He Asked for My Heart

Chapter 2

Upon our return, in the top-floor VIP ward of the hospital.

I pushed the door open, and the scent of citrus rushed into my nose.

It was the exact aromatherapy scent I had used for three years.

The pillow was raised by five centimeters, and the curtains were left open by a ten-centimeter gap.

Everything was tailored to my habits.

Standing at the doorway, my shoulders relaxed for a brief second.

But then, that wave of nausea surged up again. I pressed my left hand against my lower abdomen and forced it down.

A nurse tore open a plastic sleeve, pulled my left wrist forward, and fastened a white wristband around it.

Printed on it were three bold words: Potential Donor A.

Julian pushed open the ward door, his gaze landing on my wrist.

"Reprint it. Her name is Claire Jennings, not Donor A."

The nurse apologized repeatedly and quickly wheeled her medical cart out.

He walked over and pulled the blanket up to cover my knees.

As he withdrew his hand from the edge of the blanket, the back of his fingers brushed against my calf.

The muscles in my calf tensed, and my toes curled under the blanket.

He straightened up, his expression completely blank.

Yet, the small patch of skin on my calf where he had brushed remained warm, and it took a long time to cool down.

Ten minutes later, Julian walked out of the ward.

The door to the adjacent conference room wasn't fully closed. I stood in the hallway.

"Potential Donor A's circulatory function is stable."

It was his voice.

"If she meets the legal criteria for donation within 72 hours, initiate the subsequent evaluation process immediately.

All diet, medication, and examinations must follow the primary principle of maintaining stable organ function."

Donor A.

He had just made the nurse reprint the wristband, saying the name was Claire.

My hand found the hallway wall, my fingernails digging into the seams of the paint.

The sound of medical records being flipped inside the conference room continued.

They were calculating how many hours my heart could last.

No one mentioned Claire.

From beginning to end, no one said her name.

I let go of the wall.

A tiny fleck of white paint was embedded under my fingernail.

Two independent investigators walked into the interrogation room at the end of the hallway.

I was led inside. Julian remained outside.

An investigator placed a recording pen on the table. The red light flickered on.

"Ms. Jennings, if you change your mind, you can withdraw your consent at any time. Are you still doing this voluntarily?"

Through the glass wall, Julian stood in the hallway.

His hands were shoved in his pockets as he watched me.

Three years ago, when I had a fever of 102 degrees, he had watched me just like this.

Without a word, he had silently counted my breaths.

There was a c***k on the table. I traced my fingernail along it.

My left hand was pressed against my lower abdomen beneath the table.

Beneath my palm, there was an incredibly faint, tiny flutter.

Perhaps it was just an illusion.

I traced the c***k a second time.

"Yes, voluntarily."

The investigator nodded. "Please state your name."

I paused for a long time.

"Claire Jennings."

The door was pushed open. Julian walked in carrying a glass of warm water.

"Thank you, Claire."

The temperature of the glass was perfect. I knew he had tested it first. He always did.

I didn't take it.

He set the glass on the table and slid it toward my hand.

My fingers brushed the glass, and then I pulled back by a centimeter.

He stared at that single centimeter of distance.

"Theresa's assist device is malfunctioning. I need to go over."

"Go ahead."

I stared at the window as I spoke those words.

His reflection was cast on the glass.

The reflection turned around, walking away with hurried steps.

His heels paused on the floor for a brief second.

Then, the door clicked shut.

Only the scent of citrus remained in the ward.

The nurse walked in with the new wristband.

Printed on it was the name "Claire Jennings."

As she bent down to fasten it, I caught the scent of citrus on her uniform.

They had changed the aromatherapy scent for the entire floor to match mine.

The nurse finished fastening it.

The plastic pressed against my skin, feeling a little tight.

I stared at those two words.

The name he had ordered to be reprinted.

Letter by letter, Claire Jennings.

I picked up the medical scissors from the bedside table.

The blades clamped down on the wristband.

Snip.

The plastic strip fell onto the bedsheet.

I flipped it over so the name "Claire Jennings" faced upward.

I stared at it for two seconds.

Then, I placed it neatly on the bedside table, perfectly aligned.

The nurse opened her mouth to call out.

I walked to the door and pressed my hand against the handle. Down the hallway, the sound of his leather shoes fading away could still be heard.

I pushed the door open and walked in the opposite direction.