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On the day of the accident, the doctor said there was a 70% chance of survival. But Chase Holloway made his choice–he refused treatment. He left me and the child in my womb behind, cold and unfeeling.
I was wheeled into the operating room, his words whispered in my ear like a death sentence.
“I’m sorry, Helen. She needs this heart more than you do.”
Only then did I realize the insurance document I had signed was actually an organ donation consent form. The accident wasn’t fate–it was a carefully planned scheme.
Chase had orchestrated everything so he could give Grace Thompson a healthy heart. His Grace, his so–called “one true love.”
Standing over me with a scalpel in hand, he said the cruelest words imaginable, cloaked in a gentle tone. “Helen, it won’t hurt for long. I promise.”
That day, he carved my heart out of my body and gave it to Grace. She survived. My life ended.
When I opened my eyes again, the memory of his betrayal came rushing back like a knife to my chest. I gasped for breath, my hand instinctively clutching at the phantom pain where my heart should be.
In front of me stood Chase, his face pale and filled with an unsettling mix of guilt and desperation. He reached out to me, his voice trembling, “Helen, it’s okay. Everything is okay now.”
I recoiled, shoving him away. “Don’t touch me!”
The white coat he once wore had been replaced by a tailored white suit. Around us, a lavish wedding venue gleamed with crystal chandeliers and extravagant floral arrangements. The murmurs of curious onlookers filled the air, their gazes flitting between us.
From the corner of the room, Grace stood biting her lip, her eyes burning with hatred.
I realized in that moment–I was at my own wedding. To Chase.
He stepped forward, holding a diamond ring in trembling hands. I ripped off my veil and slapped him across the face. “With you? You think you’re worthy of marrying me?”
***
Chase’s messages came flooding in after I stormed out of the wedding.
[Helen, please, let’s talk. I’ll make this right. We can redo the wedding, any way you want it.]
We had gotten our marriage license before the ceremony because Chase insisted. “I want the whole world to know you’re my bride.”
But now, his words were empty, just like his promises. I took a deep breath, wiping away the tears that had welled in my eyes. Then, with a single stroke of my finger, I blocked his number.
I once believed Chase adored me. He memorized every detail about my life–what I ate, what I wore, even the time
I brushed my teeth. He kept meticulous notes, tracking my every move.
When I’d asked him why, he’d taken my hand, kissed it and smiled. “Because, Helen, I can’t live without you. I want to keep you close, always.”
Looking back, I realized every moment of care was a calculated move. Every act of affection was just another step in his twisted plan.
Tears pricked my eyes again, but before they could fall, a rough hand brushed them away. “Helen, please don’t cry It’s my fault We don’t have to go through with the wedding, okay?”
N
The Heart He Stole
cry. It’s my fault. We don’t have to go through with the wedding, okay?”
Chase pulled me into his arms, his chin resting lightly on my shoulder as if that could erase the pain he’d caused. He thought I was upset about the wedding–how clueless could he be?
I turned to him, my voice calm but laced with steel. “Chase, tell me the truth. Is there something you’re hiding
from me?”
He didn’t even flinch, his answer smooth and practiced, “Helen, you know how much I love you. I’d die for you.”
Such a sweet lie. His lips might say he loved me, but his heart was always with Grace.
Suddenly, a familiar ringtone broke the silence.
