Chapter 2

I stood before the full-length mirror in Ryan's master suite, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. The champagne silk gown hugged my figure before cascading to the floor in elegant waves. My hair was swept up in an intricate style that had taken the stylist hours to perfect, with a few loose tendrils framing my face.

"You look breathtaking," Ryan said, appearing behind me. His hands settled on my waist as he pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder. "Every man will envy me tonight."

I searched his eyes in the mirror, looking for any trace of the monster I'd discovered lurking beneath his perfect façade. But all I saw was warmth and admiration—the same expression that had fooled me for three years.

"Are you ready?" he asked, offering his arm. "Our guests are arriving."

I nodded, slipping my hand through the crook of his elbow. My fingers brushed against the small scar on my forearm where they'd drawn blood for the compatibility tests—tests I never consented to.

The mansion's grand ballroom had been transformed into a fairy tale setting. Crystal chandeliers cast a golden glow over tables adorned with white roses and silver candelabras. A string quartet played softly in the corner, and champagne flowed from fountains that sparkled like liquid diamonds.

"Natalie!" A famous actress whose films I'd watched for years embraced me like an old friend. "This is spectacular!"

I smiled mechanically as Ryan guided me through the crowd. Studio executives, tech billionaires, and A-list celebrities filled the room—all here to witness our engagement. All here for the show.

"Where's Isabella?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

Ryan's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around mine. "She wasn't feeling well, but she promised to make an appearance later. She wouldn't miss this for the world."

I bet she wouldn't.

As twilight painted the sky in shades of purple and gold, Ryan clinked his glass, silencing the room. My heart hammered against my ribs as he led me to a platform covered in rose petals at the center of the ballroom.

"Friends, family," he began, his voice carrying across the hushed crowd. "Three years ago, I met a woman who changed my life forever."

I watched him speak, mesmerized not by his words but by his performance. Every pause, every gesture, every tender look in my direction was perfectly calculated. The audience hung on his every word, completely captivated.

This was the man who had planned to cut me open and take a piece of me.

"Natalie Parker," he said, dropping to one knee as gasps rippled through the crowd. He produced a black velvet box, opening it to reveal a diamond ring that caught the light in blinding flashes. "You are everything I've ever wanted. Will you make me the happiest man alive and become my wife?"

Camera flashes exploded around us. I felt the weight of hundreds of eyes, all expecting the perfect fairy tale ending. My lips parted, and I heard my voice as if from a distance.

"Yes," I whispered, tears streaming down my face. Tears they all interpreted as joy.

Ryan slipped the ring onto my finger—a perfect fit, of course—and rose to kiss me. The crowd erupted in applause as his lips met mine.

"I love you," he murmured against my mouth, for my ears alone.

The lie tasted bitter.

He turned to address our guests, his arm tight around my waist. "Thank you all for being here to witness the beginning of our—"

A scream cut through the applause, silencing the room. All heads turned toward the French doors leading to the rose garden.

"Help! Someone help!" A server stood framed in the doorway, panic etched across his face. "Ms. Chen has collapsed!"

The world seemed to slow down. I felt Ryan's arm slip from my waist. I saw the moment of decision in his eyes—a split second of calculation before he made his choice.

Without a word, without a backward glance, he left me standing alone on the platform and rushed toward the doors. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea, murmurs of concern replacing the celebratory atmosphere.

I stood frozen, the diamond on my finger suddenly heavy as lead. Around me, guests shifted uncomfortably, their eyes darting between me and the commotion at the garden doors. Someone coughed. A camera flashed, capturing my humiliation for posterity.

I was still standing there when the paramedics arrived, rushing through the ballroom with a stretcher. And I was still there, a statue in silk and diamonds, when they carried Isabella past me, Ryan clutching her limp hand, his face a mask of anguish that no one but me could recognize as genuine.

In that moment, watching him climb into the ambulance without so much as looking in my direction, I realized something with perfect clarity: I wasn't just a donor to him.

I wasn't even human.