The man I loved became a monster. He forced me to take five pregnancy tests, snarling that he'd "get that thing out" of me himself if I compromised his investment. He locked me in the trunk of his car and later abandoned me on a collapsing rope bridge.
To finally break me, he drowned the stray kitten I'd rescued in the washing machine. "You hurt my Kenisha," he roared. "Now you'll know what it feels like to lose something you care about."
My entire life with him had been a lie. I was just livestock being fattened for slaughter, and my hands-the ones he once called magic-were just a "non-essential component."
After he drained my blood for the sister who wanted me dead, I went home and buried my cat. Then I packed a single bag, booked a flight to London, and vanished. They had created a monster. Now, they were about to meet her.
Chapter 1
Ferne Booth POV:
I discovered my fiancé was planning to have me killed on a Tuesday, using his laptop to look up a recipe for coq au vin.
The browser tab was tucked away, almost hidden between a spreadsheet of stock options and a link to a Forbes article he was featured in. The title was discreet: "St. Jude' s Private Acquisitions." Curiosity, a fatal flaw of mine, made me click.
It wasn't a charity. It was a marketplace, sleek and sterile, like a high-end auction site for things money wasn't supposed to be able to buy. My blood ran cold before I even understood what I was looking at. The listings were coded-alphanumeric strings followed by brief, clinical descriptions.
Then I saw it. "Asset: FB-01."
My initials.
I clicked. My own face stared back at me from the screen. It was a photo Daryl had taken a few weeks ago, while I was asleep on the sofa, a sliver of sunlight warming my cheek. I'd thought it was sweet at the time. Now, it felt like a violation.
Beneath the photo, the text was a physical blow.
"Asset: Ferne Booth (FB-01). Age: 25. Blood Type: O-negative. Condition: Prime. Subject has been maintained in a controlled, low-stress environment for the past three years to ensure optimal organ viability. Primary asset of interest: Heart. Secondary assets: Kidneys, Liver. Note: Asset is a gifted pianist; hands are to be considered a non-essential component."
My hands. The ones he held and called magic. Non-essential.
A small chat window was blinking in the corner of the screen. It was a conversation between Daryl and a user named "K." My stomach dropped. I knew who K was. It could only be one person.
Daryl: The final transfer is being arranged. Just a little longer, my love.
K: I can't stand watching you with her, D. Does she have any idea she's just a walking incubator for my future?
Daryl: She knows nothing. She thinks I' m her savior. It' s almost poetic. The heart she uses to love me will soon be the heart that keeps you alive.
The air left my lungs in a silent scream. My vision tunneled, the edges blurring to black. K. Kenisha. My sister. My chronically ill, perpetually fragile little sister, who the world adored. Daryl, the man who had pulled me from the wreckage of my life, was not my savior. He was my executioner. And my own sister was holding the axe.
The room began to spin. Suddenly, I wasn't in our pristine, minimalist apartment anymore. I was back in a cold, dark alley behind my college music hall. The smell of stale beer and rain-soaked concrete filled my nose. Bradley Spencer, my high school boyfriend I'd foolishly tried to reconnect with, was standing over me. His friends were laughing.
"Kenisha said you needed to be taught a lesson," he'd slurred, his face a mask of cruel satisfaction. "Said you think you're better than everyone."
Then came the sharp, sickening crunch. The sound of my future snapping along with the bones in my right hand. The pain was blinding, but the image seared into my memory was of Kenisha, watching from the end of the alley, a small, triumphant smile on her face.
I' d tried to kill myself that night. The loss of my career, the betrayal, it was too much. I woke up in the hospital to Daryl Chavez's calm, reassuring face. He was a visiting tech mogul, a guest lecturer at the university. He said he' d found me, that he' d saved me. He paid my medical bills, shielded me from the press, and helped me piece my shattered life back together.
For three years, I believed he was my angel. Now I knew the truth. He wasn't saving me. He was preserving me. Like a prized piece of livestock being fattened for slaughter.
The room swam back into focus. I was on the floor, my hands shaking so violently I could barely control them. I crawled back to the laptop, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I had to get out. Not later. Now.
My fingers fumbled as I opened a new tab, my mind racing. London. My aunt, my mother's estranged sister, lived there. Her son, Jakob Mendoza, was my cousin. We hadn' t been close in years, but he was my only hope. I found his business email-he was some kind of big shot in the international music scene.
My fingers flew across the keyboard.
Subject: Urgent Family Matter - Marriage Proposal
Jakob,
It's Ferne. I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I need your help. My family is trying to arrange a marriage for me. I need to get out of the country. I was hoping... maybe you and I could enter into an arrangement? A temporary engagement? Just to get me to London. Please. I' m desperate.
It was a lie, a flimsy excuse, but it was the only thing I could think of that sounded both urgent and vaguely plausible. I hit send, my heart hammering against my ribs.
A reply came back almost instantly.
Jakob: Ferne? Is everything alright? This is sudden. Of course, I'll help you. But a marriage arrangement? Are you sure?
I took a shaky breath, forcing a semblance of calm into my typing.
Ferne: I'm sure. It's complicated. I just need to leave. Please, Jakob.
Jakob: Okay. Don't worry. I'll handle everything. My assistant will book you a flight. It will be under your name, departing tomorrow night, 10 PM. Can you make it?
Tomorrow. My birthday. The irony was a bitter pill in my throat.
Ferne: Yes. Thank you. I owe you my life.
I slammed the laptop shut just as the front door opened. Daryl walked in, a perfect smile on his handsome face. He dropped his briefcase and loosened his tie, his eyes scanning the room.
"Hey, angel. You okay? You look pale."
I forced a smile. "Just tired."
He walked over, his gaze softening with that practiced, counterfeit concern. "Kenisha is coming over for dinner. She's been feeling a bit down. I was hoping you could make her your special mushroom risotto. You know how much she loves it."
He spoke of her with a reverence he never used for me. It was a familiar ache, a dull throb I had learned to ignore. He loved her. It was so obvious now. His care for me, his protection, it was never about me. It was an extension of his love for her. I was just the vessel.
"I don't feel like cooking tonight," I said, my voice surprisingly steady.
His smile tightened at the edges. "Don't be like that, Ferne." He reached for me, his hand closing around my arm. It wasn't gentle. "She's not well. It's the least you can do."
"No," I said, pulling my arm away. The small act of defiance felt monumental.
His eyes flashed with something cold and hard. He grabbed me again, his fingers digging into my flesh. "Don't be so selfish. It's just a damn meal."
I wanted to scream. I wanted to hold up the laptop and shove the proof of his monstrous betrayal in his perfect face. Do you know what they call selfish, Daryl? Grooming your fiancée to be an unwilling organ donor for your secret lover.
But I swallowed the words, the truth burning a hole in my throat. I couldn't let him know. Not yet.
He saw the flicker of fight in my eyes and his expression changed, softening back into a mask of gentle persuasion. "Look, baby, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about her. You know how she is. She's different. She needs us."
He always said that. Kenisha is different. I used to think he meant she was fragile. Now I understood. She was different because she was the one he loved. She was the one who mattered. I was just the spare parts. Me, my heart, my non-essential hands.
I was the only one in their perfect little love story who was going to die.