chapter 1

To salvage my younger sister Seraphina Bennett's life, my parents coerced me into a heart swap.

After the surgery, their masks crumbled—they hurled insults at me daily.

“Now you finally understand the agony Seraphina endured, don’t you? This is what you owe her!”

The younger sister who once shared an unbreakable bond with me also shifted entirely.

“Without your heart pumping in my chest, you'd be nothing more than a stranger.”

They refused to spend another dime on my treatment, eager to sever ties, fearing I’d become a burden.

Then the system's warning sliced through my numbness.

"Exceed the spatial threshold, and the swapped hearts will fail."

I watched them drive away in silence, making no attempt to intervene.

Three years had elapsed since the heart transplant.

The monthly hospital appointment loomed again, but this time, my parents hadn’t transferred the funds as usual.

In the past, they’d always sent the money the day before my visit.

Perplexed, I decided to go downstairs.

As I reached the stairwell, their voices drifted up from below.

It was my parents conversing.

“It’s time to send her money again today.”

Her? Were they referring to me?

I held my breath and listened intently.

Father was absorbed in the newspaper, not even glancing up.

Mother leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper, “What if… we terminate her treatment? This illness is a bottomless abyss—each monthly visit hemorrhages tens of thousands. We aren't made of money—how long can we bleed like this?”

Father folded the newspaper crisply, his gaze unflinching.

“You're right .

“Seraphina is about to get married. We can’t drain our savings on her. Her condition is incurable, and she won’t live long. Better to allocate all funds to Seraphina.”

At the mention of Seraphina, Father's steely expression melted into affection.

Mother sighed in relief, complaining, “Ultimately, it’s her fault. If she hadn’t suppressed Seraphina in the womb, Seraphina wouldn’t have been born with a heart defect. This is merely correcting the imbalance. We haven’t mistreated her these past years.”

Father waved a hand dismissively, as casually as one might discard a broken appliance.

“We’ve been generous to her since she gave her heart to Seraphina. But Seraphina’s wedding is approaching—we can’t let her suffer.”

“Agreed. Her illness is hopeless. Going to the hospital only brings pain, so it's better not to seek treatment.”

I crumpled to the floor, fingers pressed against my mouth in stunned silence.

Had all those years of parental warmth been nothing but a carefully constructed facade?

Seraphina and I were twins, yet she'd entered the world with a congenital heart defect. From the start, our parents' affections had tilted heavily toward her.

Three years ago, when Seraphina’s condition spiraled into critical territory, my parents held my hands, their voices trembling with desperation.

They pleaded for me to donate my heart, painting a vision where my sacrifice would finally earn their equal love.

While I hesitated, a system appeared, claiming it could cure Seraphina.

All I needed to do was sign a contract: Seraphina would receive my healthy heart, and I’d recover after five years of treatment.

It felt like trading five years of pain for Seraphina’s lifelong happiness.

Thinking of Seraphina’s longing for a healthy body, I gritted my teeth and agreed.

On the operating table, I signed the contract and gave my heart to her.

My parents thought the surgery was a success and wept with joy.

For three years, they granted my every wish, prioritizing me above all.

I basked in the warmth of my family, oblivious that their love was a lie.

I couldn’t hear their subsequent words. Numb, I stumbled back to my room.

In hindsight, the signs had been there—the impatience in their eyes, always evident if I’d cared to notice.

That day was my birthday, but they’d forgotten entirely!

For years, they had forgotten every one of my birthdays, always claiming to be working overtime.

But why did they always “work overtime” on my birthday? It was all just excuses!

Undeterred, I probed again at dinner.

“Dad, I need to go to the hospital today.”

Their forks froze mid-air, and they exchanged a glance.

Father said, “Raina Bennett… After three years of covering your treatment, our savings are depleted. Perhaps… we should quit?”

I gripped my fork tightly, head bowed.

When Seraphina was ill, they’d spent millions annually on her care. But for me, all I got was a casual suggestion to quit?

Mother sighed, feigning concern.