Chapter 1

My fiancé, Arthur Mckay, had just beaten leukemia. A bone marrow transplant saved his life, and we were supposed to be planning our engagement party, celebrating our future.

Then she walked in. Diana, the donor's beautiful, fragile ex-girlfriend. Arthur became obsessed, claiming he had "cellular memory" and that the donor's cells were compelling him to protect her.

He postponed our wedding plans for her. He let her invade our home, touching my art, sleeping in my robe. He called me possessive and cruel when I protested. The man who once promised to cherish me was gone, replaced by a stranger who used a medical procedure as an excuse for his cruelty.

The final straw was my mother's locket, the only thing I had left of her. Diana saw it and decided she wanted it, weeping that her dead boyfriend had owned one just like it.

When I refused, Arthur's face hardened. "Don't be a child," he ordered. "Give it to her."

He didn't wait for my answer. He strode forward and ripped the chain from my neck, the metal stinging my skin.

He fastened my mother's locket around Diana's throat. "This is a punishment, Ella," he said calmly. "Maybe now you'll learn some compassion."

As he wrapped a protective arm around her and led her away, I knew the man I loved was truly dead. I picked up my phone, my decision made.

"Dad," I said, my voice steady. "I'm coming home."

Chapter 1

The engagement party was supposed to be tonight.

Instead, Arthur Mckay, my fiancé and heir to a real estate empire, was in a private hospital room, recovering. A bone marrow transplant had saved him from leukemia. We were supposed to be celebrating a new life, a new beginning.

That' s when she walked in.

"Are you Arthur Mckay?" she asked, her voice soft.

She was beautiful in a fragile way, her eyes wide and searching. Arthur, still weak, nodded from his bed.

"I'm Diana Hess," she said. "Gavin Welch... the donor... he was my boyfriend."

The air in the room went still. The donor program was anonymous. We weren't supposed to know his name, let alone meet his ex-girlfriend.

Arthur looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry for your loss. And I'm grateful. But I don't think you should be here."

Diana' s face crumpled. "Please. You have a part of him inside you. It's the only part of him left in the world."

Her words were strange, obsessive. A chill ran down my spine.

"Diana, this is inappropriate," I said, stepping forward. "We appreciate the gesture, but Arthur needs to rest."

She ignored me completely. Her eyes were fixed on Arthur. The next day, we found her in the hospital lobby, refusing to leave. She staged a scene, crying, telling everyone who would listen that she just wanted to be near the man who carried her lost love's "soul."

Arthur was furious at first. "Get her out of here," he told security. "She's unstable."

But Diana was clever. As the guards approached, she pulled a small, sharp object from her purse and drew a thin, red line across her wrist. It wasn't deep, but it was enough. Gasps filled the lobby.

"I have nothing left to live for without him," she sobbed.

Something shifted in Arthur's eyes. He called off the guards. He walked over to her, his movements still stiff from his recovery, and gently took the object from her hand.

"Don't do that," he said, his voice surprisingly soft.

From that moment, everything changed. He started spending time with her, listening to her endless stories about Gavin. He'd sit with her in the hospital garden, leaving me alone in his room for hours.

"She's just grieving, Ella," he'd say when I tried to protest. "We have to be understanding."

Then he looked at me, his eyes distant. "I'm postponing the engagement party."

"What? Arthur, no. Everyone is expecting it."

"We'll do it later. Diana isn't in a state to see people celebrating."

It wasn't about us anymore. It was about her. The news spread through our elite New York circle like a disease. Ella Farmer, the up-and-coming artist, was being sidelined for the tragic, beautiful ex-girlfriend of a dead man. I saw the pitying looks, heard the whispers at the galleries and charity events I now had to attend alone. I became a walking punchline.

"It's just... strange," Arthur tried to explain one night, his hand rubbing his chest over his new marrow. "I feel a connection to her. A guilt. It's like... cellular memory. His cells are telling me to take care of her."

The excuse was so absurd it left me speechless. He was using a medical procedure to justify his cruelty.

"Please, Ella," he said, taking my hands. His grip was tight, desperate. "Just wait for me. Be patient. I'll make it up to you."

I looked at the man I loved, the man who had fought a deadly disease and won. I saw the exhaustion in his face, and my heart ached. I had been by his side through every chemo session, every terrifying night. I couldn't abandon him now.

So I nodded, a lump forming in my throat.

I remembered how he used to be. The way he looked at my art, his eyes full of pride. He' d hold my hand and tell me I was the most talented person he' d ever met. He made me feel seen, cherished.

The memory of his proposal was a fresh wound. He' d rented out an entire floor of the Met, surrounding us with Monet' s water lilies because he knew they were my favorite. He went down on one knee, his voice thick with emotion as he promised me a lifetime of love and support. "You are my world, Ella," he had sworn.

Where was that man now? Where did all those promises go?

The next week, Diana was at our apartment. She walked through the rooms as if she owned them, touching my things, my paintings, my life.

She picked up a framed photo of me and Arthur from the mantelpiece. "We would have looked so good in a picture like this," she sighed, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Arthur, standing beside her, just nodded. He didn't even look at me.

"She just misses him," he said later, as if that explained everything. "Don't be so possessive of things, Ella. They're just things. I can buy you a hundred new frames."

But it wasn't about the frame. It was about her invading my space, my life, with his permission.

The real fight came over my mother's locket. It was a simple, vintage piece, the only thing I had left of her. I wore it every day. Diana saw it and her eyes lit up with a sick, covetous gleam.

"Gavin gave me one just like this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I lost it."

I clutched the locket at my neck. "I'm sorry to hear that, but this was my mother's."

"Please," she begged, turning to Arthur. "It would mean so much to me. It would feel like he was with me again."

I stood my ground. "No. This is not negotiable. It's mine."

Diana' s face twisted into a mask of pain. She looked like a wounded animal. "You're so cruel," she choked out, tears streaming down her face. "You have everything, and you won't give me this one small thing."

Arthur' s face hardened. He turned to me, his eyes cold steel. "Ella. Don't be a child. Give it to her."

"Arthur, you can't be serious. This was my mother's!"

"And Gavin is dead!" he shot back. "She's been through enough. Don't you dare make her feel worse."

I tried to argue, to make him see how unreasonable this was. "She's lying, Arthur, can't you see..."

He cut me off. "Enough."

Suddenly, Diana gasped and stumbled, clutching her arm. "My wrist... the cut... it's bleeding again."

It was a lie. I had seen the cut earlier; it was a faint, healed line. But it was the only excuse Arthur needed.

He rushed to her side, his voice full of panic and concern. "Diana! Are you okay? Let me see." He cradled her arm as if it were a priceless treasure, ignoring me completely.

His gaze flickered back to me, filled with rage. "You did this. You upset her."

Before I could react, he strode over to me. His hand shot out and yanked the locket from my neck. The delicate chain snapped, stinging my skin.

I gasped, a sharp pain radiating from my neck, but the pain in my heart was a thousand times worse.

He held the locket in his palm, a trophy. "This is a punishment, Ella," he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "Maybe now you'll learn some compassion. Don't ever upset her again."

He walked back to Diana, who was now sobbing into his shoulder. He gently fastened the locket-my mother's locket-around her neck. "There," he murmured, stroking her hair. "It's yours now. Everything is going to be okay."

I watched them, him comforting her, her clinging to him. My mother's last gift to me was now on the neck of a stranger, a thief.

He didn't even glance back as he led her out of the room, his arm wrapped protectively around her.

I stood there, my hand on my stinging neck, the place where the locket used to be now cold and empty. I remembered him giving it back to me after the chain broke once before, his fingers so gentle, his eyes full of love. "I'll always fix what's broken for you, Ella," he'd promised.

I stood in the silent apartment for a long, long time. The pain in my neck slowly faded, but the one in my chest just grew, a hollow ache that spread through my entire body until I was numb.

This wasn't the man I loved. He was gone.

My hope was gone, too.

I picked up my phone and dialed my father in California. His voice was a welcome warmth in the cold emptiness of the room.

"Dad," I said, my own voice sounding foreign and broken. "I want to come home."

There was no hesitation. "Thank God," he breathed. "That bastard never deserved you. When are you coming?"

My father had left New York years ago, unable to stand the city's pretentious, cutthroat atmosphere. He' d begged me to come with him, but I was young, in love, and believed Arthur was my future. "He's different, Dad," I had insisted.

How wrong I was.

"Soon," I whispered into the phone. "I'm booking a flight for the end of the month."

"Your room is ready, sweetheart. Just come home."

I hung up, a single, decisive action. The countdown had begun.