The Jilted Heiress Claims The Surgeon Brother

I was engaged to Gorden Barron, fully believing I was about to marry the love of my life.

Then his secret lover, Bettye, was diagnosed with aplastic anemia. Gorden fell to his knees and begged me to be her bone marrow donor.

"Angie, I know I messed up, but she's dying. You're the only match."

I agreed, wanting to be the bigger person. But the moment the harvest was over, the nightmare began. A severe infection set in, and my fever wouldn't break. Gorden's visits became shorter, then stopped entirely.

As I lay in the sterile hospital room, my bones aching and my body failing, I scrolled through my phone and saw his latest post.

Gorden and Bettye were tanned and healthy, sipping cocktails on a yacht in the Mediterranean.

The caption read: "Grateful for second chances. My true love."

I threw my phone across the room and screamed until my throat bled. I was nothing but a human blood bag to them, completely discarded the moment I was empty. I nearly died in that cold room, saved only by a top-tier specialist someone secretly paid millions to fly in.

Five years later, I've finally returned to New York.

I didn't come back to get revenge on Gorden. He isn't worth my time.

I came back for the man who secretly held my hand and wept by my deathbed—Gorden's cold, untouchable older brother, Dalton.

This time, I'm going to make him mine.