Hated by My Family in My Final Three Days

In the end-stage of acute heart failure, the life-saving heart I had waited three grueling years for was secretly reallocated by my parents and husband to Sera, the "true" daughter of the family.

My heart turned to ash. I refused the doctor's final conservative treatment plan and injected a potent, lethal neuro-stimulant.

The price for blocking the agonizing pain of my failing heart was total cardiac collapse and death in three days.

In these three days, I gave up all arguments and resistance.

When Adrian impatiently threw down the divorce papers, I signed them without hesitation; when the daughter I raised with my own hands pushed me away in disgust, hiding in Sera’s arms and calling her "Mommy"; when I handed over the Foundation I had spent eight years building entirely to Sera—they didn't even notice my paper-white face.

They only looked at me with relief and said, "If you had been this sensible earlier, our family wouldn't have gotten so ugly."

I am very curious. When I am dead, what will they think then?

Chapter 1

The nurse had just changed me into a fresh hospital gown. The premium private hospital’s pure cotton fabric carried a faint scent of lavender.

I leaned back against the pillows, watching the grayish-blue London sky outside the window. The heart monitor beeped with a steady, faint rhythm.

My mood was lighter than it had been in half a month.

Two hours ago, my attending physician, Dr. Evans, told me that a perfectly matched donor heart had finally been secured.

As long as I underwent the surgery, I would finally be free from this endless, suffocating cardiopulmonary failure caused by acute myocarditis.

I had even planned my post-discharge life in my head—I would take a long vacation, take my seven-year-old daughter Mia to Hyde Park to feed the swans, and stop caring about the Hart Foundation's never-ending trade-offs and PR crises.

Click. The hospital room door was pushed open.

"Dr. Evans, did you bring the pre-op consent form..." My voice died in my throat when I saw the doctor's pale face, drenched in cold sweat.

His hands were completely empty.

"Vivienne, I'm sorry." He didn't dare meet my eyes. His voice was incredibly low, trembling with an unspeakable shame. "The organ allocation center just sent an order. Your... your matched heart has been reallocated to another top-priority candidate via the green channel."

I froze, a severe heaviness rising in my chest. "I waited three years. It took three years for me to become the Foundation's first priority. Who could jump the line ahead of me?"

"It was your family. They signed the channel transfer agreement in your name." Dr. Evans swallowed hard. "They gave that heart to Miss Seraphina. The surgery was already performed three days ago."

The air was instantly sucked out of the room.

The freezing, prickling pain of hypoxia crept from my fingertips into my bones.

Seraphina. My parents' biological daughter.

For over twenty years, I had always thought I was an indispensable part of the Hart family. That was until three years ago, when Sera—their long-lost biological daughter—was brought home.

From that day on, I, the "fake heiress," became the most awkward existence in this Old Money family.

Out of guilt and a desire to compensate, my parents slowly stripped away the trust authority and charity projects I had managed for years, handing them over on a silver platter to this "true daughter who had suffered so much."

Even my husband, Adrian, and my daughter, Mia, were defeated by her gentle facade, gradually taking her side.

Sera would always ask Adrian questions with a frail, dependent, and adoring posture, greatly satisfying his ego and desire for control. I, on the other hand, became what he called a "cold, boring machine."

But what made my heart bleed the most was Mia, the daughter I had raised with my own hands.

I had always been strict with her education. Yet, Sera easily shattered my discipline with limitless chocolates and indulgent trips to theme parks. Amidst Sera's gentle, protective coos, I became the "bad woman" in Mia's mouth.

Just last week, Mia pushed me away in front of the whole family, hid in Sera’s arms, and screamed, "I don't want you! I want Auntie Sera to be my mommy!"

In these three years, not only did I lose my status in the family, but I had also long lost my husband and daughter.

And now, they were blatantly robbing me of the very heart I relied on to survive.

Chaotic footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the hospital room door was forcefully pushed open again.

My nominal parents, Richard and Evelyn, walked in, pushing Sera in a wheelchair.

Sera was already dressed in hospital scrubs, fragile tears hanging from her pale little face.

"Sister..." Before I could even speak, Sera’s tears dramatically fell. She leaned weakly against the armrest of the wheelchair. "I just found out that Mom and Dad transferred your heart to me."

"If I had known, I absolutely would never have agreed! Sister, I’ll go tell the doctors right now that I won't do it. Even if... even if I have to dig this heart out and give it back to you, I can't steal your chance to live!"

How incredibly pitiful.

If I didn't know exactly how she schemed for my shares behind my back, I almost would have believed her.

"Enough, Vivienne. Put away that cold face of yours!" My mother, Evelyn, frowned the moment she saw my awful expression. She glared at me with sheer disgust. "Your sister is already this sick, and you’re still giving her a black look to pressure her? Where are your manners?"

"That was the heart that was going to save my life!" I stared at them, the tearing pain in my chest growing so fierce I had to open my mouth wide just to breathe. "The doctor said if I don't get the surgery, I could drop dead from heart failure at any moment!"

"Stop being an alarmist!" My father, Richard, cut me off sharply, refusing to hide his arrogance and favoritism. "You’ve lived a life of luxury at home for so many years; your physical foundation is much better than Sera’s. You can easily survive on conservative medical treatment! But Sera is different. She suffered out there since she was a child. Her heart has been failing for a long time!"

"You monopolized her wealth and glory for thirty years, and now you want to steal the one heart that can keep her alive? How can you be so selfish? Your jealousy is absolutely heinous!"

My blood boiled, rushing to my head like scorching water.

Under the barrage of their illogical accusations, a violent wave of dizziness struck me hard.

My vision began to shake and blur. All that was left in my ears was a sharp, high-pitched ringing, accompanied by the frantic blaring of the heart monitor’s alarm.

I felt like a dying fish, completely drained of the strength to hold myself up. Clutching my chest, I collapsed heavily against the bedrails.

"Playing sick again with these cheap tricks!" My mother's cold, mean voice drifted intermittently through the ringing in my ears. "Ever since Sera came home, the moment she gets anything, you play the victim and act like you're dying. We don't have time for your unreasonable tantrums!"

"That's enough, ignore her. Let's go prepare to take Sera home," my father threw down impatiently.

The sound of the wheelchair turning and footsteps fading away. The hospital room door slammed shut with a bang.

Not a single person looked back at me, suffocating and on the verge of death from cardiac arrest.

...

When I opened my eyes again, the glaring fluorescent lights stung my vision.

There were no parents. No husband.

Beside the hospital bed was only Harper—my doctor friend who had never cut ties with me and rushed over the moment she heard the news.

Her eyes were red, and her jaw was clenched tight as she looked at me.

"You're awake," Harper's voice trembled as she suppressed her fury. "They actually forcefully implanted the heart into Sera days ago. And... that fainting spell just now forced your heart failure into an irreversible terminal stage..."

There is no sorrow greater than a heart that has died.

I didn't cry. I didn't even feel angry.

I just stared calmly at the ceiling, recalling all the unfair treatment I had endured in that house over the years.

"Harper," I turned my head with great difficulty. My voice was incredibly weak, yet carried a chilling calmness and absolute resolve. "I remember you mentioning that your lab has a potent adrenaline serum in its classified clinical trial phase. An injection that completely blocks the pain receptors of heart failure and forces the heart to run at full capacity."

Harper's face went deathly pale. "Vivienne, you're crazy! That's a 'death shot'! It exponentially overdrafts your heart's final potential! Once injected, you can only last for a maximum of three days."

"Three days later, your heart will completely collapse and stop. Not even a god could save you!"

"As I am now... am I not going to die anyway?" I gave a terrifyingly transparent, tragic smile, raising my hand to look at my fingertips, which had already turned an irreversible, dead gray. "Give it to me."

Harper’s tears finally burst forth.