Chapter 1

Sarah Miller checked her watch. Five PM. Her shift at Chicago General was finally over.

Tonight was important. Her fifth wedding anniversary.

She' d planned a quiet dinner at home. Ethan, her husband, loved her lasagna.

A small flicker of unease touched her. Ethan had been distant lately. More than usual.

He' d said he had a client emergency, a late meeting. He promised he wouldn' t be too late.

She pushed the worry down. Tonight would be good. It had to be.

Her phone buzzed as she walked to her car. A message from her friend, Amy.

"You will NOT believe who I just saw at The Aviary. Ethan. With Chloe Carter."

Amy' s text included a photo.

Ethan, leaning in close to Chloe, his old college girlfriend. Chloe, looking smug, hand on his arm. They were laughing.

The Aviary. A trendy, expensive rooftop bar. Not a client emergency.

Sarah' s stomach dropped. Her hands started to shake.

Chloe Carter. The woman Ethan always called "the one that got away" when he thought Sarah wasn't listening.

She drove home on autopilot, the image burned into her mind.

The apartment felt cold, empty. No sign of Ethan.

She started making the lasagna, her movements mechanical. What else could she do?

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it. Probably Amy, asking if she was okay.

She wasn't.

An hour later, she heard Ethan' s key in the door.

He walked in, smelling faintly of expensive perfume, not Chloe's usual scent, but something new, cloying.

"Hey," he said, too casually. "Sorry I'm late. Client thing ran over."

He didn't look at her. He went straight to the bedroom.

Sarah' s heart pounded. She followed him, stood in the doorway.

He was on his phone, his back to her. His voice was low, intimate.

"Yeah, I just got in... No, she' s probably puttering in the kitchen." A pause. "Sarah? She's a good nurse, I guess. A bit of a martyr."

Sarah froze.

"She's so wrapped up in me, she'd never leave," Ethan continued, a smirk in his voice. "Besides, after everything, she practically owes me."

Owes him?

"And honestly, babe," his voice dropped further, "she always smells like antiseptic. It' s a total turn-off."

The words hit Sarah like physical blows. Antiseptic. The smell of her profession, the smell of saving lives. The smell that had clung to her when she' d nursed him back from the brink of death.

Her mind flashed back. Five years ago.

A catastrophic accident at one of Ethan' s construction sites. Faulty scaffolding. His company had cut corners. He was crushed, dying.

Chloe, his girlfriend then, took one look at his broken body and bleak prognosis and vanished. He needed a heart transplant to live.

At the same time, Sarah' s world had shattered. Michael Bell, her Michael, a Chicago firefighter, her childhood sweetheart, her fiancé. He died saving children from a burning building. A hero.

Michael was an organ donor.

His heart. A perfect match for Ethan Vance.

Sarah, a lead Nurse Practitioner on Ethan' s trauma case, was numb with grief. When she found out Ethan received Michael's heart, a strange, desperate purpose took root.

She poured all her love, all her grief for Michael, into caring for Ethan. If she could save this man, keep Michael's heart beating, then a part of Michael would still be alive.

Ethan, recovering, saw her unwavering dedication. He mistook her fierce protection of Michael' s heart for romantic love for him.

He called her his angel, his lifesaver. He proposed.

Sarah said yes. She made a silent vow: she would protect Michael's heart, cherish it, even if it beat in another man's chest.

They married. Michael's Firefighter Medal of Valor, awarded posthumously and given to Sarah, became her most sacred possession. It was all she had left of him, besides the heart beating inside her husband.

Ethan ended his call. He turned, finally seeing her.

"What are you doing just standing there?" he asked, annoyed.

The smell of antiseptic. He owed her.

The irony was a bitter taste in her mouth. She had dedicated five years of her life to him, to the heart inside him, and this was her reward.

The lasagna was probably burning.