The night Ethan Carter accepted the Global Philanthropy Award, my doctor gave me an expiration date. My artificial heart was failing, and I was completely broke. On television, the dazzling host dared Ethan to call his biggest regret live on air. He dialed my number without hesitation. I answered, listening to Ethan’s voice, dropping an octave for the cameras: "Do you ever regret walking out on me for money, Chloe?" I glanced at the staggering medical bill on my lap and let out a weak laugh. "Ethan, you’re loaded. Loan me twenty grand, would you?" The line went dead. On the screen, Ethan looked into the camera, ice in his eyes. "No regrets left." He didn’t know. Seven years ago, when his own heart was failing, I didn't leave him. I gave him mine. As soon as the live stream ended, a notification pinged on my phone. Ethan had wired me twenty thousand dollars. I stared at the screen, a complicated knot tightening in my chest. I used the money to pay the immediate hospital fees. As I was leaving the billing department, I heard a familiar voice down the hall. Through the crack in a clinic door, I saw him. Seven years hadn't left a mark on Ethan. He looked expensive, powerful. The only thing different was the person clinging to his arm. It wasn’t me anymore. He’d rushed straight from the black-tie gala without even changing, all because his new girlfriend had a minor stomach ache. I watched him solicitously wrap his arms around Serena Blake. I lowered my head, intending to slip away unseen, and quietly pulled the door shut. Ethan yanked the door open from the other side. I jumped, my eyes locking with his. His gaze swept over me, cold and biting as winter wind. "Long time no see. You weren't going to say hello?" I looked at him. A thousand things rushed to my lips, but what came out was: "Ethan, loan me another thirty grand." Ethan froze. The indifference in his eyes ignited into anger. He grabbed my wrist. "Seven years, Chloe, and that’s all you have to say to me?" His grip pressed against the dense cluster of needle marks on my arm, sending sharp currents of pain up my limb. I took a shallow breath. "Mr. Carter is so wealthy. If you don't lend me the money, I'm worried Miss Blake might misunderstand the nature of our relationship." Ethan looked genuinely taken aback, his eyes flashing with something complex. Before he could speak, Serena latched onto his arm, staking her claim. "Honey, is this your ex-wife?" Serena looked at me with practiced pity. "What can thirty thousand possibly do? Ethan spends fifty thousand just buying me a pair of shoes." "It’s a pity you didn't know what you had, Chloe. If you hadn't heartlessly abandoned Ethan back then, I never would have met him." I remained silent, my mind drifting back in time. Ethan and I met in college. We fell in love and spent five years building a life together. Back then, he wasn't a billionaire entrepreneur. And my body wasn't failing like it was now. We were two kids from the foster system who finally found family in each other. We worked ourselves to the bone trying to build a small future. Just as our careers were taking off, Ethan was diagnosed with severe heart failure. The treatments and the transplant list required a fortune. We drained every cent of our savings. To keep up with the medical bills, I worked multiple part-time jobs. I ate once a day, stretching every dollar until it snapped. I worked myself into the ground just to afford his meager medication. We even switched his meds to the cheapest generics available. But the call for a matching heart never came. I watched Ethan waste away, his vibrant energy turning into despair. Then, the doctor found me. He told me there was a match. The person whose heart matched Ethan’s perfectly... was me. My thoughts snapped back to the present. Ethan kissed Serena’s forehead, his eyes performing tenderness. "If she hadn't been so cold-blooded, how would I have met my guardian angel?" he said, loud enough for me to hear. "That thirty-thousand-dollar bag you liked? I'll buy it for you tonight. Pick something more expensive next time. Your husband can afford it." Watching them, the phantom pain in my chest was sharper than the needles in my arm. I couldn't breathe. I wrenched my hand free from Ethan’s grip. I didn't want to be the prop they used to prove their love. As I turned to leave, Serena stuck out her foot. It was subtle, but intentional. "Oh no, Chloe, be careful!" I crashed to the floor. The medical papers I was holding scattered at Ethan’s feet. Ethan’s face tightened. He instinctively reached out a hand to help me. Serena grabbed his arm, gasping melodramatically. "What is this?" Ethan’s eyes were drawn to the papers on the linoleum. He picked one up, scanning it quickly. "Artificial Heart Replacement Protocol..." A flash of fury crossed his face. He threw the medical file into my face. "Chloe Vance. I didn't think you’d stoop to using cheap props to scam me out of money." "You really are exactly the same as seven years ago. Everything is about money. You only see dollar signs." I pushed myself up, looking at his healthy, strong body. A faint smile touched my lips as I silently gathered the papers. "You know I love cash, Ethan. Why not lend me a little more?" Serena seemed moved to tears by her own performance, clinging to his solid arm. But when she looked at me, her eyes were full of mockery. "Honey, maybe it’s true?" she cooed. "Besides... if Chloe hadn't left you, you wouldn't have received that donor heart from that kind stranger! Shouldn't we help her out?" Her words served their purpose: reminding Ethan that I had abandoned him for poverty. The hesitation in Ethan’s eyes froze over instantly. "The heart of a good person couldn't save a heartless woman. She doesn't deserve it." Ethan pulled Serena away. She kept up the act of begging him, but as she glanced back over her shoulder, her smile was pure venom. I picked up the medical record, now covered in Serena’s dusty footprints. The mechanical pump in my chest gave a sudden, violent stutter that didn't belong there. My vision blurred. Their retreating figures went out of focus. After a long moment, I wiped a trace of blood from the corner of my mouth and stared at the words "Artificial Heart Replacement." My fingers traced the thick scar that had defined my chest for seven years. Ethan still didn't know. The heart beating inside his chest was mine. Seven years ago, because a suitable donor couldn't be found, Ethan was days away from death. Artificial heart technology wasn't mature then. Theoretically, it could sustain life, but the risks were massive. When I found out I was a match, I signed the papers to give him my heart. I took the experimental artificial one. A seven-year lifespan, theoretically. To save money for his recovery, I chose the cheapest model. Since then, pain has been my constant companion. Coughing up blood and sudden, paralyzing weakness became my normal. Because I was perpetually broke, the surgery to upgrade the unit was postponed again and again. Now, the seven years were up. The machine in my chest delivered its seventh major jolt of pain today. I knew it was reaching its limit. I left the hospital and returned to my rented room. It was small, damp, and bitterly cold in the winter. In the summer, it was an oven. But it was cheap. Ethan and I used to live in a place just like this, dreaming up our future while sharing instant noodles. When I learned I was his match, I had to make him let me go. I pretended I was tired of being poor. I slapped divorce papers on the table. We had spent five years together. Through all the hardship, I had never complained once. He knew how much I loved him. He couldn't believe I would leave when things got toughest. I knew he loved me to his core. If he knew the truth, he would never allow me to trade my life for his. To save him, I had to be cruel. I had to pretend I’d had enough. Enough of following him around, eating bitterness with no end in sight. Enough of cheap drugs, one meal a day, and drinking tap water to stave off hunger. I told him I was done with it all. I still remember that day. The boy who was so proud, who never feared hard work or pain, cried for the first time. He wept as he signed the divorce papers. And I signed the organ donation agreement. After the surgery, I took the blame and disappeared from his life, returning to the squalid rental life we used to share, waiting for the death I had chosen. I just never expected to see him again. Now, he was soaring high, living the life we had dreamed of. But I could never go back to him. Seeing him looking so vibrant on the news gave me a sour feeling in my gut, but also a strange sense of relief. My phone rang, snapping me out of the memory. It was the bank. They told me the previous transfer of $20,000 was a mistake by the sender. I had to return the funds immediately or face criminal charges for theft. I hung up, a bitter smile on my face. I didn't even know what to say. I called my best friend, Harper, and begged her to find me a quick job so I could repay the debt. Ethan hated me so much. If he knew I needed to make installment payments on his mistake, he’d probably enjoy watching me work myself to death to pay him back. Because of the heart unit, I was constantly exhausted. Most jobs were physically impossible for me. I survived on sporadic freelance gigs. Harper knew my condition and pulled some strings to get me a job as a server at a high-end banquet. It paid five hundred dollars for the night. relatively easy work. When I put on the uniform and the required face mask to pass champagne trays, I realized too late whose event it was. Ethan was there. He wore a tailored suit that probably cost more than my life’s earnings. He radiated power. Serena looked stunning in a designer evening gown. They walked arm-in-arm, the golden couple, surrounded by sycophants. I took one look and immediately lowered my head. Ethan grabbed a glass from my tray without recognizing me. I was about to turn away when Serena’s voice cut through the air. "Watch what you're doing, server! Are you blind? You spilled champagne on my gown!" I stopped. There was a tiny splash on the hem of her dress. I didn't argue. I just kept my head down and reached for a napkin to dab at the spot. Ethan looked at me, his brow furrowing, his lips pressing into a thin line. Malice flared in Serena’s eyes. Without warning, she kicked me hard in the center of my chest. An explosion of agony ripped through me. The impact hit the artificial pump directly. I hit the floor, unable to stop a cry of pain escaping my lips. "Don't touch me with your filthy hands! Security! Get her out of here!" Serena yelled, her face a mask of outrage, but she couldn't hide the smirk. Although I was wearing a mask, the moment our eyes met during the fall, Ethan recognized me. His lips parted. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, instantly replaced by scorching mockery. He raised a hand to stop security. He reached down and yanked the mask off my face. "Chloe Vance. You run into your ex-husband and don't even say hello?" Serena pretended to just realize who I was, pulling me up with fake concern. "Chloe? Oh my god, it’s you! You’re Ethan’s ex-wife, how could you be working as a servant here?" The ballroom seemed to hit the mute button. Dead silence. Every eye was glued to me. Then, the whispers started. The ridicule. "Did you hear? That’s the ex-wife who dumped him for money when he was dying..." "Wow. Karma really is a bitch." "Abandoning Mr. Carter to end up a waitress? She deserves it." Someone threw a glass of red wine. It splashed across my face and chest. Then, it was open season. Wine splashed from all directions. Glasses shattered against the floor around me, shards bouncing off my legs. Dark red wine mixed with the bright blood from cuts on my shins, pooling on the marble floor. Obviously, these social climbers wanted to impress Ethan by punishing me. Blood trickled down my forehead. I couldn't feel it. I just stood there, silent. Ethan watched me, his eyes completely cold. "Chloe. Why so quiet? Does speaking to me cost extra now?" He laughed darkly, and the surrounding crowd tittered along. "You came here as a server just to beg me for money, didn't you? Fine. I’ll satisfy you." He waved a hand, ordering staff to bring over a dozen bottles of incredibly expensive red wine. They were uncorked and lined up on a table. "I’ll give you thirty thousand dollars right now. But you have to drink every drop of these." He threw a stack of cash onto the wine-soaked floor. It sat there, stark against the red puddle. Ethan’s face was a frozen mask. The entire ballroom watched with amusement, eager for the show. Since the artificial heart implant, my body had become unbelievably fragile. I couldn't lift heavy objects. I couldn't run. Even walking up stairs left me gasping. And alcohol... alcohol was poison. My doctor had warned me that even a small amount could cause the mechanical pump to seize. I looked up at the man I had saved. I forced the corners of my mouth up and finally spoke. "If I do this... I don't have to pay back the twenty thousand either, right?" Ethan looked momentarily stunned. The ice in his eyes cracked, revealing blazing anger underneath. He ground his teeth. "Fine!" I smiled. I grabbed the first bottle and tilted it back, guzzling the wine. The rich liquid tasted like fire and acid. My body immediately tried to reject it. I gagged, barely keeping it down. I forced myself to swallow, then grabbed the second bottle. And the third. The crowd watched the freak show, jeering. Only Ethan’s face grew darker and darker. As I reached for another bottle, my hand shaking uncontrollably, Ethan couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed my wrist. "Chloe! Is money worth dying for?!" I looked into his bloodshot eyes. The world was swimming. I nodded. "You're right. Without money... I will die." He flung my hand away in disgust. "Fine! Then drink it! Drink until you drown in it!" My body felt like it was strapped to concrete blocks. The mechanical heart in my chest seemed to have stopped beating entirely. There was only a terrible, hollow silence inside my ribs. I smiled a weak, boozy smile, took a shallow breath, and lifted the bottle to my lips again. Ethan snapped. He slapped the bottle out of my hand, roaring like a wounded animal. "Enough!" My legs gave out. I collapsed into the puddle of wine and broken glass. Fine shards bit into my skin, dyeing the floor an even deeper red. Harper, having heard the commotion, burst through the crowd. She screamed in horror, sliding onto the floor to pull my bleeding body into her arms. She looked up at Ethan, tears streaming down her face, and yelled the truth he refused to hear. "She gave her heart to you, you idiot! She’s living on a cheap mechanical pump! She can't drink alcohol—you’re killing her! Do you understand?! You are killing her!"
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