Five years had already slipped by since the day my fiancé, Adrian, died in a tragic accident. He wasn’t only the man I loved for the first time—he was also my personal bodyguard. He had promised, again and again, that nothing would ever harm me. Yet in the end, he was the one who disappeared, leaving me behind with nothing but grief.
Still, his death did not end in complete emptiness. Adrian’s family chose to donate his heart, refusing to let it be buried along with him. The recipient was Dominic Blackwood—the only heir of an influential family, and Adrian’s longtime friend.
It felt cruel and comforting all at once.
Knowing that Adrian’s heart continued to beat inside another man’s chest became the reason I agreed when Dominic asked me to move in with him. There was no engagement, no vows, no white dress waiting at the end of a chapel aisle. Only quiet words meant to soothe two broken people.
“Stay,” he told me back then. “Even without marriage. Stay with me. That way… you’ll still be close to his heart.”
So I said yes.
I convinced myself that if I remained by Dominic’s side, if I rested my head against his chest and listened closely at night, I might still feel traces of Adrian there. Maybe love didn’t truly die—maybe it simply changed forms.
Five years passed like that.
And five years can do many things to a heart.
Dominic never rushed me. He never pressured me. He stayed gentle, attentive, endlessly patient. He made sure I ate. He listened when I cried. He teased me when I smiled too little. Somewhere along the way, without my permission, my heart betrayed its grief.
I fell in love again.
Not because of the heart beating in his chest—but because of Dominic himself.
That was why, on the night of our fifth anniversary, I finally gathered the courage I had been holding back for years. I took out the silver ring he once gave me—a simple promise ring I had never dared to answer—and slid it onto my finger. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
I waited until we were standing on the cruise deck, the ocean stretching endlessly beneath the glow of warm lights.
“Dominic,” I murmured, barely trusting my own voice. “I’m ready.”
He turned to look at me, surprise flickering across his face.
I raised my hand, letting the ring glint softly. “I want to get married. I finally understand now—it’s not about Adrian anymore. It’s you. You’re the one I choose.”
I thought he would smile. I thought he would pull me into his arms.
Instead, he laughed under his breath.
“Marriage?” he said, leaning back. “I don’t see why we need to rush into something like that.”
The words struck me hard. “What… what are you saying?”
He swirled the wine in his glass, his expression detached. “Work has been overwhelming. The company is consuming all my time. Maybe next year. Or later.”
“Later?” I echoed, my throat tightening. “You said you would wait. You promised me.”
He frowned. “And you turned me down back then, Seraphina. That was your decision. Don’t put this on me now.” His tone sharpened. “Besides, marriage doesn’t really benefit me at this point. You don’t contribute to the business. You don’t even bring connections or family ties. What exactly would change?”
I felt frozen in place. “I left everything behind for you,” I whispered. “I ignored everyone who warned me not to live like this—with no marriage, no security. I chose you.”
Dominic’s lips curled into something mocking. “And now you want to act like a victim? Don’t lie to yourself. You stayed because of Adrian’s heart. You wanted him close—even if it wasn’t really him. You used me just as much.”
My chest burned. “But you know it wasn’t like—”
“Eat your dinner,” he snapped, standing up. “I have other matters to deal with tonight.”
Before I could say another word, his phone rang.
He answered, and I caught the butler’s frantic voice through the speaker. “Sir Dominic, Miss Helena was injured. Her husband assaulted her. She’s been rushed to the hospital.”
Dominic’s color drained instantly. He didn’t explain. He didn’t look back.
He simply left.
The name echoed painfully in my head—Helena.
Six years ago, Helena had been Dominic’s fiancée. She left him the moment she learned about his heart condition, choosing a healthier, wealthier man instead. And in that same week, Adrian died.
Adrian and Dominic had been close since college—friends bound by years of shared memories, rivalry, and loyalty. That was why Adrian’s family agreed to the transplant. They believed they were honoring their son’s bond, allowing his heart to live on.
When Dominic survived the surgery, he fell apart. Helena was gone, and he saw no reason to keep living. I stayed beside him then, even as I grieved my own loss—knowing the heart beating inside him once belonged to the man I loved.
It was during that broken time that Dominic proposed to me.
I refused. I wasn’t ready. I thought living together would be enough.
Everyone hated my decision.
My parents accused him of manipulating me. Adrian’s parents looked at me as if I had committed an unforgivable sin. “That heart does not make him Adrian,” his mother told me through tears.
But I stayed anyway.
Because I wanted to believe that something good could grow from all that pain.
Now, with Helena back, I understood the truth.
There was no place for me.
I remained on the cruise, unmoving, while laughter and music echoed around me. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t breathe. I drifted to the deck, staring at the black sea beneath a sky heavy with storm clouds.
“Where am I supposed to go?” I whispered.
Rain began to fall. People scattered. I stayed.
Thunder cracked. The ship lurched violently. Screams followed.
A sudden impact threw me backward. Another wave surged.
I grabbed the railing—but my hands slipped.
And the ocean swallowed me.
Then everything went dark.
