Chapter 1A Decade, A Signature

When the doctor handed the organ donation consent form to Julian Chase, his hand didn't tremble.

"Mr. Chase, Ms. Archer is brain-dead. There's nothing more we can do. But her heart... it's a perfect match for Ms. Langford."

Julian's gaze fell on the name "Sienna Archer" printed on the form, his expression unreadable. He asked only one question. "If I sign this, what are the chances of a successful surgery for Clara?"

"Ninety-nine percent," the doctor replied.

"Good."

He picked up the pen. With two sharp, decisive strokes, he signed his name.

The black ink bled into the paper, the scratch of the nib a cold, final sound. That name, Julian Chase, was the one Sienna had written a thousand times in her diary, the one she'd whispered in her sleep, the one she'd carved into her heart for ten years.

Now, that name was on her death certificate and organ donation form.

Like a merciless god, he had sealed her fate.

I, Sienna Archer, lay in the intensive care unit next door.

My body was still warm. The machines beeped in a steady rhythm, a fragile thread holding onto the last vestiges of my life. But I knew I was already gone. My soul hovered in the air, watching Julian, the man I had loved for a decade.

Ten years.

From twenty to thirty, the brightest, most vibrant years of my life, I gave them all to him.

I learned to cook the dishes he loved, only to find out later they were the favorites of his one true love, Clara Langford.

I wore the white dresses he liked, only to learn that white was Clara's signature color.

I nursed him through his chronic stomach pains, cured his insomnia, and turned his cold, sterile apartment into a warm, inviting home.

I thought even a stone could be warmed.

But when news came that Clara's heart was failing, that she needed a transplant, I finally understood. I wasn't the fire meant to warm the stone. I was just another stepping stone.

Julian had gone mad searching for a donor for Clara. He'd exhausted every connection, thrown money at every possible solution, praying for a miracle.

And then, I had a car accident.

How convenient.

So convenient, it felt like a scene from a meticulously crafted play.

As I lay on the operating table, my consciousness fading, I saw Julian burst in. His eyes were bloodshot, his face a mask of a terror I'd never seen before, mixed with a chilling, unmistakable... elation.

He wasn't worried about me.

He was ecstatic that Clara would be saved.

My surgeon, a friend of Julian's, looked at him, his expression troubled. "Julian, are you absolutely sure? Sienna, she..."

Julian cut him off.

"I just want Clara to live."

His voice was quiet, but each word was a blade of ice, plunging into my soul.

I watched him sign the papers, handing the document that legally declared my death back to the doctor. He never once glanced in the direction of my room. He turned and walked straight to Clara's.

His back was still so straight, so handsome. For ten years, I had chased that back, and not once had he ever stopped for me.

Now, I didn't have to chase anymore.

And that was a relief.

So why did my soul still feel so cold?

Cold, as if I had fallen into a black, bottomless lake that would never freeze over.