THREE: A WEEK AND ANOTHER

GIANNA

The dust in the air tastes like abandonment. It coats my tongue, dry and bitter, a flavor that matches the rest of my life. I am sitting on the floor of my parents' old estate, not the manor we lived in, but the dilapidated townhouse on the edge of the city that Dad was meaning to renovate before... well before everything.

There is no furniture, just a wooden chair that has seen better days. There’s no heat, it’s just me, a thin blanket I stole from a shelter, and the relentless, mechanical whirring in my chest.

Whir. Click. Whir. Click.

My artificial heart. The machine that keeps me alive while the man who has my real heart inside his chest lives in a mansion with my cousin.

I cough, the sound rattling in the empty room. It has been a week since the anniversary. A week of hell. A week since I watched them bury my mother in a closed casket because the truck left nothing recognizable.

A week since I stood over my father in the charity ward, watching a machine breathe for him because his brain is too swollen to tell his lungs to work.

"I need money," I whisper to the peeling wallpaper. My voice is raspy. I haven't eaten a proper meal in three days. "I need to fix this."

But I can’t fix anything. I am a ghost, a walking corpse with a battery pack.

"It’s failing, Gianna."

Dr. Laurel doesn't look at me. She looks at the clipboard in her hands, her knuckles white as she grips the plastic. The examination room smells of rubbing alcohol and latex, a smell that usually comforts me, but today it makes my stomach turn.

"What do you mean failing?" I ask. I am sitting on the paper-covered table, my legs dangling. I feel small. "It’s a machine, Laurel. Just change the battery or swap out the pump."

Laurel finally looks up. Her eyes are red-rimmed. She’s been my doctor since the surgery. Since the day I made the choice to save Ryan. She knows everything.

"The tissue around the connection points is necrotic," she says softly. "Your body is rejecting the interface. The stress... and the trauma from the last week... it accelerated everything."

She reaches out and takes my cold hand. "You have two weeks, Gianna. Maybe less. Your body is shutting down."

The room spins. Two weeks, fourteen days or less. I think of Ryan. Does he know? Does he even care? If I die, he wins completely. There will be no one left to fight for my father avenge my mother, or me.

"There’s something else," Laurel says. Her voice trembles.

"What else could there possibly be?" I laugh, but it sounds like a sob. "Do I have cancer too? Is God just running down a checklist?"

Laurel stands up and turns the monitor of the ultrasound machine toward me. I didn't even pay attention when she ran the wand over my stomach earlier. I thought she was checking for internal bleeding from when the guards threw me.

On the black and grey screen, there is a tiny, pulsing white dot.

"You’re pregnant, Gianna."

The world stops. The whirring in my chest seems to fade into the background, replaced by the rushing of blood in my ears.

"Pregnant?" I whisper. "But... we were careful. He barely even touched me."

"It only takes once," Laurel says gently. "You’re about six weeks along."

I stare at the dot. A baby. Ryan’s baby. A part of him that isn't evil, and a part of me that isn't broken. A wave of fierce, protective heat washes over me, stronger than the grief, stronger than the pain.

"But this complicates things," Laurel continues, her tone grave. "Gianna, you cannot carry a child. Your heart... the device can't handle the increased blood volume. It’ll kill you. It’ll kill you long before you reach term."

She squeezes my hand. "We need to terminate. Today. It’s the only way to maybe buy you a few more months."

"No."

The word comes out before I even think it. I pull my hand away and cover my stomach. It is flat, empty, but I know life is there.

"Gianna, please be realistic. You are dying. This pregnancy is a death sentence."

"I’m already dying, Laurel!" I snap, tears hot and fast on my cheeks. "You said I have two weeks. If I terminate, what do I get? Three? Four? A lonely death in a cold room?"

I look back at the screen. That tiny dot is the only thing I have left. It’s my family, my legacy.

"If I keep it... is there a chance? For the baby?"

Laurel sighs, rubbing her temples. "If... and it’s a massive if... we can keep you stable until twenty-four weeks, maybe. But you would need intense care and expensive medication to manage the rejection. Hospitalization too."

Money, of course. It always comes back to money.

"I’ll find a way," I say, sliding off the table. My knees shake, but I force them to lock. "I’m keeping this baby, Laurel. It’s the only reason I have left to breathe."

***

I stand in front of the colossal glass building of Meyers & Miller Enterprises. It used to just be Meyers Enterprises. My father built this tower. Now, Ryan sits at the top like a king in a stolen castle.

I smooth down my dress. It is the only nice thing I have left, a black sheath dress I salvaged from the trunk of my car. It’s wrinkled, and I look gaunt, my collarbones protruding sharply against my skin, but I lift my chin.

I am Gianna Meyers. I own half of this company, even if the paperwork says otherwise.

I walk past the reception. The new girl doesn't know me. I keep my head down, blending in with the lunch rush, slipping into the elevator before security can spot me.

My hand shakes as I press the button for the top floor.

I am doing this for the baby, I tell myself. I am doing this for Dad.

I don't want his love anymore. I don't want his apologies, I just want the settlement money that was in the prenup. He owes me that. Even if he stole the company, the prenup was ironclad.

I get millions of dollars. Enough to save my father, and enough to keep me alive long enough to bring this child into the world.

The elevator dings. The hallway is plush, lined with expensive art. I walk toward the double mahogany doors at the end of the hall. My heart, my machine, is buzzing against my ribs, a frantic vibration.

I don't knock. I can’t give him the chance to send me away, I just push the doors open.

"Ryan, we need to talk about.." The words die in my throat.

Ryan is sitting in his leather executive chair, his head thrown back, eyes closed while Tasha is on her knees between his legs. Her head is bobbing. The scene is grotesque and vile.

"Oh my god," I choke out.

Ryan’s eyes snap open. He doesn't look ashamed, instead he looks annoyed. He pushes Tasha away, zipping up his trousers with a casual, lazy motion.

"Can't you knock?" he says, adjusting his tie. "Or did you lose your manners along with your house?"

Tasha stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She smirks when she sees me. She looks radiant, healthy, and glowing. The opposite of me.

"What is she doing here, Ryan?" Tasha asks, leaning against the desk, claiming him, claiming the space. "I thought you took out the trash."

"I want my settlement," I say, my voice shaking with rage. I walk further into the room, refusing to be intimidated. "You threw me out with nothing. But the prenup states that in the event of a divorce, I get a lump sum. I want it. Now."

Ryan laughs. He stands up and walks around the desk, leaning against the edge, crossing his arms. "You really don't read the fine print, do you? The prenup is void if the spouse commits adultery. And according to my lawyers, and the photos we have of you with the pool boy, you were very naughty, Gianna."

"That’s a lie!" I scream. "I never touched anyone but you! You’re the cheater!"

"History is written by the victors, Gigi," Ryan says cold-heartedly. "Now, Get out. Before I have you arrested for trespassing."

"I’m pregnant," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

The room goes silent. The air is sucked out of the space and

Ryan freezes. His mask slips for a fraction of a second. His eyes drop to my stomach. "What?"

"I’m pregnant," I repeat, stepping forward. "It’s yours. And I’m dying, Ryan. My… my heart is failing. I just need the money for medical care. Not for me... for your child. Please. Just give me what I’m owed so I can save the baby."

I see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, there is a shred of humanity left in him. Then Tasha laughs.

It is a high, cruel sound that shatters the moment. She walks over to Ryan and drapes her arms around his neck, looking at me with pitying eyes.

"Oh, honey," Tasha coos. "You really are desperate, aren't you? Trying to trap him with a baby? It’s pathetic."

"It’s his child!" I insist.

"It doesn't matter," Tasha says, tracing a finger down Ryan’s chest. "Ryan doesn't owe you anything. He’s already paid his debt to you."

"Paid his debt?" I frown. "He stole everything from me!"

Tasha smiles, a slow, venomous curving of her red lips. She looks at Ryan, then back at me.

"Didn't you tell her, baby?" Tasha asks Ryan. Ryan looks uncomfortable and he looks away.

"Tell me what?" I demand.

Tasha steps forward, closing the distance between us. She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"You go on and on about how you saved him," Tasha says. "About how you nursed him. But who do you think made the real sacrifice?"

She places a hand on her own chest, over her heart.

"I’m the one who donated the heart to him, Gianna,"

What? This lying bitch.

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. "When he was dying, I found the match, I found the donor and I paid for it. I made sure he lived."

My jaw drops. "That... that’s insane. I’m the donor. I gave him my heart! I’m the one with the machine in my chest! I did that for him!"

Tasha laughs again, louder this time. "You? You just signed the papers, Gianna. You got the artificial heart because yours was weak and useless anyway. You didn't save him. You just used his sickness to get a new toy for yourself. And how’s that working out for you?"

She runs her eyes from my feet and back to my head before turning to Ryan. "Tell her, Ry. Tell her who really saved you."

Ryan looks at me and his eyes are hard. He wraps his arm around Tasha’s waist, pulling her close.

"Tasha is right," he says, his voice devoid of emotion. "She’s the reason I’m alive. You were just.. a toy that nursed me during my recovery period Gianna, and a broken one at that."

The lie is so big, so audacious, that I can't breathe. I stagger back, clutching my chest. They are rewriting my reality. They are stealing the one thing I had left, the truth of my sacrifice.

"That’s what love makes someone do," Tasha sneers, kissing Ryan’s cheek. "He’s alive because of me. That is something you can never do."

I exhale, and swear in that moment. I’ll bring this bitch down. Even if it’s the last thing I do. And Ryan? He’ll get what’s coming.