Chapter 1: The Performance

“I’m not feeling well, Julian. Please… take me to the hospital.”

Madeline clutched her stomach, her knuckles turning white against the cold marble floor of the penthouse. Her face was ashen, beads of sweat matting her dark hair to her forehead. The pain was a dull roar that had suddenly spiked into a knife-twist, doubling her over.

Julian Thorne, the CEO of Thorne Enterprises, didn’t even look up from his tablet. He took a slow sip of his scotch, the ice clinking sharply in the suffocating silence of the room.

“Married for four years, and your acting skills have finally improved, Maddy,” he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. He flipped a page on his screen, bored. “What is it this time? A mysterious faint? A sudden migraine? Or did you learn a new trick to keep me from seeing Vivian tonight?”

“I’m not pretending,” Madeline whispered, her voice trembling. “My stomach… it feels like it’s burning.”

She coughed, a wet, hacking sound that tore from her throat. A splatter of bright red blood hit the pristine white rug between them.

“It hurts… Julian, please. I’m scared.”

Julian stopped scrolling. He stood up, his custom-tailored suit moving flawlessly with him, and walked over to where his wife lay curled on the floor. He looked down at the blood, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a cold, humorless laugh.

“Prop blood? Really? You’re desperate, Madeline. Even for you, this is a new low. Next time, try to trick me into getting real blood on my hands. Maybe then I’ll believe you.”

He stepped over her convulsing body as if she were nothing more than a piece of misplaced furniture. He grabbed his car keys from the console table.

“If you’re going to die, do it quietly. I have a meeting with someone who actually matters.”

Madeline watched his back retreat towards the massive oak door. The man she had loved for four years. The man she had married to save her father’s company, accepting his hatred as the price. He looked at her agony and saw only manipulation.

“If I die…” she choked out, tears mixing with the metallic taste of blood on her chin. “If I die, Julian… will you at least collect my body?”

He paused at the door, hand on the brass handle. He didn’t turn around.

“If you die, I’ll throw a party. Sign the divorce papers on the table before you decide to miraculously recover.”

The door slammed shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

Madeline curled tighter into a ball, the pain in her stomach tearing her apart. But the pain in her heart was infinitely worse. She reached for her phone with trembling fingers, her vision blurring into gray static. She dialed the only number she had left.

“Brian…” she gasped when the line connected. “Help me.”

Chapter 2: The Clean Break

Dr. Brian Cole arrived at the penthouse in record time. He used the emergency key Madeline had given him months ago—back when the “fainting spells” had started.

He found her unconscious in a pool of crimson.

“Maddy! Maddy, stay with me!”

He scooped her up, ignoring the ruin of his white dress shirt as her blood stained his chest, and rushed her to the elevator. He didn’t wait for an ambulance. He drove her to Mount Sinai himself, breaking every traffic law in Manhattan.

Three hours later, Madeline woke up in a private hospital room. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled her nose, replacing the scent of Julian’s expensive cologne. Brian was sitting by the bed, his head in his hands.

“Where is he?” Brian asked, his voice low and dangerous, vibrating with suppressed rage. “Where is your husband?”

Madeline stared at the white acoustic tiles of the ceiling. “He thinks I’m acting, Brian. He went to see her. Vivian.”

“Acting?” Brian stood up, pacing the small room. “You have Stage 4 Gastric Cancer, Madeline! Your stomach lining is… God, how did you hide this for so long?”

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” she whispered, her voice raspy. “He hates me enough as it is. If I told him, he’d just say I was using cancer to trap him.”

“He needs to know. I’m calling him right now.”

“No!” Madeline tried to sit up but collapsed back against the pillows. She grabbed his wrist. Her grip was weak, but her eyes were fierce. “Don’t tell him. He won’t believe you anyway. He thinks I’m a liar. Let him be happy. He wants a divorce… I’m going to give it to him.”

Meanwhile, at a high-end jazz lounge in Midtown, Julian sat opposite Vivian Cross.

Vivian looked delicate, her skin porcelain pale. She wore a dress that accentuated her frailty. She placed a hand over her heart and winced.

“Julian, my chest feels tight again,” she said softly, her eyes wide and innocent. “I feel so guilty keeping you from Madeline. Maybe you should go back. She seemed upset.”

Julian’s face, hard as stone moments ago, softened instantly. He reached out and held her hand across the table. “Don’t start that. Madeline is fine. She’s at home staging another drama with corn syrup and food coloring. You’re the one who needs care. Your heart… I promised your brother I’d protect you.”

His phone buzzed on the table. A text from Madeline.

I signed the papers. I’m leaving the house. You’re free.

Julian stared at the screen. The words were simple. Final. He should have felt relieved. This was what he wanted. He wanted to be with Vivian, his first love, the woman who hadn’t “forced” him into a marriage for business connections like Madeline’s father had.

But a strange, cold unease settled in his gut.

“What is it?” Vivian asked, leaning closer, the scent of vanilla wafting from her hair.

“She agreed,” Julian muttered, frowning. “She signed the divorce papers. No fight. No demands for alimony. No hysterics.”

“Really?” A flash of triumph crossed Vivian’s eyes before she masked it with concern. “That’s… unexpected. Madeline loves money more than anything. Why would she walk away?”

She paused, letting the silence stretch before dropping the poison.

“Maybe she found someone else? I heard she’s been spending a lot of time with Dr. Cole. That ‘friend’ of yours.”

Julian’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles cracked. “Brian? That traitor. He’s been covering for her?”

“Maybe they were together all along,” Vivian whispered, her voice like honey laced with arsenic. “Maybe she just wanted your money to pay off her father’s debts, and now that she has a backup plan… she doesn’t need you.”

“She left with nothing,” Julian said, standing up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “She said she left the house clean.”

“Go check, Julian. Make sure she didn’t steal the company secrets. Or the jewelry I know you bought for her investment value.”

Julian stormed out of the lounge, leaving a stack of cash on the table. He drove back to the penthouse, his anger boiling over. How dare she leave so easily? After four years of clinging to him like a parasite, begging for his affection, she just walks away via text message?

He kicked open the door to their master bedroom.

It was empty.

The closet was open. Her expensive gowns, the furs he bought her for appearances, the diamond necklaces—everything was still there, untouched.

The only things missing were her cheap, worn-out sweaters she wore around the house and a small carry-on suitcase.

On the nightstand lay the signed divorce papers and her 4-carat diamond wedding ring.

Underneath the ring was a handwritten note.

I loved you for four years. You didn’t look at me once. I hope Vivian makes you happy. Don’t come looking for me. Consider me dead.

Julian crushed the note in his hand.

“Consider you dead?” he scoffed to the empty room, tossing the crumpled paper into the trash. “Stop the theatrics, Madeline. You’ll be back crawling for money in a week.”

But deep down, the silence of the penthouse felt different this time. It didn’t feel like she was hiding in the guest room. It didn’t feel like she was waiting for him to apologize.

It felt like a tomb.

Chapter 3: Blood Money

The vibration of the phone against the plastic bedside table felt like a drill boring into Madeline’s skull. She reached for it, her arm heavy with the IV line, hoping against hope it was Julian calling to say he had found her note, that he was sorry, that he was coming.

It wasn’t Julian.

“Mom?” Madeline answered; her voice rasping.

“Madeline! Where the hell are you?” Her mother’s voice shrieked through the speaker, shrill and hysterical. “The police are here! Your father… oh god, your father!”

“What happened? Calm down.” Madeline tried to sit up, fighting the nausea rolling in her gut.

“He jumped, Madeline! He jumped from the office balcony!”

The world tilted on its axis. Madeline gasped, gripping the sheets. ” Is he…?”

“He’s alive, but barely. He’s in surgery. But that’s not the worst of it. The loan sharks, Madeline. They’re here at the hospital. They say your father owes ten million dollars. If we don’t pay by tomorrow, they’re going to pull the plug. Literally.”

“Ten… ten million?” Madeline choked. “Mom, I don’t have that kind of money. You know Julian handles the finances.”

“Then ask him! You are Mrs. Julian Thorne! The Thorne family wipes their ass with ten million dollars!”

“We… we’re divorced, Mom,” Madeline whispered, the shame burning her throat. “I signed the papers today. I left. I didn’t take anything.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end, followed by a scream of pure rage. “You did what? Are you insane? You stupid, ungrateful girl! We raised you, we groomed you for him so you could save this family, and you leave with nothing?”

“Mom, I’m sick. I have cancer. I’m in the hospital right now—”

“I don’t care if you’re dead!” her mother screeched. “If you don’t get that money from Julian, your father dies. And I will tell the world you killed him. Do you hear me? Fix this!”

The line went dead.

Madeline dropped the phone, tears streaming down her face. She was dying, and her mother didn’t care. She was just an asset that had depreciated.

Suddenly, the door to her hospital room banged open.

Madeline flinched, expecting the loan sharks. Instead, Julian Thorne stood in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the harsh hallway light. He looked impeccable in his charcoal suit, but his eyes were wild, scanning the room until they landed on her.

And then they landed on Brian, who was checking her vitals.

“So,” Julian said, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly low register. “Vivian was right.”

He walked into the room, the air temperature seemingly dropping ten degrees. He looked at Madeline with a mixture of disgust and cold fury.

“You stage a dramatic exit, leave a suicide note, and I find you here? Shacked up with my former best friend?” Julian sneered, gesturing at Brian. “Is this the ‘sickness,’ Madeline? Is your cancer named Brian?”

“Julian, stop,” Brian stepped in front of the bed, protective and angry. “She is critically ill. Look at her chart if you don’t believe me.”

“I don’t need to look at fake charts doctored by her lover,” Julian spat. He threw a checkbook onto the bed. It landed near Madeline’s trembling hand. “My lawyers looked at your family’s financials. Your father’s company is liquidated. He jumped off a ledge today. A tragic story.”

Madeline looked up, hope flickering in her chest. “You know? Julian, please… help him. I’ll do anything.”

“Oh, I know you will,” Julian laughed darkly. “You’ve always been for sale, haven’t you? That’s why you married me. For the money.”

He leaned over the bed, invading her space. He smelled of expensive scotch and Vivian’s vanilla perfume.

“Here’s the deal. I’ll cover your father’s debt. I’ll save his pathetic life. But you have to admit it.”

“Admit what?” Madeline asked, tears blurring her vision.

“That you never loved me,” Julian hissed. “That you’re a gold digger who faked a terminal illness to squeeze a settlement out of me. And that you’ve been sleeping with Brian.”

“That’s a lie!” Brian shouted, shoving Julian back. “She loves you, you idiot! She’s dying!”

Julian straightened his lapels, unfazed. “She has a choice. The check is right there. Ten million dollars. The price of her dignity. Or she can keep her ‘pride,’ and her father dies on the operating table tonight.”

Chapter 4: The Devil’s Bargain

The silence in the hospital room was deafening. The heart monitor beeped steadily, the only proof that Madeline was still alive, though she felt dead inside.

“Why?” Madeline whispered. “Why do you want to humiliate me, Julian? Isn’t the divorce enough?”

“Because Vivian is upset,” Julian said simply, as if discussing the weather. “She thinks she wrecked a happy home. I need to prove to her—and to the press—that our marriage was a sham orchestrated by you. I need you to be the villain, Madeline. So she can be the hero.”

Before Madeline could answer, a commotion erupted in the hallway.

“Julian! Julian, wait for me!”

Vivian stumbled into the room. She wasn’t in a wheelchair, but she leaned heavily against the doorframe, clutching her chest, gasping for air. She looked fragile, beautiful, and utterly manipulative.

“Oh my god,” Vivian gasped, looking at Madeline. “Madeline… how could you?”

“What did I do now?” Madeline asked wearily.

Vivian took a shaky step forward. “I told Julian not to come. I told him to let you go. But then… then I heard what you said about me.”

“I haven’t spoken to you in months,” Madeline said.

“Liar!” Vivian shrieked, suddenly lunging forward. She grabbed Madeline’s arm, her nails digging into the bruised skin. “You told everyone I was a homewrecker! You told the press Julian forced you out!”

“Get off her!” Brian barked, trying to separate them.

In the scuffle, Vivian threw herself backward. It was a masterful performance. She collided with a tray of medical instruments, sending metal clattering to the floor, and collapsed in a heap.

“My heart!” Vivian screamed, curling up. “Julian! She pushed me! She tried to kill me!”

Julian was at her side in an instant. He looked up at Madeline, his eyes burning with hatred.

“I saw that,” he snarled. “You vicious, jealous woman. Vivian has a heart condition! You could have killed her!”

“I didn’t touch her!” Madeline cried out, the injustice choking her. “She threw herself down! Brian saw it!”

“I saw you shove her,” Julian lied—or perhaps, in his blind loyalty to Vivian, he believed it. He helped Vivian up, treating her like delicate glass. “That’s it. The deal has changed.”

He pulled out his phone and hit record. He pointed the camera lens at Madeline’s pale, tear-streaked face.

“You want the money for your father? You want to save him?” Julian’s voice was cold steel. “Apologize. Right now. On video.”

“Julian, please…”

“Do it!” he roared. “Apologize to Vivian for hurting her. Admit you’re a liar. Admit you married me for money. Admit you’re cheating with Brian. Do it, or I walk out that door, and your father’s debt collectors can harvest his organs for payment.”

Madeline looked at Brian. He was shaking his head, mouthing No, don’t do it.

But then she thought of her father. Flawed, weak, but still her father. She thought of her mother’s screaming voice. If you don’t get that money, I will tell the world you killed him.

She had lost her husband. She was losing her life to cancer. She had nothing left to protect but her father’s breath.

Madeline looked into the cold, black lens of the camera. She wiped the blood from her lip.

“I…” Her voice cracked. She swallowed the bile in her throat.

“I’m sorry, Vivian,” Madeline said, her voice hollow. “I’m sorry I pushed you. It was an accident. I was jealous.”

“Louder,” Julian commanded. “And the rest.”

“I married Julian for his money,” she recited, a tear sliding down her nose. “I never loved him. I faked my illness to trap him. And… and I’ve been with Brian. It was all a lie. I’m a gold digger. I’m sorry.”

Julian stopped the recording. He looked at the video, satisfied. He texted it immediately—likely to his PR team.

“Good,” he said, tossing the check onto her lap. “Transaction complete.”

He scooped Vivian up into his arms. Vivian buried her face in his neck, but Madeline saw it—over his shoulder, Vivian’s eyes met hers. And she winked.

“Don’t spend it all in one place, Maddy,” Julian said as he walked out. “And don’t contact us again. As far as I’m concerned, you died the day I met you.”

The door closed.

Madeline stared at the check for ten million dollars. It felt heavy, like a tombstone. She handed it to Brian with a trembling hand.

“Pay the debt,” she whispered, closing her eyes as the darkness finally took her. “And Brian… when the end comes… promise me you won’t let him near my grave.”

Chapter 5: The Viral Villain

By the next morning, the video was everywhere.

#TheRealMadelineThorne trended #1 on X (formerly Twitter). The comments were a cesspool of vitriol. People I had never met were calling for my head, analyzing my tear-streaked face for signs of “duping delight,” and praising Julian for “dodging a bullet.”

She looks like a junkie, one comment read. Look how skinny she is. Probably spent all his money on drugs.

They didn’t know it was the cancer eating me from the inside out.

I was hiding in a safe house Brian owned in upstate New York—a small cabin tucked away in the Catskills. It was the only place the paparazzi hadn’t found yet. My father was stable but in a coma, his medical bills paid by the price of my soul.

I sat by the window, wrapped in three blankets, shivering despite the roaring fire. My stomach was a knotted mess of agony, but I refused the morphine. I wanted to feel the pain. It was the only thing that felt real anymore.

Back in the city, Julian was trying to move on, but the ghost of our marriage haunted him.

He sat in his corner office, the city skyline sprawling beneath him. The divorce was finalized. He was free. He had Vivian back. But when he looked at the empty space on his ring finger, he didn’t feel relief. He felt a gnawing, hollow ache.

“Julian?”

Vivian walked in, looking radiant in a red dress that cost more than my father’s life. She walked over and sat on his desk, crossing her legs.

“You’re staring at the wall again,” she pouted, tracing the line of his jaw. “Are you thinking about her?”

“I’m thinking about the audit,” Julian lied, turning his chair to face her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Vivian smiled, though her eyes remained cold. “But my doctor says my heart is… unpredictable. I need stability, Julian. I need us.”

She pulled a velvet box from her purse. Inside was a platinum band.

“Let’s announce our engagement,” she whispered. “Tonight. At the gala. Let the world know you’ve upgraded.”

Julian hesitated. It was too soon. The ink on the divorce papers wasn’t even dry. But looking at Vivian—his first love, the woman he was supposed to be with—he felt trapped by his own narrative. He had painted Madeline as the villain to save Vivian’s reputation. He had to see it through.

“Okay,” Julian said, his voice devoid of emotion. “We’ll announce it tonight.”

Vivian squealed and kissed him, but over his shoulder, her smile vanished. She had received a text message earlier that day from an unknown number.

She’s still alive. Dr. Cole is hiding her in the Catskills.

Vivian knew that as long as Madeline was breathing, Julian would never be truly hers. And more importantly, Vivian needed insurance. Her heart condition wasn’t fake—it was the only real thing about her—and she was running out of time.

She excused herself to the bathroom and dialed a number she had saved under “Housekeeping.”

“She’s in the Catskills,” Vivian whispered into the phone, checking her reflection in the mirror. “Make it look like an accident. A robbery gone wrong. I don’t care. Just make sure she doesn’t come back.”

Chapter 6: The Last Rescue

The hitman Vivian hired wasn’t a professional. He was a brute—a debt collector she had blackmailed into doing her dirty work.

I was dozing in the armchair when the sound of shattering glass woke me.

The cold wind rushed into the cabin, carrying the scent of snow and danger. I tried to stand, but my legs were weak. A man in a ski mask stepped through the broken patio door, a crowbar in his hand.

“Madeline Thorne?” he grunted.

“It’s just Madeline now,” I whispered, backing away until I hit the stone fireplace. “I don’t have any money. Julian took it all.”

“I ain’t here for the money,” the man laughed, a cruel, grating sound. “Lady wants you gone. Says you’re taking up too much space.”

He lunged.

I screamed, throwing a heavy ceramic vase at him. It shattered against his shoulder, but he barely flinched. He grabbed me by the hair, dragging me toward the kitchen. The pain in my scalp was blinding, competing with the fire in my stomach.

“Please,” I begged, clawing at his leather gloves. “I’m dying anyway! You don’t have to do this!”

“I like to be thorough.”

He raised the crowbar.

Suddenly, the front door exploded inward.

It wasn’t the police. It was Julian.

He had been tracking Brian’s car, convinced that I was spending his money on a romantic getaway. He hadn’t expected to find a murder in progress.

Julian didn’t ask questions. He tackled the man with the ferocity of a wild animal. They crashed into the kitchen island, sending dishes flying. Julian was younger, stronger, and fueled by a confusing, volcanic rage. He landed punch after punch until the intruder stopped moving.

Julian stood up, panting, his knuckles bloody. He smoothed his suit jacket, looking down at the unconscious man, then turned his gaze to me.

I was huddled in the corner, clutching my chest, coughing up blood.

“Who is he?” Julian demanded, his voice hard. “Another lover? A drug dealer? Who do you owe money to now, Madeline?”

I looked up at him, my vision swimming. He had saved me, but he still looked at me with that same mixture of hatred and contempt.

“He… he tried to kill me,” I wheezed.

“Don’t lie to me!” Julian roared, kicking a chair aside. “You’re hiding out here in a luxury cabin with Brian, playing house, while thugs break down your door? Look at you!”

He grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. He didn’t notice how light I was. He didn’t notice the bones protruding from my wrist.

“You look like a junkie,” he spat, echoing the internet comments. “Is that where the ten million went? Heroin? Coke?”

“Cancer,” I choked out, the truth finally spilling over. “It’s cancer, Julian.”

He froze. For a second, just a second, I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He looked at my pale skin, the dark circles, the blood on my lips that wasn’t from the fight.

Then, the walls went back up.

“Stop it,” he hissed, shoving me away. I stumbled and fell back onto the couch. “Stop lying! You admitted it on video! You faked it! Brian falsified the records!”

“Why won’t you believe me?” I cried, the despair finally breaking me. “What do I have to do? Die right here in front of you?”

“If you did, it would probably be a special effect,” Julian countered coldly. “I’m calling the police for this trash,” he gestured to the unconscious man. “And then I’m leaving. If I see you near Vivian again, if you send any more of your criminal friends to scare her…”

“I didn’t…”

“Save it.”

He pulled out his phone. But before he could dial, his screen lit up. It was Vivian.

“Julian!” she was sobbing. “Julian, help me! I’m at the hospital. The doctor says… the doctor says my heart is failing. I need a transplant now. Tonight.”

Julian’s face went white. The anger vanished, replaced by terrified devotion.

“I’m coming,” he said into the phone. “Hold on, Viv. I’ll be right there.”

He looked at me one last time.

“You hear that?” he said, his voice shaking. “She’s fighting for her life while you play games with drug dealers. I hope you rot here, Madeline.”

He turned and ran out into the snow, leaving me alone with the unconscious hitman and the cold wind blowing through the broken door.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness creep in.

I hope I rot too, I thought.

But fate wasn’t done with me yet.

An hour later, Brian arrived. He saw the carnage, saw me barely breathing on the floor. He checked my pulse. It was thready, fluttering like a trapped bird.

“Maddy,” he cried, lifting me up. “We have to go to the hospital. Now. No more hiding.”

“No…” I whispered. “Let me go.”

“I can’t,” Brian sobbed. “Because I just got the call. They found a match for the VIP patient in the penthouse suite. They found a match for Vivian.”

I opened my eyes, staring at him.

“Who?”

Brian looked away, tears streaming down his face.

“You, Maddy. You’re the match.”

My blood ran cold. Vivian needed a heart. And I… I was the perfect donor.

A twisted, hysterical laugh bubbled up in my throat. Julian wanted to save Vivian. He wanted me dead.

I could give him both.

“Take me,” I whispered, grabbing Brian’s collar with the last of my strength. “Take me to the hospital. I have one last gift for my husband.”

Chapter 7: The Heart of the Matter

The emergency room doors burst open. Brian ran alongside the gurney, shouting medical orders to the nurses. I lay on the stretcher, staring up at the blinding fluorescent lights, my breath rattling in my chest like dry leaves.

“Clear the trauma bay!” Brian yelled. “BP is dropping. She’s hemorrhaging!”

As we wheeled past the waiting area, time seemed to slow down.

I saw him.

Julian was standing by the reception desk, his face buried in his hands. He looked up at the commotion. His eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, he didn’t recognize me. My face was swollen from the hitman’s blow, my skin the color of gray ash. But then he saw the bracelet on my wrist—a cheap silver charm bracelet he had bought me at a carnival on our second date, before the money, before the hatred.

“Madeline?” he whispered.

He stepped forward, blocking the gurney.

“What is this?” Julian demanded, his voice cracking. “What is she doing here? Vivian is in prep for surgery! Is this another stunt?”

Brian didn’t stop pushing the gurney. He shoved Julian aside with his shoulder. “Get the hell out of my way, Thorne.”

“No!” Julian grabbed the rail of the bed. “Vivian needs a heart! The donor is en route! You are not taking up the OR with her fake drama!”

I reached out, my hand trembling, and touched Julian’s sleeve.

“Julian,” I rasped, blood bubbling at the corner of my lips. “I’m… the donor.”

Julian froze. The anger on his face fractured into confusion. “What?”

“Vivian,” I whispered, forcing a smile that felt like glass breaking. “She needs a heart. Brian said… I’m a match.”

Julian looked from me to Brian. “Is she serious? She… she wants to give her heart to Vivian?”

Brian stopped the gurney. He looked at Julian with a hatred so pure it burned.

“She wanted to,” Brian spat, tears streaming down his face. “She begged me in the car. She wanted to save the woman you love because she thought it would finally make you care about her.”

Brian ripped the sheet back, exposing my torso.

Julian gasped.

My stomach was distended, the skin translucent and bruised. The evidence of the disease I had hidden for months was undeniable.

“But we can’t do the transplant, Julian,” Brian said, his voice breaking. “Look at her. The cancer has metastasized. It’s in her liver. Her lungs. Her blood. She’s not a donor. She’s a corpse walking.”

The world went silent around Julian. The hospital sounds—the beeping monitors, the PA system—faded into a dull roar.

“Cancer?” Julian whispered, reaching out a shaking hand to hover over my stomach. “But… the video. She said she faked it.”

“She lied to save your ego!” Brian screamed. “She lied so you would pay for her father’s surgery! She sold her dignity to save her family, and you… you let her die alone in a cabin while you played hero to a woman who has been playing you for a fool!”

“No…” Julian staggered back, hitting the wall. “No, that’s not true. Vivian is sick. She needs a heart.”

Just then, a nurse ran up to Julian.

“Mr. Thorne? The donor heart from upstate just arrived by chopper. Vivian is being prepped. She’s going to be fine.”

Julian looked at the nurse, then back at me.

“She… she already has a donor?” Julian asked.

“Yes, sir. We’ve had one lined up for two days. Didn’t Mrs. Cross tell you?”

The realization hit Julian like a physical blow. Vivian hadn’t needed a heart tonight. She hadn’t been dying this second. She had timed her “crisis” to pull him away from me. She knew. She knew I was in trouble, and she made sure Julian wouldn’t be there to save me.

I looked at Julian one last time. My vision was fading to black.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “You’re free now, Julian. No more acting.”

My hand slipped from his sleeve. The monitor flatlined. A long, high-pitched tone filled the hallway.

Chapter 8: The Autopsy of a Marriage

They couldn’t resuscitate me. My body was too weak, the cancer too advanced.

I died at 11:42 PM.

Julian didn’t go to Vivian’s surgery. He stayed in the trauma room, holding my cooling hand, staring at the flat line on the monitor. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. He was in a state of shock so profound it felt like paralysis.

Brian walked back into the room, holding a small, leather-bound notebook. He threw it onto Julian’s lap.

“Read it,” Brian said, his voice hollow. “She wanted you to have it.”

It was my diary.

Julian opened it with trembling fingers.

June 4th: Julian looked at me today. He was yelling about the coffee being cold, but he looked at me. I’ll take it.

August 12th: The doctor called. Stage 4. I can’t tell him. He’s finally smiling because of the merger. I won’t ruin it.

September 20th: Vivian called me. She said if I divorce him, she’ll make sure he’s happy. She said I’m just a burden. Maybe she’s right. I just want him to be happy.

October 31st: It hurts so much. The pain is like fire. But Julian is home tonight. I’ll put on extra makeup so he doesn’t see how pale I am. I love him. I love him so much it hurts more than the cancer.

Julian slammed the book shut, a guttural sob tearing from his throat. He fell to his knees beside the hospital bed, pressing his forehead against my dead hand.

“I’m sorry,” he wailed, the sound raw and animalistic. “Maddy, I’m sorry! Wake up! Please, just wake up and yell at me! Tell me I’m a bastard! Just don’t leave me!”

But I was gone.

Two days later, Julian stood in the rain at a private cemetery. He was alone. He hadn’t showered or shaved. He looked like a ghost.

His phone buzzed. It was Vivian.

Hey baby, the surgery went great! When are you coming to see me? I saw the news about Madeline… tragic. But maybe it’s for the best? We can finally start our life.

Julian stared at the text. The woman he had destroyed his wife for. The woman who had manipulated him, lied to him, and danced on Madeline’s grave before the dirt was even fresh.

He typed a reply.

My lawyers are coming to the hospital. They are serving you with a fraud lawsuit. You’re cut off, Vivian. If you ever come near me again, I will bury you.

He threw the phone into the open grave.

He looked down at the coffin. It was closed. He would never see my face again. He would never hear my voice. He had spent four years looking for happiness with a woman who was a mirage, while burning the woman who was his solid ground.

“You asked me if I would collect your body,” Julian whispered to the dirt. “I’m here, Maddy. I’m here.”

He fell to his knees in the mud, clutching the divorce papers he had forced me to sign—now stained with rain and regret.

He had won. He was free. He was the richest man in the city.

And he was the poorest man on earth.

[End of Story]