The Heart That Was Never Mine

I gripped the test report tightly, my fingers trembling as I scanned the results again. The numbers didn't lie. The donor's profile-Nathaniel' heart-didn't match.

The door creaked open.

I shoved the paper into my pocket just as Nathaniel stormed in. His eyes were sharp, his movements brisk.

"Come with me." His fingers clamped around my wrist, his grip unrelenting.

"What? Where-"

He didn't answer. He just pulled me along, dragging me down the hall, out the door.

The car door slammed shut behind me. The engine roared as he floored the gas pedal, sAt the altar, when I reached for his hand, he barely touched mine

I stood beside him in white, smiling for the cameras. He stood like a statue-cold, indifferent.

At the altar, when I reached for his hand, he barely touched mine.

On our wedding night, he sat on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as if preparing for an execution rather than a honeymoon. I moved closer, but he pulled his hand away instantly. "Sleep," he said.

The one person who could make him lose control was her, of course.

Minutes later, we pulled into the hospital.

"Freya had an accident," Nathaniel explained in a hurry, not looking at me. "She's in urgent need of a bone marrow donor, and you're a match."

Before I could process his words, a nurse grabbed my arm, already pulling me forward.

"Wait," I dug my heels in, turning to Nathaniel. "I'll do it. But I need you to answer something first."

His brows furrowed. "Not now."

"Now," I insisted, my voice steady.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. "If this is about Freya-"

"It's not," I cut him off.

I didn't care about his relationship with Freya. After all, I never loved him.

I had loved only one person in my life, the one who died saving me in an accident. After his death, his heart was donated, and I, desperate to feel his heartbeat again, found Nathaniel-whose heart now beat with the one I had loved.

I pursued him relentlessly, but he remained unmoved. Only after seeing a photo of his cousin Freya with her boyfriend did he grudgingly agree to marry me.

"five years ago, you had a heart transplant. The donor... What was his name?"

"Everstone," he muttered.

Everstone. A name completely unrelated to Ronan Montclair.

"Thank you," I said softly, before walking into the operating room.

The dull beeping of the monitor filled the sterile silence. I turned my head, every movement aching, and saw them-Nathaniel and Freya.

He sat by her bed, his fingers wrapped around hers, his voice low and tender. "You scared me, Freya," he murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "I thought I was going to lose you."

She gave him a weak smile, squeezing his hand. "You'd never lose me, Nathaniel."

Days passed.

I reached for the glass of water beside my bed, my fingers trembling from exhaustion. The moment I lifted it, it slipped.

Crash.

The glass shattered against the floor, splinters of it scattering like the pieces of my pride.

I stared at them, unmoving.

My lips trembled. "Ronan." His name left me in a whisper, fragile, lost. "Without you, I really can't do anything."

Tears blurred my vision.

"You loved me so much, Ronan. but Nathaniel's heart never beat for me."

One month later

I stepped into the bar, the air thick with smoke, liquor, and something else-something suffocating.

te. I pushed open the VIP room door.

The scent of whiskey and expensive perfume hit me first. Then, the sight-Nathaniel, lounging on the couch, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, a half-empty glass in his hand.

Freya draped herself over him, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered something, giggling softly.

I stepped forward, my voice slicing through the haze. "Enjoying yourself, Nathaniel?"

Surprise flashed across his face before indifference settled in. He took a slow sip of his drink. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

Nathaniel barely looked up. Freya leaned in closer to him, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt.

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a file and slid it across the table.

Nathaniel tapped his fingers against his glass, not bothering to open it. "What's this?"

"Your assistant couldn't find you." My tone was sharp. "He sent me to get your signature. Just sign it."

He exhaled a short laugh, finally shifting his gaze to me. "That's it?"

"That's it."

He took the pen, signed without a second glance at the paper, and tossed it back onto the table. "Done. You can leave now."

I grabbed the signed divorce papers, turned on my heel, and walked out, not sparing him another look.

With the papers in my hand, I stepped out into the night air. The wind brushed against my face, cool and biting.

I knew, at that moment, everything between Nathaniel and I was over.

Nathaniel returned home a month later.

It was past midnight when the door creaked open. I was half-asleep, barely registering the sound of his footsteps, the rustle of fabric as he shrugged off his coat.

Then the bed dipped. The familiar scent of him-whiskey, rain, and something inherently him-wrapped around me. An arm curled around my waist, firm and possessive, pulling me into his warmth.

I jolted awake.

I pushed his arm away and shifted toward the edge of the bed.

"Aren't you the one who needs my heartbeat to sleep at night?"

I didn't reply, just moved farther.

"What the hell is going on with you?"

"I don't need it anymore,"

He exhaled sharply, frustration evident. "You're lying."

I closed my eyes. "Go to sleep, Nathaniel."

For once, he didn't argue. But he didn't move closer either.

The next morning, I woke late, the sun already high in the sky. As I made my way downstairs, I noticed Nathaniel wasn't in a rush to leave.

"Aren't you going to be with Freya today?"

He paused, the faintest trace of patience in his tone. "Freya's just my cousin. She's sick, so I've been taking care of her. You mentioned wanting to go diving. I haven't been able to spend time with you lately, so I thought I'd take you today."

"No. I'm fine."

He didn't seem to hear me. Before I could say anything more, he was already on the phone, making arrangements. "Get the yacht ready,"

The yacht sliced through the waves, heading toward a remote island-our island, the one Nathaniel and I had once promised to visit together.

As we neared the shore, Nathaniel's phone rang. I caught a glimpse of the screen. "Freya."

I didn't say a word. I just watched him, numb.

He turned away quickly, boarding the yacht with swift, determined movements. Not a single glance back.

And then, I was alone.

The wind howled, stinging my face.

I stood on the shore, staring at the vast stretch of sand, the few coconut trees swaying in the breeze. There was nothing here but silence. No boats. No signals. Just me.

I turned, my back to the island, and marched toward the other side. The faint sight of a small dock in the distance was the only thing that kept me going.

The sand felt like quicksand beneath my feet, each step sinking deeper, dragging me under. My feet were raw, blisters forming as I forced myself to move.

Finally, just as the sky darkened, I reached the dock.

I took out my phone and saw an unread message: "Come to the yacht's VIP room."

I headed straight for the yacht.

It wasn't that I was worried about Nathaniel-I simply didn't want him causing any trouble before I made my way to Edinburgh.

I reached the door of the private room, pushed it open, and stepped inside. Without warning, a glass of red wine splashed down on me, the burning liquid running down my forehead, the sharp scent of alcohol exploding in my nostrils.

My lashes fluttered, my vision blurred for a moment.

Before I could react, a hand landed on my shoulder, shoving me forward. I stumbled, crashing into the dining table. Pain shot through my back as my white dress stained with a vivid splash of red, blooming like a blood-soaked rose.

Laughter erupted around me.

"Oh, sorry, sorry, my hand slipped," the woman across from me said with a light tone, her smile playful and her eyes dancing with amusement-no trace of apology in sight.

"Really, Antasia, Nathaniel's been close with his cousin since childhood. Don't you think you're in the way?" someone mocked with a fake sigh.

Others joined in with laughter, and just as I steadied myself, another glass of wine was thrown-this time landing right on my chest, soaking through my dress.

I licked my lips, numbed by the alcohol, and slowly lifted my head. My face remained serene, unshaken. I pulled tissues from my bag, wiped the wine from my fac.

The room fell silent for a second before laughter erupted again.

Seeing that I wasn't reacting, some found it boring, but others were even more intrigued. One person pulled out their phone and waved a video in front of me. "Hey, we called you here to show you-just how much Nathaniel loves his cousin."

I looked at the screen. There was Nathaniel, his face dimly lit by the room's light, with Freya in his arms.

He bent down, carefully lifting her "I'll carry you, don't want you to get tired."

"You guys don't worry, I'll step aside, because. I don't like him either."

My voice was quiet.

Suddenly, the door behind me flung open.

Nathaniel walked in. His gaze swept the room, then froze on me-soaked and standing there.

His face darkened instantly. "What the hell is going on here?!"

No one expected Nathaniel to be angry on my behalf. After a moment, someone awkwardly chuckled. "Nathaniel, we're just having a little fun with Antasia. Don't take it seriously."

"We just thought we'd make some space for your dear cousin, so she'd be comfortable." someone tried to make light of the situation, but before they could finish, Nathaniel slapped them across the face.

Smack!

The sound echoed through the room, sharp and resounding.

The entire room went silent, everyone stunned.

No one dared to utter a single word.

Without even glancing at me-drenched and standing there-he walked straight to the front and his voice grew colder, icier. "All of you, get out."

I caught a glimpse of Freya standing at the door.

The moment she saw Nathaniel about to leave, her lips pursed, her eyes flashing with tears. "Nathaniel, isn't today my special day? Why are you leaving already? We haven't even started the fun. You promised me you'd let my sister-in-law join us."

Nathaniel hesitated.

"Antasia," his voice was low, "Can you handle this?"

I looked down, my soaked clothes clinging to me, the blood slowly dripping from my forehead.

I managed to force a smile.

"I can."

Nathaniel's expression softened,he smirked coldly, glancing at Freya. "Go ahead, continue. It's just a little hiccup. Antasia will be fine."

The others,all Freya's friends, sitting on the couches, quickly adjusted their attitudes.

The game resumed, now spinning the bottle. The bottle landed on Nathaniel.

"Nathaniel, do you prefer pure or... wild women?"

Nathaniel gave the answer everyone was waiting for. "Pure."

"Nathaniel, is the one you like someone who's been with you since childhood?"

The teasing grew louder and louder, but Nathaniel suddenly fell silent. Just as he seemed about to forgo the question and take a drink, someone grabbed his hand.

I sat back, watching as he finally released the wine glass, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes."

Freya.

The teasing escalated, and Freya's face flushed an even deeper red.

Amid the noise and raucous laughter, Freya finally lifted her head, a smug smile curling at the corners of her lips. Her gaze shifted towards me, sitting not far off, and she spoke with a sense of triumph.

"Antasia must be so bored sitting over there all alone. Why don't you come join us?"

I got up and moved over, and the group cheered, diving straight back into the game.

The bottle spun again, and this time, it landed on me.

"Is the person you love most here today?"

Someone immediately chimed in.

"Who doesn't know that Antasia's deepest love is for Nathaniel?"

I paused.

"No."

Nathaniel's expression darkened.

His hand shot out, seizing a nearby wine bottle. With a savage twist, he slammed it against the table. Glass exploded in a jagged spray, the sound of shattering echoing through the room like a gunshot.