Chapter 1

The flickering neon sign of a cheap noodle joint blurred as Ethan leaned against his delivery scooter, a tremor running through his chest. Not the scooter's vibration, his. The old artificial heart, his seven-year companion, his seven-year curse, was stuttering again. Each beat was a painful reminder that time was almost up. He clutched the worn medical pamphlet in his pocket: "$50,000. Immediately." Or else.

Across the street, a giant screen on a skyscraper flashed images from the "Global Innovator & Philanthropy Award." Olivia. His Olivia. Radiant, powerful, accepting applause. The CEO who had built an empire from the ashes of their shared college dream. He remembered her then, brilliant and driven, before the heart failure, before everything changed.

His phone buzzed. An unknown number. He almost ignored it, but a flicker of something, maybe desperation, made him answer.

"Ethan?"

Olivia's voice, crisp and unfamiliar, yet a voice that haunted his quietest moments. It was live, he realized, the faint echo of an auditorium in the background.

"They're asking me," she said, a slight hesitation, "who I have the most regrets about. And I thought of you."

Regrets. He looked at the pamphlet in his hand, the numbers swimming.

"Olivia," he began, his voice raspy.

"Do you regret it, Ethan?" she cut in, her tone hardening. "Leaving me when I was sick? For money? Was it worth it?"

The public accusation, sharp and clean. He swallowed, the lie he'd lived for seven years sitting heavy. He couldn't tell her the truth, not now, not ever. It would break her, destroy the image of her miraculous recovery, the anonymous donor.

His eyes fell on the $50,000 figure.

"Olivia," he said, the words tasting like ash, "I need money. Could you... could you lend me $20,000?"

A sharp intake of breath on her end. Silence. Then, her voice, cold and clear for the audience to hear.

"I have no regrets."

The line went dead.

The screen across the street showed Olivia, smiling, composed. The philanthropist.

Ethan's artificial heart gave a violent lurch. He slid down the wall, the noodle joint's greasy smell filling his nostrils. He had nothing.