Relationship Cringecore

"Sign it." He threw the divorce papers onto my hospital bed, not noticing the blood transfusion tube in my arm. My husband of seven years. The man I'd just sold my kidney for on the black market. The man whose billion-dollar company I'd saved by signing a contract that would kill me in three months. "Catherine, I know everything now," Alexander said, his eyes cold with disgust. "Vanessa told me how she sacrificed her entire trust fund to save my company. While you? You did nothing but spend my money and play the victim." Vanessa. My stepsister. The woman who'd been sleeping in my bed while I was recovering from illegal organ surgery in a basement clinic. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip open my hospital gown and show him the fresh scar across my abdomen—proof that I'd carved out a piece of myself to save his empire. But what was the point? He'd already chosen who to believe. And it wasn't the wife who'd loved him for seven years. "Okay," I whispered. I signed my name. He didn't even say goodbye. What Alexander doesn't know? In three days, I'm scheduled for heart transplant surgery—as the donor. The dying billionaire who agreed to invest ten billion dollars in Alexander's company? He needed a new heart. And I offered him mine. That was the real deal. My heart for his investment. My death for Alexander's success. Vanessa found out. She forged documents. She made Alexander believe she was the savior. And now I'm going to die alone in a surgery room while my husband celebrates with my stepsister at a charity gala. But here's what none of them know: The billionaire I made the deal with? He's been searching for his kidnapped granddaughter for twenty years. A little girl who went missing at age three. A little girl who looks exactly like me. His people are already running DNA tests. And if I'm who he thinks I am— I won't just be Catherine Moore, the disposable wife. I'll be Catherine Sinclair, sole heir to the world's third-largest fortune. The surgery is in 72 hours. If I die, Alexander will never know what he threw away. If I live? I'm coming back. Not as his wife. As his boss. And I'm going to watch him lose everything—his company, his reputation, his pride—one piece at a time. Alexander, you had seven years to see me. You chose to see her instead. Now live with what comes next.