In Exchange of Her Heart

Chapter 2: Chance

= Janine =

My chest constricted as his words crashed over me, each syllable more incomprehensible than the last.

"You’re lying," I managed, though my voice wavered, betraying my uncertainty.

"I’m not," he replied, his tone steady, almost unnervingly so. "I’m telling you the truth."

I stared at him, my mind racing to catch up with what he had just said. My father. The man I had never known. The man my mother refused to speak about, his very name a ghost haunting the edges of my childhood. He was nothing more than a fleeting mention, a shadowy figure I never expected to confront—let alone find standing here in my hospital room.

"You can’t just walk in here and say that," I snapped, my voice quivering with a mix of anger and disbelief. "I’m not someone you can toy with, Mister. If you’ve got nothing better to do, I suggest you move along—"

"I know this is overwhelming," he interrupted, his calm demeanor unshaken. "But there’s no time for me to ease into this. You need to hear me out."

My hands clenched into trembling fists as I fought to keep my emotions in check.

"You have no proof that you’re my father. Please, just leave," I said, my voice trembling, almost desperate. Yet, the man didn’t budge. Instead, he took a deliberate step closer.

"You’re right," he said, his tone calm but unsettling. His gaze bore into mine with such intensity that I was forced to look away. "But I do know this: you have moles on your back."

I froze. My head snapped back toward him, my eyes wide with disbelief as he described the exact location of the marks. How could he know that? Only my mother and I knew about them—no one else.

I sucked in a sharp breath, my chest tightening as my heart pounded erratically. If what he said was true, if he really was my father… then...

"Why now?" I demanded, the words sharp and brittle in my throat. "Why come after all this time?"

He hesitated, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—passing across his face. "Because there’s something you need to know. Something that could save your life."

The erratic beeping of the heart monitor filled the silence that followed, amplifying the tension in the room.

"I don’t need your help," I shot back, but even as the words left my lips, they rang hollow.

"You do," he said, his voice unwavering. "And whether you accept it or not, I’m the only one who can give it to you."

I wanted to scream, to tell him to leave and take his revelations with him, but something in the depth of his gaze held me back.

"You have a twin sister," he said finally, the words slicing through the room like a blade.

I stood frozen, his words striking me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me reeling.

“A… twin?”

Richard’s expression softened, though it offered no comfort.

“Her name was Eleanor,” he began quietly. “After Marianne and I parted ways, we agreed she would stay with me. It was a decision we both felt was best at the time.”

My mind raced, disbelief clawing at the edges of my sanity. Hearing him mention my mother made his words resonate deeply, and for the first time, I began to truly believe he might be telling the truth.

But a twin sister? A sister I never knew, raised by the man who now claimed to be my father?

“Why are you telling me this now?” My voice trembled, barely escaping my lips.

“Because Eleanor is gone,” he said, his tone as flat as a stone sinking into deep water. “There was an accident. She’s brain dead.”

The room tilted as his words landed like blows. My chest tightened painfully, each breath harder to draw.

“I’m sorry,” Richard said, though the apology rang hollow, clinical, as if recited from a script. He hesitated, then added, “But there’s more.”

I shook my head vehemently. “No. Stop. I don’t want to hear this.”

“You need to hear it,” he said firmly, his voice hardening. “Eleanor’s heart is a match for yours. It could save your life.”

It felt like the ground beneath me gave way, leaving me weightless in a freefall of confusion and dread.

“What are you saying?” My voice cracked as I struggled to comprehend the implications.

“I’m saying this is your chance to live,” he said, leaning in as though proximity would drive the point home. “But there’s a condition.”

My stomach churned. Of course, there was a condition. There was always a condition.

Richard’s eyes bore into mine, his gaze unflinching. “Eleanor was engaged to Alexander Kingsley. Their marriage was meant to seal a merger between our families. That alliance is crucial to my company’s future.”

His words hung in the air, cold and heavy, as the weight of expectation settled squarely on my shoulders. My frown deepened as I stared at him, trying to make sense of his words.

"What does any of this have to do with me?" I demanded, though part of me already feared the answer.

He didn’t hesitate. “I need you to take her place,” he said, his tone disturbingly matter-of-fact. “Marry Alexander. Become Eleanor.”

The air seemed to leave the room. His words landed like a slap across my face, leaving a stinging disbelief in their wake.

“You want me to pretend to be her?” I asked, the edges of my voice sharp with incredulity.

“Yes,” he replied, unfazed. “No one can know the truth. Not even Alexander.”

My mind spiraled, struggling to grasp the enormity of what he was asking. This wasn’t just a request—it was a demand that would change everything.

“You’re insane,” I said, my voice cracking under the pressure. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted sharply. “And you will. Because without this heart, you won’t live to see another year. Isn’t that right?”

The steady rhythm of the heart monitor betrayed me, its beeping quickening as panic tightened its grip. Tears blurred my vision, spilling down my cheeks in a hot, unrelenting stream.

“I don’t even know her,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “How am I supposed to be her?”

“I’ll handle the details,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You’ll have everything you need to make it work.”

I shook my head, the words "make it work" rattling around in my mind like some cruel joke. The idea was preposterous, utterly impossible. But the alternative—dying in this sterile hospital bed—was worse.

“You’re asking me to give up everything,” I said, my voice cracking. “To give up my life.”

“I’m giving you the chance to live,” he countered, his words striking with precision.

I turned my face away, the tears coming faster now. My entire existence had been a fragile thread, woven with dreams of a life I’d never had the chance to truly experience. And now, here it was—a lifeline. But at what cost?

“I need time,” I murmured, barely recognizing my own voice.

He stood slowly, his expression unreadable, though his words cut clean and final. “You don’t have much. The surgery has to happen soon.”

He started toward the door but stopped just shy of leaving. “If you decide to go through with it, tell the nurse. She’ll contact me.”

Then he was gone, leaving only the echo of his footsteps and the erratic beeping of my heart monitor.

I stared at the door, my thoughts a whirlwind. For years, I had been bracing myself for the inevitable, resigned to the slow fade into nothingness. But now, life was being dangled in front of me, a cruel temptation wrapped in impossible conditions.

What kind of life was this? Would it even be mine?