The Wrong Heart Novels & Stories

And I can't wait to share Doris and Brad's story with you soon in the next book in the duology— "Love's Inferno: When Fire Meets Ice" Big Heart, Bethel W.C. Eke

His voice was calm and… probably sickly. Wait! Does Manny mean, Dash has a heart on the right side… I think… it’s called dextrocardia. I gulped nothing down. “I’m so sorry about what the 12 graders did.” I said. “Hmn. I thought ya'll were students? how did they have the heart to bully their Junior and try to kill him?” Manny tucked his hand in his jacket pocket. “It was an accident.” “Really? And they took his phone and left him to die!”

She just didn't know. "Mom, The Wrong Cinderella is one of the best books of our time. It is a fairytale that has broken every single rule that is associated with the genre. The well-known tale of the orphaned servant is retold in modern times where balls are house parties and princes are famous jocks. The biggest plot twist, however is when prince Charming falls for the wrong Cinderella. In this timeless, genius story, Cinderella isn't a servant but a rich, uberfemale who won't let a boy get in her way." I told her, doing my best to sum it all up in a way she would understand but that would still make the book sound as awesome as it is.

"It was the full amount. I counted it twice before I gave it to you." "Well, I don't know what to tell you, sweetheart. I passed along whatever you gave me." A small, apologetic laugh, the kind designed to make the whole thing sound like an honest, forgivable mix-up. "Maybe there was a mistake somewhere in between. These things happen." Something cold slid through me, quieter than the panic, harder to name. "Two months of mistakes, Maevra? Both times?" "I'm not sure what you're implying." Her tone shifted, just slightly, warmth cooling into something more careful. "I'm trying to help you, and you're accusing me of something. That's not fair."

Yvonne's eyes widened, despair and regret filling her gaze. "I was wrong, Will. I know I was wrong…" she wailed. "Please, I'm begging you. For the sake of what we once had, let me go this once…" "Let you go?" I loosened my grip, pulled out a photograph from my pocket, and tossed it onto her face. The picture showed me carrying Yvonne on my back when she passed out drunk in the snow five years ago.

Sophie stared at them for longer than was strictly necessary. Always you. Chosen by her sister eight months ago, at an appointment Sophie hadn't known about, for a man Charlotte had been quietly planning to leave. And now here it was, engraved in gold, being confirmed by the wrong twin in a jeweler's shop twenty minutes late because the right twin was somewhere on the Yorkshire coast building an entirely different life under an entirely different name. "Beautiful choice of words," Mr. Ashby said pleasantly. "Yes," Sophie managed. "It is."

“Why? What’s wrong?” “Are you sure these are what he gave you for the pains ?” “Yes,He told me to take them every day. Why ? is something wrong ? “ “ Because these aren’t heart medications.” I froze. “…What do you mean?” His eyes lifted to mine,He held the bottle out. “These are just vitamins.” “No,” I shook my head hard, staring at Rue. “No, you’re wrong. These can’t be vitamins. My doctor gave me those when I was in pain. He said they would help with my heart.”

At the center of the chamber… Suspended in midair by glowing roots and veined magic… Was a heart. Not a metaphor. Not an illusion. No, it was a literal, beating heart. Golden. But split. The right side of it shimmered like pure sunlight, clean and soft and healing. The left side… twisted. Veins blackened with rot. A slow corruption pulsing through it like tar in honey. The corruption bled upward along the roots holding it in place, darkening the magic that kept it suspended.

I tell her I will be done soon. I dry my hands. I walk into the OR. The team is ready. The lights are bright. Lily is on the table, her chest open, her heart exposed. It is small, no larger than my fist, but it is fighting. The left ventricle strains, the walls thick, the rhythm uneven. I look at the narrowing. It is worse than the scans showed. The aorta is pinched to a thread. The blood struggles to pass. The heart is working twice as hard as it should.

He simply smiled, a look of pure, unadulterated malice. "Some people become very fragile when they stand in the way of the wrong person, Damien," he murmured. "The heart is a delicate organ. A small stressor, a misplaced medication, a moment of extreme pressure... and it simply gives out. It's a tragedy, of course. But tragedies often create opportunities for those with the strength to seize them."