In Exchange of Her Heart

Prologue

The rhythmic patter of water hitting the shower tiles echoed in the stillness, breaking through the quiet that surrounded me. My blurred reflection in the fogged mirror was nothing more than a hazy silhouette—a stranger staring back. I reached for the shower knob, letting the warm stream flow over me, rinsing away the last remnants of sleep clinging to my skin.

Absentmindedly, my fingers brushed over the faint scar etched across my chest. The raised line felt like an old wound that never truly healed, a permanent mark of a choice I could never take back. The heat of the water was comforting, almost soothing, yet it failed to thaw the cold that had settled deep within my core. My gaze lingered on the scar, a torrent of memories threatening to resurface, but I shoved them back into the shadows of my mind.

Today wasn’t the day to dwell on the past. Today was about the present—what mattered now.

Pressing my palm flat against the scar, I let out a shaky breath. It was a futile gesture, as though I could somehow erase the line or convince myself that the heart beating beneath it was truly mine.

But it wasn’t.

And no amount of pretending would make it so.

I twisted the knob to shut off the water, the abrupt silence louder than the sound that had filled the space moments ago. For a brief moment, I stood motionless, water droplets trailing down my skin as I tried to anchor myself in the present. This was my wedding day. The thought made my chest tighten—a mix of dread, disbelief, and something I couldn’t quite name.

Wrapping a thick, plush bathrobe around my body, I shivered despite the lingering steam that clung to the air. My mind was heavy, tangled in emotions I couldn’t sort through. A soft knock at the bathroom door pulled me back to reality.

“Miss Carter, are you ready?”

I exhaled deeply, raking a hand through my damp hair, trying to steady my nerves. The voice outside the door belonged to one of the wedding planners my father had hired to ensure everything went off without a hitch. Through the closed door, I could hear the faint hum of activity—hurried footsteps, muffled instructions, and the occasional clink of glassware as the final preparations were made for the big day.

“I’ll be out in just a moment,” I replied, my voice measured and calm, though my heart raced. I stared for a few seconds before I finally stepped out of the bathroom.

The suite I stood in was nothing short of opulent, a space meticulously designed to showcase wealth and sophistication. The air was filled with a faint floral scent, and sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a golden glow on the rich furnishings.

Stepping further into the room, I saw two assistants waiting by the vanity. They greeted me with polite smiles, their postures professional but their eyes betraying a hint of excitement. Without missing a beat, they ushered me to the plush chair in front of the expansive mirror.

“Shall we begin?” one of them asked warmly, already reaching for the tools of her trade.

I nodded and sat still as they got to work. Their hands moved with practiced precision, brushing, curling, and pinning my hair into an intricate updo. I barely noticed the gentle tugging as I stared into the mirror, my thoughts wandering far from the room.

Once my hair was done, they transitioned seamlessly to makeup. Brushes and powders danced across my skin, each stroke adding to the illusion of perfection. My reflection shifted with every step of the process. Bit by bit, the girl I once knew—fragile, uncertain, and marked by pain—faded away. In her place emerged someone striking, poised, and composed.

“You look stunning, Ms. Eleanor,” one of the assistants said softly, her admiration evident as she stepped back to admire their work.

I offered a small smile, though words escaped me.

Finally, they brought out the dress. It was a vision—silk and lace crafted with such intricate detail it felt like art. The fabric glided over my skin as they helped me into it, hugging my figure perfectly before cascading into a delicate train. My breath caught as I looked in the mirror again.

What struck me most, though, wasn’t the beauty of the gown but the way it concealed the scar across my chest. It was as if the dress had been designed not just to fit my body but to protect my heart.

For the first time that day, I felt ready. Or at least, I hoped I was convincing enough to appear so.

This wasn’t my moment, my dress, or my life.

This day belonged to someone else—my twin sister, the girl I’d never truly known. She should have been here, standing in the glow of this grand occasion. She should have been the one walking down the aisle, promising forever to the man who loved her.

A sharp knock jolted me from my spiraling thoughts.

"Miss Carter," a voice called through the door. "It’s time to head to the chapel."

Time.

The word lingered in my mind, a cruel reminder of everything I’d never had enough of. Now, because of Eleanor, I had more of it than I’d ever dared to imagine. But what price had been paid for it?

I squared my shoulders, forcing my trembling hands to smooth the front of the intricate gown. Around me, the assistants fluttered like anxious birds, fixing the final details of the dress and veil.

As they guided me to the door, my heart pounded—not with anticipation, but with a gnawing sense of dread. This wasn’t my story, but I had no choice but to live it.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t Janine Carter anymore.

She is Eleanor Carter.

And today, I would become Mrs. Alexander Kingsley.