Chapter 3

Less than twenty minutes later, Evelyn burst into the prep room.

She hadn't even changed out of her trench coat, striding straight to Liam, gripping his shoulders, her eyes shining with a long-lost brilliance.

"Liam, the match is successful. You're saved."

Liam looked at her, a faint, almost imperceptible smile gracing his pale face, his voice low but steady: "Evelyn, if it wasn't you, I wouldn't accept this heart."

Evelyn's grip tightened. She promised solemnly, "Don't worry, leave everything to me. I'll handle it."

"And what's between Daniel and me… it was always meant to be over."

That phrase, "meant to be over," felt like a final verdict.

Yes, everyone knew it, myself included. She'd chosen me purely out of spite, a desperate retaliation against true love.

I watched Evelyn swiftly change into her scrubs, don a mask, and walk with Alex towards the operating table.

For an expert like her, heart extraction was routine.

Yet, as her gaze landed on the lifeless body on the operating table, her movements paused, almost imperceptibly.

"Why weren't the initial cleaning and sterilization done?" Her voice, muffled by the mask, carried a hint of displeasure.

Alex lowered his head, avoiding her gaze. "Dr. Hayes, the donor is a special case. Mr. Miller's side wanted to maximize organ viability…"

Evelyn didn't press further. She held out her hand, and the scalpel was accurately placed within her grasp.

The blade reflected a cold light.

Just before she made the incision, her gaze fell to my left hand.

On my ring finger, the plain platinum wedding band I'd designed myself was stained with blood.

When we married, I'd had a matching women's ring custom-made for her.

She'd only tried it on once before putting it, still in its box, into the back of a drawer, never to be seen again.

"Dr. Hayes?" Alex prompted softly.

Evelyn took a barely audible breath, her voice softer. "...I can't imagine how difficult this must be for his family."

The sharp scalpel cut through my chest.

Alex, handing her instruments, added quietly, "The initial forensic examination found that Mr. Stone's personal effects only included this one ring. We haven't officially confirmed his identity yet."

Evelyn didn't respond.

Only the cold clinking of surgical instruments and the rhythmic beeping of monitors echoed in the room.

I watched her focused profile from a distance, suddenly remembering last flu season. I'd been laid up with a high fever, too delirious to even get water. Evelyn, rarely home that night, had pulled an all-nighter in her study, working on a paper.

My neighbor found me almost dehydrated. When I got to the ER, even the on-call doctors frowned and shook their heads.

When I woke up, Evelyn stood by my bed, her first words a cold accusation:

"Daniel, don't you think it's childish to hurt yourself just to get attention?"

I was too weak to explain. She was the one who said not to bother her with "minor things."

I followed her wishes so carefully, yet I was still wrong.

Evelyn could show a flicker of compassion for a stranger, so why such utter indifference for the husband she'd shared a bed with for five years?