I Donated My Heart And Ran

I pulled off the ultimate con.

I secretly swapped my heart into my girlfriends one who got away, took the massive payout, and vanished to live the high life abroad.

I thought I nailed the perfect death-faking exit. I played matchmaker for the happy couple and got rich doing it.

But Sloane didnt ride off into the sunset with Montgomery.

Instead, shes tearing the earth apart looking for my corpse.

And the kicker?

She just popped the lid on my urn and found it full of sweet, powdered baby formula.

I think my cover is officially blown.

Chapter 1

I was seven when I realized I couldnt die. Hank, my drunk of a father, decided to use my head as target practice for his empty liquor bottles.

Smash. Smash.

Glass shards carpeted the floor. I felt the warmth draining out of me, blood pooling, a bone-deep chill taking over my limbs. I was ready to fade out.

But just as the darkness hit, a surge of heat roared back through my veins. The snap of life rewiring itself.

So when Montgomery asked for my heart, I didnt hesitate. I nodded.

Just a heart, right? Its not like Id stay dead. I save a guy, I get paid. Win-win.

Lying on the stainless steel table, the chill seeped into my back. I felt the anesthesia burn through my IV, turning the world fuzzy. In that haze, my brain didnt drift to the surgery.

It drifted to Sloane.

I met her when I was eighteen. Bartending. With Hank finally dead, I was hustling between semesters, trying to scrape together tuition. The dive bar was chaos, but the tips were fast cash. It was the only way Id make rent before school started.

Sloane stumbled in that night, wasted. She took one look at me and dropped the bomb.

"I want to keep you."

I nodded. "Deal."

My speed shocked the room. Even Sloane blinked. But I dont argue with money. Especially when the offer comes from a young, gorgeous, wealthy woman. To me, this looked like a robberyand I was the one getting away with the loot.

She dragged me to her downtown penthouse that night. The place was massivemovie set massive. I couldn't help rubbernecking, scanning the luxury.

Sloane caught me looking. Her brow furrowed. She didn't like the curiosity.

"Name?" she demanded.

"Jude."

"Jude? Like the saint? Fitting."

I flashed a shy, practiced smile. Trying to look the part of the perfect, grateful plaything.

"Give me your account number. I'll wire the allowance regularly. I'll text before I come over. The housekeeper handles the day-to-day. If you need something, ask her."

She paused, her tone shifting from business to specific instructions. Every word clipped. Methodical.

"I like piano. You have two lessons a week. Mandatory. Ill be back in a month to check your progress. If you fail, the deal is off."

Free rent. Tuition covered. Free piano lessons. I felt like Id won the lottery.

I looked her in the eye and promised I wouldn't let her down.

Chapter 2

Before she left that morning, she paused. Her eyes lingered on me, but she wasn't seeing me. She was looking through my skin, searching for a ghost overlaid on my features.

I didn't flinch. I didn't care.

Thats how it went. Three years turned into six. From eighteen to twenty-four, I shadowed Sloane.

As the balance in my bank account swelled, a new thought began to root in my brain: The Exit Strategy. My dream had always been simple: Filthy rich and burden-free. I had the "rich" part locked down. The "free" part? That required a disappearing act.

I was mentally debating the merits of a staged car crash versus a tragic drowning accident, or jumping off a building, when the news hit.

Sloanes "one that got away"the First Love, the golden boywas back.

Montgomery returned.

I knew the score from the very first night. Sloanes heart belonged to a ghost; I was just the body she rented to haunt her house. So, I played the part. I studied the role. I perfected every mannerism of the man she actually wanted, ensuring my sponsor stayed happy and the cash faucet stayed open.

Six years is a long time. People in her circle knew about me. The moment Montgomery touched down, my phone blew up. Chase, a "friend" of hers who lived to torment me, didn't waste a second.

Chase: The knockoff is officially expired. The Original is back. Better start packing, fraud.

Chase: Stole six years of love you didn't earn. You have no shame.

I stared at the screen and shrugged. What was I supposed to do? Cry?

I leaned back on the chaise lounge by the infinity pool, popping an imported grape into my mouth. I took helicopter tours along exclusive, reserved routes to see the best views in the country. I spent winters soaking in private hot springs and skiing on reserved peaks in the Alps.

So, yeah. I guess Id just keep doing that.

But the thought of leaving this gold-plated life stung. A little.

To numb the pain of my impending poverty, I unlocked my phone and went on a shopping spree.

Add to cart. Add to cart. Checkout.

I treated myself. You cant start a new life without new gear. The endless scroll of order confirmations lifted my spirits instantly. I planned to hog the king-sized bed that night, limbs sprawled in every direction. But the electronic lock beeped.

Click.

Sloanes heels echoed in the foyer.

I checked the time. 6:30 PM. My brows shot up. Montgomery is back in town. Shouldn't she be out? Catching up? Dinner? Drinks?

Stop.

I shook the thought away. Not everyone has a mind as gutter-level as mine. I composed my face into the perfect welcoming smile and walked out to greet her. Then I froze.

She was holding a familiar box.

"Jude," she said, her voice tight. "How many times? Stop sending these deliveries to my office."

She flipped the lid. Inside lay a sheer, black lace nightgown.

"Do you like it, though?" I tilted my head, feigning innocence.

Sloane exhaled, a sound of defeated resignation. "Yes."

I smirked. It didn't matter if she liked it. In Sloanes world, Montgomery would always be the headliner. I was just the opening act.

For the next few days, Sloane was a ghost in her own house. I didn't mind. It meant less acting for me. I focused on the logisticsfunneling the cash Id milked over the years into untraceable offshore accounts.

"One more birthday," I muttered to the empty room. "Then I vanish."

My birthday was two weeks away. Ever since Sloane picked me up, she had never missed one.

I just wanted her to be there for the last one.

Chapter 3

Sloane came back the day I passed out on the couch mid-binge-watch. The smell hit me first. High-end bourbon and stale air.

My eyes snapped open. Sloane was already there, curled into my chest. Her eyes were bloodshot maps of exhaustion.

My hand moved on its own, thumb brushing over her eyelids. "Rough week?"

"Mmm." She leaned into the touch. "Theres a situation. Its complicated. But once I fix it, Im all yours again."

I nodded. The picture-perfect, obedient boyfriend. I swallowed the questions clawing at my throat. "Okay. Go get some rest."

She went to the study. I went to the bedroom.

But lying in the king-sized bed alone, sleep wouldn't come. I kept seeing her face. The fatigue etched into her skin.

I sighed, slid out of bed, and padded to the kitchen. I mixed a glass of warm water and honeyher favorite hangover cure. I walked to the study door. My hand hovered over the knob.

Is this my place? Do I cross this line?

In the silence, her voice drifted through the wood.

"I don't care about the cost. Montgomery doesn't have time."

Pause.

"I know a match is rare. Just find one."

Click.

My hand froze. So that was the "situation." She wasn't busy with business. She was hunting for a heart to save her dying ex.

I turned around, walked back to the kitchen, and poured the honey water down the sink.

Gurgle.

I rinsed the glass, dried my hands, and went back to bed. I slept like a baby.

When I woke up, the sheets beside me were cold. Shed been gone for hours. She returned that night, same routine. Reeking of alcohol, eyes rimmed red.

"Still haven't fixed the problem?" I asked.

Sloane didn't answer. She just buried her face in the crook of my neck and let out a muffled, vibrating hum.

I sighed and patted her back. Mechanical comfort. While she showered, I texted Chase.

Me: Where is he?

Chase: St. Lukes Private. Top floor.

Of course. Sloane was the majority shareholder. She built the place specifically to research congenital heart defects when she found out about Montgomerys condition. It was a multimillion-dollar monument to her obsession.

I walked into his room the next day. I barely recognized him.

The disease had eaten him alive. He was skeletal, skin stretched tight over bone, eyes bulging from sunken sockets. He looked like a caricature of a human being.

He stared at me, shock flickering in those hollow eyes. "You" His voice rasped. "You look like I used to."

I smirked. "Yeah. Funny thing is, I look more like 'you' right now than you do."

Montgomery froze. He wasn't expecting teeth. I let the silence stretch, watching him process the insult. Then, slowly, he smiled. A weak, pathetic thing.

My smirk faded. Kicking a dying dog wasn't as fun as I thought it would be.

"I just came from the lab," I said casually. "I got tested."

Montgomerys brow furrowed. "Tested?"

"HLA typing. Crossmatching. The works."

The furrow deepened.

"If it's a match," I said, "you can have my heart."

I turned on my heel and walked out.

Let him chew on that.

Chapter 4

The lab results came back at warp speed. A perfect match. It was like my heart had been custom-fabricated for Montgomerys chest.

I stared at the report, a frown cutting into my forehead. I wasn't surprised, but a bitter taste coated my tongue. Resentment? Maybe.

That night, Sloane was a different person. The crease between her brows was gone. The bourbon cloud was gone. Her eyes weren't dead anymore; they were radiant.

She practically tackled me in the foyer. "Jude," she breathed, burying her face in my shoulder. "I'm all yours tonight."

A crooked, self-deprecating smile twisted my lips. My arms felt like lead as I patted her back. "Okay," I said.

If she had bothered to look one inch deeper into the "miracle" news, she would have seen my name on the donor file. But she was too high on relief. Her precious Montgomery was going to live.

"Work trouble handled?" I asked, pushing her back slightly to look her in the eye. I gave her one last chance. One split second to tell me the truth.

"Mmm," she hummed, eyes bright. "Solved. Now I can focus on you."

"Good."

She failed the test.

I went back to the hospital the next day. I already had Montgomerys number saved.

He looked at me, suspicious. "Why give it to me?"

"Because I'm bored of living."

He didn't buy it. The skepticism was written all over his skeletal face. So, I spun a lie he could digest.

"I'm sick too," I whispered, leaning in. "Terminal. Figured Id buy some good karma before I rot."

I watched the doubt fade, replaced by a desperate hunger. I smiled and walked out. He wanted to live. He wouldn't tell Sloane. He couldn't risk the gamble.

Even though we matched, I was currently walking, talking, and very much alive. Montgomery couldn't have my heart yet.

But a deal is a deal.

I cornered the attending physician. "Without a heart," he admitted, checking his clipboard, "he has thirty days. Max."

I did the math. I gave myself two weeks. A fourteen-day long goodbye to Sloane.

"My birthday is in a week," I murmured a few nights later.

We were on the couch. I traced the shell of her ear, burying my nose in the curve of her neck. "You've been so busy. You haven't paid attention to me."

She set her tablet down, a helpless, indulgent chuckle escaping her throat. She caught my wrist. "What do you want for a present?"

I tugged her arm, pulling her down until she was settled on my lap. I pouted, playing the part. "I can buy whatever I want with your card. That's not a gift."

A rumor Id heard from one of Montgomerys friends flashed in my mind. Years ago, Sloane had bought an entire private bay just to propose to a fresh-out-of-college Montgomery.

A sudden, petty spike of competitiveness shot through me. I wrapped my arms around her neck, locking eyes with her.

"What if I want a ring?"

The air left the room.

Silence slammed into us. The only sound was the rhythm of breathing and the traitorous hammering of my own heart.

Thump. Thump.

It was deafening in the quiet. The tension was curdling into something awkward. I had to kill it.

I forced a bright, plastic smile. "Kidding! I'm twenty-four. I haven't partied enough yet. Who wants to get married?"

Sloanes shoulders dropped. The tension vanished. "Jude," she said, patting my cheek. "You're very sensible."

I froze internally.

Six years. And that was my reward.

You're sensible.

Chapter 5

Jude, what the hell were you expecting?

I stood outside the study door, lungs burning. I sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, trying to force the pressure back down my throat.

I failed.

Hot, humiliating tears spilled over, tracking down my jawline. I might be an unkillable freak of nature, a biological anomaly, but I still have a pulse. I still bleed. And just like anyone else, I know how to love.

Sloane knows how to love. Ive seen it.

Its just that her heart doesnt beat for me.

The next morning, the "apology" arrived.

I walked out of the bedroom to find the living room drowning in velvet boxes and designer bags. It looked like Fifth Avenue had puked on the floor.

I stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at the pile. And just like that, the heavy feeling in my chest evaporated.

Clarity hit me like a cold shower. This was a transaction. Nothing more. To Sloane, I was a high-end gadget. You press a button, I perform. If I malfunction, she throws money at the problem until I work again.

Supply and demand. I got greedy. I started thinking I was a partner instead of a purchase.

Once I accepted that, I felt light. I practically skipped down the stairs in my slippers.

Rip. Tear. Open.

I sorted the loot with ruthless efficiency. Keep the limited editions. Return the ugly ones. Consign the rest for cash.

This wasn't just stuff; this was my pension fund. This was the capital for my new life.

My mood lifted with every price tag I scanned. I sorted the piles, then dialed my luxury consignment contact. "Yeah, big haul today. Come pick it up."

I watched the notifications roll in.

Deposit Received.

Deposit Received.

The sting from last night washed away with the influx of zeroes. Nobody stays sad when theyre getting rich. Especially not someone who grew up fighting for scraps like me.

The living room was half-empty now. I made another call.

"Ruby. Get over here."

RubyDr. Joneswas my best friend. And the only person on earth who knew I couldn't die. Twenty minutes later, a tall, leggy brunette breezed through the door.

"Same drill," I said, winking. "Pick what you want. Ship the rest to the safe house."

Ruby threw me an 'OK' sign and dove into the pile. The "safe house" was my escape hatch. My post-death paradise. Only Ruby knew where it was.

"When's D-Day?" she asked, holding up a diamond tennis bracelet against her wrist.

Two years ago, Ruby transferred from the public sector to the private hospital Sloane ownedthe one treating Montgomery. She did it to cover my tracks.

"Soon," I said. "After my birthday."

"Copy that."

After Ruby left with her haul, I pulled out my phone. I snapped a photo of the few open boxes Id kept for show.

Me: [Image] Love you, babe! You spoil me.

Sloane replied instantly.

Sloane: Glad you like it.

The night before my birthday.

Sloane didn't come home.

I didn't need to check her location to know she was with Montgomery. I sat on the balcony swing, the chains creaking softly in the night air. I lit a cigarette, watching the smoke curl up toward the moon.

I only smoked when she wasn't around. Sloane hated the smell. Montgomery didn't smoke, so I didn't smoke. But tonight, in the dark, I could drop the act.

I wasn't Montgomery. I wasn't some elite, piano-playing, poetry-reading heir. I was a bar rat who got lucky.

Six years of cosplay. I was exhausted.

I raised my hands in the air, fingers hovering over invisible keys. I mimed the opening chords of a complex sonata, fingers dancing in the empty space. Then I stopped.

"Pfft."

A dry, sharp laugh escaped my lips. I flicked the ash over the railing and watched it fall.

Chapter 6

I grabbed the bottlea vintage red worth more than a starter homeand drained the rest.

The room spun. I hit the mattress face-first and blacked out.

Ping.

"Happy Birthday, loser."

Ruby. First one, as always.

I sent back a kissy-face emoji and dragged myself to the bathroom. I scrubbed the hangover off my face. Today wasn't just my birthday. It was check-out day. Goodbye, Jude. Hello, ghost.

I texted Sloane.

Me: Surprise tonight?

Sloane: Obviously. Stand by.

She replied instantly. I actually felt a flicker of curiosity. What kind of surprise does a woman buy for the boy toy shes about to discard?

I waited.

I sat on the couch, dressed to kill, watching the sun drag itself across the floor. Dusk fell.

My stomach growled. I looked at the congealing remains of the five-star takeout on the coffee table.

Screw it.

I opened a delivery app. Sushi. A new watch. A limited-edition jacket. Add to cart. Buy.

Then my thumb hovered over the screen.

Wait.

I wouldn't be here to open the boxes. I stared at the "Order Confirmed" screen. A wave of heavy, suffocating silence filled the room.

I checked the time.

10:00 PM.

Two hours left of my birthday.

No text. No call. Just the hum of the refrigerator and the echo of my own breathing.

Fine.

I ordered a cheap, generic birthday cake from a 24-hour convenience store. It wasn't custom. It was dry. But it would have to do. It tasted like cardboard and self-pity.

I ate one slice. Then I called Ruby.

"It's go time."

"She's with him, isn't she?" Rubys voice was sharp. "She's at the hospital with Montgomery."

"Figured," I said, spinning my keys around my finger. "I'm rolling out."

I hung up. I walked to the garage and slid into the McLaren. The engine roared to lifea beast waking up.

The highway was empty. I floored it. The wind whipped through my hair, smelling like gasoline and freedom. The plan was simple: Stage a crash near Sloanes private hospital. "Die" on the table. Ruby handles the paperwork. I vanish.

But the universe loves a plot twist.

I was cruising, visualizing the impact, when headlights flooded my rearview mirror. Too close. Too fast.

A semi-truck slammed into my bumper.

BOOM.

Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The world spun violently, then slammed into a dead stop.

Silence.

Huh.

That didn't hurt.

That was my first thought. Then came the hands. Rough. Urgent. I was being dragged across the asphalt. The night air hit my skin.

Then, pressure. Hard, rhythmic jolts against my chest.

Pump. Pump. Pump.

"Stay with me! Come on!"

A drop of sweat hit my cheek. Warm. I cracked my eyes open. A young girlArabellawas straddling me, performing CPR like her life depended on it.

No.

Panic flared in my fading brain.

Don't save me. Youll ruin the plan. Let me go.

Maybe the universe was listening. Or maybe the truck just did a thorough job. My body felt weightless. The pain dissolved into static.

I floated.

Literally.

I watched from above as Arabella pumped my chest, her face twisted in determination.

Sorry, kid.

Sirens wailed. An ambulance screeched to a halt. St. Lukes Private Hospital. Sloanes place.

They loaded my meat-suit onto the gurney. I drifted right along with it, a spectator at my own funeral. We arrived at the ER. Chaos. Shouting.

Then, silence outside the trauma bay.

I saw the doctor. He was holding a clipboard, speaking to a woman in the hallway.

"The car crash victim," the doctor said, his voice professional, clipped. "He's a confirmed donor. Perfect match for Montgomery. We can transplant immediately."

The woman turned.

Sloane.

I waited for the shock. The tears. The realization that her "sensible" boyfriend was dead on a gurney ten feet away.

But there was nothing. No grief. No horror.

A massive, radiant smile broke across her face.

It was pure, unfiltered joy