His Dying Wife Was a Fake,But He Chose Her Anyway

After the critical condition notice was issued, I posted three updates on social media.

Mom, Dadyou used to call me your treasure. But ever since Lavinia came back, I can't even breathe without making room for her. Refusing to give up my kidney and my fianc makes me unforgivable?

I really want to see whether you'll feel even a shred of guilt after you've driven your own daughter to death.

After that one, I tagged my fianc, Murray Delgado.

"Your love is filthy. I don't want it anymore."

Through the crack in the door, I listened to my closest family curse me, one voice after another.

I braced myself against the wall and shuffled out of the hospital room. From the one next door came the sound of a little girl crying.

A nurse was saying how pitiful the blind child washer mother had just passed, and now nobody would want her.

The girl couldn't see light. Her mother had died today.

My world had no love. My family didn't want me either.

Why not go be her mother instead?

Around the corner, sobs spilled through a half-open door.

"Mommy! Don't sleep! Melody Abbott's scared!"

I peered through the gap.

A woman lay on the hospital bed, her face covered with a white sheet.

A tall man knelt at the bedside, both knees on the floor. His hands gripped the edge of the sheet so hard the veins stood out across the backs of his hands, and his eyes were raw and red.

Beside him, several elderly relatives leaned on one another, weeping so hard they could barely breathe.

A little girl in pink pajamas knelt on the floor, groping blindly.

"Mommy... answer Melody... Melody can't see, I can't find you..."

Her head struck the bed frame. The skin on her forehead swelled red instantly.

The man lunged forward and swept her into his arms, burying his face against the curve of her small neck. His shoulders shook violently.

"Melody, Mommy went somewhere very far away."

His voice was shredded.

"No! I want Mommy! You promised you wouldn't leave Melody!"

The little girl flailed her hands, grabbing at nothing but air.

The whole family surrounded the bed, suffocating in grief.

The same kind of goodbyelife torn from life.

Her mother had died here, and every person in this room would have traded places with her in a heartbeat.

I was dying too, but my family was calculating what price my kidneys would fetch after I was gone.

I looked down at my own skeletal fingers.

I didn't want to live anymore.

But watching this family shatter around the hospital bed, watching their unbearable, gut-deep refusal to let her go, a wild, reckless thought took root in me.

Since none of you can bear to lose her. Since I have nothing left and no will to go on

Then this life of mine, I'll live it for her.

I pushed open the door.

The crying stuttered to a halt.

Every pair of eyes snapped to me.

I ignored them all. I walked straight to the little girl and crouched down in front of her.

I reached out with a hand riddled with needle marks and caught her flailing fingers.

"Melody."

I lowered my voice.

The room went dead silent.

The man's head jerked up. His gaze locked onto me, sharp as a blade.

His pupils contracted. His entire body went rigid.

The girl stopped struggling. Her small fingers traveled along the back of my hand, up my arm, and finally settled on my face.

She touched my tears. They were ice-cold.

"Mommy? Is that you?"

Her voice was tiny, trembling, desperate with hope.

"It's Mommy." I gathered her into my arms. "I didn't leave."

The girl clung to my neck with everything she had and burst into sobs.

"You're so cold! Melody will warm you up!"

Her small palms pressed against my cheeks. They were so warm.

I lifted my gaze and met the man's eyes.

He stared at me. Shock, suspicion, and the faintest flicker of relief churned behind his expression.

He didn't expose me.

He rose to his feet and murmured something to the stunned elderly relatives beside him.

They covered their mouths, tears streaming, and one by one filed out of the room.

"Come with me."

He pointed at me, his voice tight.

The unlit stairwell.

The man leaned against the wall and struck a cigarette to life, but he didn't smoke it.

The flame guttered and flared, casting hard light along the edge of his jaw.

"What do you want?" His voice carried the weight of a man accustomed to absolute authority.

"A meal and a bed." I leaned against the staircase railing, gasping for air.

Those few steps had drained half the strength I had left.

"Name."

"Beatrice Henson."

His eyes narrowed as he looked me over, head to toe.

"Ivan Stephens."

"Olivia just passed. Melody has a severe congenital heart defect. She can't handle the shock."

"When you lower your voice, you sound about halfway like Olivia. Similar build, too."

Ivan crushed his cigarette against the rim of the trash can.

"From this moment on, you are Olivia Swanson."

"Your illness I'll assemble the best medical team money can buy."

"As long as Melody grows up safe, the Stephens family will take care of you for life."

I nodded. "Deal."

My phone screen lit up right then, Murray Delgado's name flashing across it.

I answered.

"Beatrice! Where the hell are you?! Get back here! Lavinia fainted!"

The screaming stabbed through my eardrums.

I looked at Ivan and replied, word by word:

"If she wants a kidney, she can go to hell and get one."

I hung up. The phone slipped through the gap in the staircase railing and dropped.

Crack. The sound of it shattering echoed up the stairwell.

Ivan raised an eyebrow and held out a brown paper bag.

"Clean up. Put these on."

Half an hour later.

I'd changed into Olivia's cream-colored dress, spritzed on her woody perfume, and returned to the hospital room.

Melody sat in her chair, tears streaming down her face.

At the sound of footsteps, she reached out in my exact direction.

"Mommy."

I walked over and lifted her into my arms.

"Good girl, Melody. I'm taking you home."

The Stephens estate was a three-story villa with a private garden. Cold. Quiet. Empty.

That night, after bathing Melody and tucking her in, I tried to ease her to sleep.

She clung to my fingers and wouldn't let go.

"Mommy, you smell a little bitter today." She scrunched her nose.

"I took some medicine." I patted her back gently.

"Are you sick, Mommy? Melody will blow it better."

She leaned in and puffed soft little breaths against my cheek.

Tears hit the comforter before I even knew they were coming.

Twenty years. Not once in twenty years had anyone asked if I was sick. Not once had anyone offered to blow the pain away.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." I buried my face in the curve of her neck.

Melody fell asleep quickly.

Even in her dreams, she held tight to the hem of my shirt, murmuring in that soft, cottony voice: "Mommy..."

In that moment, guilt pressed down on me so hard I could barely breathe.

I was someone whose own parents couldn't stand the sight of covered in scars, riddled with sickness. What right did I have to steal love this pure?

I'd taken another woman's nest. Slipped into her place like a thief, claiming the warmth and tenderness that had belonged to her alone.

I pulled my hand free and crept out of the room.

At the far end of the second floor, a door stood slightly ajar.

I pushed it open. Inside, a small shrine had been set up for Olivia Swanson.

The woman in the photograph had gentle eyes and a soft brow. She really did look a little like me.

I lit three sticks of incense, knelt on the cushion, and bowed three times until my forehead touched the floor.

"Olivia... I'm sorry. I was too desperate for this warmth, even knowing it was stolen. I've taken your name. I've claimed your daughter."

"But I swear I'll use whatever's left of this borrowed life to protect her."

"I'll love her the way you would have. I'll live for her the way you can't."

Through the curling smoke, I lifted my head. Through the blur of tears, the gentle woman in the photograph seemed to gaze back at me, a quiet smile settling on her lips.

"She would thank you."

A low voice came from behind.

I turned. Ivan stood in the doorway in a black robe, leaning against the frame.

He walked over and handed me a document and a black card.

"Nondisclosure agreement. The card has no spending limit. PIN is Melody's birthday."

I took the pen and signed my name.

"The medical team moves in tomorrow. You'll need to cooperate."

Ivan looked at the portrait. "Olivia's greatest wish was to see Melody regain her sight. You need to stay alive."

Beatrice tightened her grip on the card. "Okay."

Meanwhile, at the Henson family estate.

The great hall blazed with light.

Lavinia Henson lounged in silk pajamas, nestled against Murray's chest, dabbing at her tears.

"Murray, do you think my sister's angry at me? Is that why she won't give me her kidney?"

"Maybe I should just die and give Mom and Dad back to her."

Murray wiped her tears. "Don't be ridiculous. That vicious woman is faking it."

Josephine Henson slammed her palm on the coffee table. A glass toppled and water spilled across the surface.

"Where could she possibly run? A dropout who never even finished high school!"

"I've frozen every last card. Not a cent to her name and riddled with disease. Let's see how many days she lasts."

Murray's lip curled. "You're absolutely right, Mrs. Henson. Give it three days, tops. She'll come crawling back, begging you to take her in."

"And when she does, drag her straight to the operating room."

Three months passed in the blink of an eye.

Ivan kept his word. He flew in a world-class nephrology team.

Targeted therapy, IV nutrition, acupuncture, one after another in relentless rotation.

Money cleared every obstacle, and my body stabilized like some kind of miracle.

No more dialysis. I put on weight. Color returned to my skin, warm and alive.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized the striking woman staring back.

Without the abuse, a person could actually look beautiful.

Today was Melody's follow-up eye exam.

I held her hand as we walked into the ophthalmology building.

"When my eyes are fixed, the very first thing I want to do is see Mommy's face." Melody clutched her white cane and flashed her little tiger-tooth grin.

"Deal. I'll be waiting." I smoothed my hand over her hair.

We had just rounded the corner when we walked straight into three people.

Josephine. Lavinia. And Murray.

Of all the places.

Lavinia clutched a lab report, her face ashen, leaning against Murray for support. Josephine was jabbing a finger at a nurse, berating her at full volume.

Then Josephine turned. Her gaze swept past me, locked on, and froze.

"Beatrice?!"

She let out a shriek and charged.

"You little tramp! I knew you were hiding here!"

Her nails came slashing toward my face.

I shoved Melody behind me, twisted sideways, and dodged. In the same motion, my hand whipped around and cracked across Josephine's cheek.

Slap.

The corridor went dead silent.

Josephine clutched her face, eyes bulging.

"You dare hit me? I'm your mother!"

"My mother died in a dumpster twenty years ago." I stared her down without blinking.

Murray shoved Lavinia aside and strode toward me, hand raised to grab my arm.

"You vanish for three months and Lavinia nearly coughs up blood looking for you!"

"Not only are you ungrateful, you have the nerve to raise your hand to an elder!"

I stepped back, dodging his reach, and let out a cold laugh.

"Looking for me? You mean looking for my organs."

He got a clear look at my face and stopped dead. Something flickered behind his eyes. Stunned recognition.

Three months apart, and I was no longer the gaunt, sallow blood bag they remembered.

Tailored coat. Flawless makeup. Eyes like sharpened steel.

Murray's throat bobbed. His tone softened.

"Bea, stop making a scene. Lavinia's condition can't wait."

"Be a good girl, donate the kidney, and the engagement stays. I'll marry you right away."

My stomach turned violently.

"What is wrong with you? You think that engagement is worth its weight in gold?"

"If she needs a kidney so badly, try a slaughterhouse. I don't want your charity."

Lavinia wrenched free from the nurse and stumbled forward, collapsing to her knees at my feet.

"Sister! Please! It hurts so much!"

"Save me, and the position of Mrs. Delgado is yours again!"

She wept with picture-perfect fragility, tears rolling like rain off a pear blossom, drawing stares and whispers from every direction.

Josephine's gaze slid past me to Melody standing behind me. Something vicious twisted across her face.

"So you'd rather die than stay, and now I see why. You ran off to be some man's mistress! You've even got his little bastard!"

"Come with me! Call your man out here. I want to see who has the gall to touch a Henson daughter!"

She lunged for Melody.

"Don't touch my mommy!" Melody swung her cane and cracked it hard against Josephine's shin.

"You little brat!" Josephine yelped, hopping on one foot, and raised her hand to strike.

Ice flooded my veins. I drove my foot into Josephine's knee.

She screamed, both knees slamming into the floor, and crumpled in a rigid kneel right in front of Melody.

"You're dead!" Murray clenched his fist and swung at me.

A long, powerful hand shot out from the side and locked around Murray's wrist like a vise.

Then wrenched it backward.

Crack.

The sickening snap of bone.

Murray shrieked, collapsing to his knees, cold sweat pouring down his face.

Ivan Stephens stood in front of me in a black suit, his expression carved from frost. He drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiped his fingers with deliberate slowness, and tossed it onto Murray's face.

"What kind of stray mutt thinks it can lay a hand on Ivan Stephens's wife?"

"Ivan Stephens?!"

Murray's features contorted, but the words died in his throat.

The most powerful man in Crestmont's elite circles. Head of the Stephens Consortium.

The Delgados weren't fit to shine his shoes.

Josephine scrambled away on all fours.

Lavinia stared at Ivan's striking face, jealousy spilling from her eyes.

How did she land Ivan Stephens?

Ivan didn't spare any of them a second glance. He scooped Melody into one arm and draped the other around my shoulders.

"Did they scare you?" His voice softened instantly.

"Disgusted me is more like it." My expression stayed flat.

"Then let's go home and wash your eyes."

Ivan shielded me as we left the hospital, a wall of bodyguards flanking us on every side.

A few days later, word came back.

Murray had sent people to dig into the situation. Their conclusion: Ivan Stephens's late wife had only just died.

They decided I was nothing more than a stand-in. A plaything.

"She's a dirty little secret. There's no way Stephens would start a war over her!" Murray was utterly convinced.

The Hensons hatched a plan immediately.

Lavinia's birthday gala was the following week. They sent a gilded invitation specifically requesting that Mr. Stephens bring his female companion.

The scheme was simple: expose me in front of everyone, then force me onto the operating table.

"Going?" Ivan flicked the gold-embossed invitation onto the table.

"Going." I plucked a cherry from the bowl and popped it into my mouth. "They've built the stage. Might as well give them a show."

Ivan smiled and ruffled my hair.

"Good. I'll be right there when you tear it down."

The night of the gala.

The Hensons had booked the grandest ballroom in Crestmont's most exclusive hotel.

Lavinia wore a custom gown worth a fortune, a diamond tiara perched on her head.

Ivan and I walked in. The entire room went silent.

I wore a deep burgundy couture evening gown, my hair swept up. A black silk scarf was loosely knotted around my neck.

Ivan's arm tightened around my waist as we made our way to the head table.

Murray's eyes glazed over. He grabbed a glass of wine and approached, his voice low and venomous through gritted teeth.

"You actually showed up."

"Designer clothes don't turn a crow into a phoenix. Stephens is just having his fun with you."

"You're going to the hospital today. Otherwise I'll rip that mask right off your face."

I scoffed. One flick of my wrist.

A full glass of red wine splashed across his face.

"Sober yet?"

"Ah!" Murray sputtered, frantically wiping his eyes.

Josephine saw it happen. She snatched a microphone and charged onto the stage.

She squeezed out two tears and wailed for the crowd.

"Somebody tell me if this is fair!"

"The Henson family raised her for twenty years! Lavinia is on death's door and needs a kidney transplant. And this ungrateful wretch refuses to save her own sister. Runs off to be some rich man's mistress instead!"

"She came here tonight just to torment us!"

The room erupted. Every pair of eyes swiveled toward me.

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"So she's the Henson girl."

"Absolutely shameless."

"What does Stephens see in someone like that?"

Lavinia sobbed on stage, the picture of fragile innocence. "Please, Beatrice, I don't need the kidney anymore. Just don't make Mom and Dad angry..."

Curt Henson's voice boomed across the ballroom. "Security! Drag this ungrateful daughter to the operating room!"

A dozen bodyguards closed in at once.

Ivan's lips curved into a cold smile. He didn't say a word.

Black-clad bodyguards surged through the crowd behind him.

In under three minutes, every last one of the Henson security detail was on the ground, groaning in pain.

Ivan pulled out a small red booklet and flung it straight into Josephine's face.

Smack.

"Read it carefully. She is my lawfully wedded wife."

"Kidnapping Mrs. Stephens to harvest her kidney?" His voice dropped to a lethal register. "The Hensons have some nerve."

The entire ballroom went silent.

The steel seal on the marriage certificate was unmistakable.

Not a stand-in.

Not an impersonator.

Mrs. Stephens.

Murray staggered as though struck by lightning, unable to process what he was hearing. He lunged forward like a man unhinged.

"Liar! You're lying to me!"

He seized my shoulders and wrenched me toward him.

Riiip.

The black silk scarf tore clean off.

Crystal chandelier light poured down, illuminating my neck and collarbone.

Murray's gaze froze. His pupils contracted violently.

Below the pale line of my collarbone, the skin was covered in clusters of dark purple lumps, hard and raised. They were the ruined tissue left behind by thick dialysis needles driven into the same flesh over and over again.

Where my collar gaped open, a vicious scar stretched more than four inches across my chest. That was the mark of emergency open-heart surgery to resuscitate a failing heart.

Murray stopped breathing. The color drained from his face.

"What... is this..." His lips trembled, his voice splintering apart.

He remembered what the doctor had told him three months ago: "All her indicators are normal. She's faking it to avoid donating her kidney."

If she'd been faking, how could there be a scar from a surgery that pulled her back from death? How could there be needle marks horrifying enough to turn a person's stomach?

The ballroom doors slammed open.

A squad of fully armed officers strode in.

The lead detective held up an arrest warrant, his voice cutting through the hall like a blade:

"Where is Lavinia Henson?"

"You are suspected of bribing a physician to forge medical records and of lacing Beatrice Henson's emergency medication with poison over an extended period. You are under suspicion of attempted murder!"

"Take her."