Chapter 1Borrowed Beats and Broken Lies

The moment cold sweat soaked through my silk pajamas, I bolted upright, gasping for air in the suffocating darkness.

The blurry shadows of the room slowly sharpened. Daniel’s face was inches from mine, his expression unreadable, while the woman beside him—the one with the sharp, bobbed hair—reached out toward me.

It was her. The woman who had haunted my dreams while I was unconscious.

The phantom pain of a sudden cardiac arrest still seemed to tear at my nerves. The images from the dream surged back, uncontrollable: a sterile operating table, my own lifeless body, and the silhouette of Daniel, his eyes rimmed with red, signing a set of organ donation papers without a second thought.

Three years of marriage hadn't been enough to outweigh a single "yes" from him. My heart was to be carved out of my chest and handed to her—his first love, the woman smiling at me right now.

The memory of them embracing outside the hospital room burned behind my eyelids. That specific brand of despair—being systematically stripped of life by the person you trusted most—was enough to crush a soul into dust.

"Nancy? Are you with us?" Daniel’s voice, cool and distant, pierced through the ringing in my ears. I realized I was staring at the woman beside him, my face likely as pale as the hospital sheets.

So, that gut-wrenching preview of the future had just been a hallucination—a side effect of the brief blackout caused by my heart condition.

At least, that’s what I told myself.

* * *

"Nancy, pay attention. Grab Morgan’s carry-on, would you?"

Daniel’s voice echoed through the arrivals lounge of the airport. I snapped back to reality, my focus finally landing on the two of them standing side by side.

Daniel looked every bit the successful architect in his charcoal overcoat, his features sharp and striking. Standing next to him was Morgan. She looked polished and efficient, having traded her lab coat for a beige trench coat and designer sneakers.

She offered a practiced smile. "Hi. I'm Morgan."

She held out her hand. Her fingers were long and the joints were well-defined—the hands of a surgeon.

"A cardiac specialist, just back from a fellowship in Zurich," Daniel added tonelessly. "We grew up together."

I instinctively wiped my sweaty palms against my jeans before reaching out. The images in my mind were still too vivid, the terror still humming in my veins.

Grew up together? We had been married for three years, and he had never once mentioned her name.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Nancy," I managed, forcing a small smile as our fingertips met for a fleeting second.

"Daniel, your wife is charming," Morgan said, pulling her hand back and turning her gaze toward him.

She called him Dan.

The nickname felt like a tiny, serrated needle pricking exactly where my chest already ached.

"Let’s go. The car’s at the curb," Daniel said, ignoring the compliment. He naturally reached out and took the Birkin bag from Morgan’s hand. I’d seen that bag in a magazine last month; with the waitlist and the "spending history" required, it cost more than my car.

I followed silently behind them. Watching them walk in sync, their shoulders nearly touching, they looked like the perfect couple. And I? I felt like the hired help brought along to handle the luggage.

The drive back was unnervingly quiet. I sat in the passenger seat, Daniel at the wheel, and Morgan in the back.

Suddenly, Daniel’s phone lit up on the dashboard. A text notification: Morgan.

I froze, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. She was looking down at her phone, her expression neutral. Daniel glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly before he flipped the phone face down.

"Not going to check that?" I tried to keep my voice light, casual.

"Just work. It can wait," he said, his eyes fixed on the road.

Work? You’re in the same car. What kind of "work" requires a text message from two feet away? I bit my lip, forcing down the acidic taste of jealousy.

"Dan, drop me at the next intersection," Morgan said suddenly. "I have a board meeting at the hospital."

"Sure," Daniel agreed immediately.

The car pulled over, and Morgan climbed out. "See you soon, Nancy," she said, waving through the window.

I managed a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. As the car pulled back into traffic, Daniel remained silent. His long fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"You look exhausted," I said, breaking the silence. He’d been working late every night lately, the dark circles under his eyes getting deeper.

"Yeah. The firm took on a massive project. It’s a lot," he replied dismissively.

I turned to look out the window at the passing city lights. An uneasy premonition began to grow in my chest like weeds in a neglected garden.

I was an orphan. My adoptive parents had died in a car wreck when I was eighteen. I’d put myself through art school, scraping by as a freelance illustrator. When I married Daniel, everyone said I’d hit the jackpot—that a girl like me didn't belong in a family like his.

I’d always felt it, too. I was sensitive, insecure, and fragile. I relied on a cocktail of "supplements" prescribed by his family doctor to keep my weak heart beating. I lived in a constant, quiet fear of being discarded.

And now, Morgan was here. She had the pedigree, the career, and a history with Daniel that I could never touch. How could I compete with her? With nothing but a heart that skipped beats whenever I got stressed?

"What do you want for dinner?" Daniel asked, jarring me from my thoughts.

"Whatever," I muttered.

"Fine. I’ll skip. I have emails to catch up on in the study."

His voice was flat, devoid of any emotion. I closed my eyes, fighting back tears. Daniel, am I already becoming an eyesore to you?