, and I'll finally marry you."

He expected me to scream, to cry, to beg for my life.

But I just picked up the pen, the metal cold against my fingers.

"Sure," I said, signing my name with a steady hand. "When is the surgery?"

What he didn't know was that giving him my heart was his 100th wish.

And once it was granted, I would finally leave this world forever.

***

I folded the last of my sweaters and shoved it into the black suitcase.

On the flat-screen TV above the fireplace, the volume was turned up too high. Edwin stood at the center of a grand ballroom, flashing cameras illuminating his sharp jawline. He had spent a million dollars on this welcome-back banquet. He held a champagne flute in one hand, while his other arm wrapped securely around Rose’s waist.

A reporter shoved a microphone toward them. "Mr. Mercer, rumors say your current partner is struggling with the return of your first love. Where is Victoria tonight?"

Edwin laughed, a rich, dismissive sound that echoed through our empty living room. "Victoria?" He tilted his head, pulling Rose closer against his side. "She is just a shadow that won't go away. Tonight is about the woman who actually matters."

I stared at the screen. A translucent blue panel hovered in the corner of my vision, flashing a countdown warning.

System Notification: Time in current world expiring.

I mentally swiped the panel away, pressing my thumb into the palm of my hand until the sting grounded me. Three years. I had been trapped in this hopeless relationship for three long years, draining my pride and my bank accounts. When his company faced bankruptcy, I did not hesitate. I signed over my entire fifty-million-dollar trust fund to keep him afloat.

He took the money. He kept the company. He never gave me his heart.

A deafening crash shattered the quiet of the house.

The heavy oak front door slammed open, the lock splintering out of the wood. Edwin stood in the entryway, swaying slightly. The sharp stench of whiskey rolled off him, filling the corridor.

He marched into the living room, his heavy boots coming down hard on the rug. A sickening crunch echoed in the space. He had stepped directly onto the framed photo I had knocked off the table earlier—the only picture of us together. The glass splintered into a hundred jagged pieces beneath his heel.

He did not look down. His dark eyes locked onto my suitcase.

"Going somewhere, or just putting on another show?" Edwin slurred slightly, though his tone remained sharp enough to cut glass.

"There is no show, Edwin," I replied, my voice steady. "I am leaving."

"You always say that." He closed the distance between us, kicking the broken frame aside. "You pack a bag, you drag it to the door, and you wait for me to beg you to stay. It is pathetic."

"Not tonight." I grabbed the handle of the suitcase.

He snatched my wrist, his grip bruising. "Drop it. I do not have time for your tantrums. We have a real problem."

"Your problems are no longer mine."

"They are when I say they are." He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored jacket, pulled out a folded stack of papers, and threw them directly at my face.

The thick pages slapped against my cheek before fluttering to the floor.

I looked down. The bold black letters at the top of the first page stood out clearly.

Organ Donation Agreement.

I looked from the paper to his flushed, angry face. "What is this?"

"Stop playing hard to get," Edwin ordered, running a hand through his dark hair. "Rose collapsed at the banquet tonight. Her heart is failing. The doctors say she does not have much time left."

"I am sorry to hear that," I said, offering no emotion. "But what does her heart have to do with these papers?"

"Are you really this dense?" He pointed at the floor. "She needs a transplant. You are a universal donor, and your tissue markers are a match. I had the hospital run your files."

"You ran my medical files without my permission."

"I am your emergency contact," he deflected smoothly. "Do not change the subject."

"You want me to donate my heart." I spoke slowly, testing the words on my tongue. "To Rose."

"Yes."

"Edwin, a person only has one heart." I kept my eyes fixed on his face, searching for a trace of hesitation. "If I give her mine, I die."

He rolled his eyes, annoyed by my logic. "Do not be dramatic. The medical team is top-tier. They have experimental artificial valves. You will survive on a machine until we find you another donor. But Rose needs a real, beating heart right now. She cannot wait."

"And if I do not survive?"

"That is a risk you are going to take." He stepped closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over me. "Look, I know what you want. You have been whining about commitment for three years."

"I gave you my fifty-million-dollar trust fund to save your empire," I reminded him, my voice devoid of the pleading tone I used to rely on. "I did not ask for commitment. I asked for basic respect."

"Money is just money," he scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "You bought your way into this house, Victoria. You did not buy me. But I am willing to make a deal."

"A deal."

"Donate your heart to her," he said, his tone turning dangerously cold, "and I will marry you."

The silence in the room stretched, thick and suffocating.

I looked at the man I had spent three years loving. The man I had bled for, financially and emotionally. He stood there, completely serious, offering me a wedding ring in exchange for my execution.

"You want to marry me," I repeated, "as a reward for gutting myself to save your true love."

"It is what you have always wanted," Edwin insisted, crossing his arms. "You get the title of Mrs. Mercer. You get the ring. Rose gets to live. Everyone wins."

"And if I die on that table?"

"Then you die as my wife," he stated flatly. "Isn't that enough for you?"

"Money is just money?" I asked, ignoring his absurd question. "I signed away my entire future for you. When the board was ready to throw you out, I bought their shares and handed them to you. I saved you."

"You bought an investment," Edwin shot back, his voice rising. "You saw a vulnerable man and you bought him. Do not act like you did it out of the goodness of your heart. You did it to trap me."

"Trap you?" A dry, hollow laugh escaped my lips. "You walked into my lawyer's office and begged for that money, Edwin."

"And I am paying you back now!" he yelled, slamming his hand against the wall. "I am offering you marriage. I am offering you the one thing you have hounded me for since the day we met."

"By asking me to carve out my own heart."

"By asking you to save a woman who actually deserves to live!"

I expected the familiar burn of tears behind my eyes. I expected my chest to heave, my voice to crack, my hands to shake. I expected the hysterical, desperate girl inside me to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Instead, there was nothing.

The well had finally run dry.

"Pick up the papers," Edwin commanded, mistaking my silence for submission. "Sign them. Do not make me force you."

I crouched down. My knees popped in the quiet room. I gathered the scattered pages, aligning the edges until they formed a neat stack.

"You think I owe her this," I said, tracing the edge of the paper.

"I think you owe me," he corrected. "If you had not kept me chained to this miserable relationship, I would have been with her sooner. I could have found a donor weeks ago. This is your fault, Victoria. Fix it."

I stood up, holding the agreement.

"Where is a pen?" I asked.

Edwin blinked, thrown off balance by my calm demeanor. He had braced himself for screaming, for crying, for me throwing things at the walls. He frowned, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a silver fountain pen.

He handed it to me hesitantly. "You are actually going to do it?"

"You said it yourself," I replied, uncapping the pen. "It is what I have always wanted."

I walked over to the glass coffee table, flattening the document against the surface. I flipped past the medical jargon, past the liability waivers, straight to the final page.

The signature line waited for me.

"Make sure you date it," Edwin instructed, stepping up behind me. He sounded almost relieved. "The surgical team is on standby. We head to the hospital tonight."

"Tonight," I echoed.

"Rose is running out of time."

I pressed the nib of the pen against the paper. The ink flowed smoothly, dark and permanent.

Victoria.

I signed my name. I did not pause. I did not tremble.

I capped the pen and turned around, holding the completed agreement out to him.

Edwin stared at the paper, then up at my face. His brow furrowed. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you do not care." He snatched the document from my hand, his eyes scanning my signature to ensure it was real. "You usually cry. You usually beg."

"You told me to stop playing hard to get," I said, picking up my black suitcase. "I stopped."

As his fingers tightened around the signed contract, a sharp, mechanical chime echoed in my mind.

System Notification: One hundredth wish activated.

The blue panel flared to life behind my eyes, the text glowing brighter than ever before.

Host will forcibly detach the moment the heart is removed on the operating table.