Forbidden Heart.

Chapter 2 – The Heart’s Cruel Secret

“I have a gift for you."

Victoria's voice was calm, almost courteous, as if she were a distant relative arriving late to a dinner party.

Elizabeth didn't move from the vanity. The pale gold gown, the veil, the ring box on the table—things that should have meant hope—suddenly felt fragile under Victoria's gaze. A cold certainty settled in her stomach: Victoria's appearance was going to ruin this night.

“Congratulations," Victoria added.

“You came to my engagement party to congratulate me?" Elizabeth asked.

“Yes. I thought it would be more polite to say it in private."

Elizabeth didn't believe a word. This was the woman who had once hovered at the edge of James's life with messages that were too intimate, gifts that were too personal. Elizabeth had wanted to snap back then, to draw a clear line and defend what was hers.

But Victoria had been sick.

That fact had softened every sharp instinct. Elizabeth had told herself that people facing death were allowed to be messy, that a little patience was the price of being a good partner.

Now that patience felt foolish.

The woman standing here didn't look sick.

She looked victorious.

“Say what you want and leave," Elizabeth said.

“Before you decide what I am to you," Victoria replied evenly, “I want you to understand what I survived."

She reached out and caught Elizabeth's wrist.

“Let go."

“Just a second." Victoria pressed Elizabeth's palm to her own chest.

Warmth. Alive heat.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

A strong, steady heartbeat.

Elizabeth swallowed.

“You feel that?" Victoria asked softly. “They said I wouldn't live past twenty-five."

Elizabeth had heard the rumor—James's first love, a terminal heart condition, a tragic ending that had sealed his youth into something untouchable. She had never imagined the story would walk into this room wearing a black dress and a smile sharp enough to cut glass.

“But you're fine," Elizabeth said.

“I am. Because I got a transplant." Victoria's eyes narrowed with a strange, satisfied brightness. “James arranged it."

The name struck like a slap.

“He knows I recovered," Victoria continued. “He knows I'm healthy now. He just didn't expect me to show up tonight."

So he had known.

That single detail cracked something in Elizabeth. It meant James's kindness toward Victoria wasn't recent nostalgia. It was a decision he had made with a clear mind—an investment of power and money and devotion she had never been told to measure.

Elizabeth tore her hand away. “Why are you telling me this?"

“Because the heart that saved me wasn't some anonymous miracle."

Victoria stepped closer as if she were about to offer comfort.

“It was your mother's."

The air vanished from the room.

Elizabeth laughed once, sharp and disbelieving. “That's disgusting."

“It's true."

“My mother died of cancer." Elizabeth's voice shook. “She took her own life because she couldn't endure the treatment."

“Yes," Victoria said. “And before she did, she signed to donate her heart."

“No. She wouldn't have done that without telling me."

“She didn't need to tell you," Victoria replied. “She needed to protect you."

Shock churned into rage so fast Elizabeth felt dizzy.

Her eyes flew to Victoria's chest, to the steady rise and fall beneath the black dress. The heartbeat that had once belonged to Maria Harper was now keeping this woman warm and smug in front of her.

A violent, impossible thought flashed through Elizabeth—she wanted to tear Victoria open and take the heart back with her bare hands.

She locked her gaze on Victoria like a blade.

“James came to see her alone," Victoria continued. “He said her illness was incurable. He said I was dying. He asked her to help me."

“You're lying," Elizabeth snapped.

“He promised her something in return," Victoria went on, ignoring the protest. “That he would take care of you. That he would never let you be alone. That he would marry you if that was what your mother needed to hear."

Elizabeth's hands clenched until her nails bit her palms.

“So you're saying my mother died because of you."

“I'm saying," Victoria said evenly, “your mother chose the quickest end because she believed you would be safe with him."

The cruelty of it was dizzying. Elizabeth could almost see her mother's tired face, hear her gentle voice asking the one question that had always ruled her life: Will my daughter be okay?

And James had answered.

Rage rose so fast Elizabeth almost couldn't breathe.

“You came here to ruin me."

“I came to congratulate you," Victoria said, the faintest edge of irony slipping in. “And to apologize."

“Apologize with my mother's heart beating inside you?"

“I didn't choose whose heart I received."

“You chose to come here."

Victoria's gaze flicked to the engagement dress, then back to Elizabeth's face. “You deserved the truth before you step into a marriage built on it."

Elizabeth's body moved before her mind could catch up.

She rushed for the door.

She would find James downstairs. She would demand the truth from his mouth. She would force the world back into something that made sense.

Her fingers closed around the handle—

—and the door opened from the other side.

James stepped in.

He wore the same dark suit he had been greeting guests in all night, the same composed expression of a man who believed his life was under control.

Then he saw Victoria.

The surprise on his face was sharp, but not the shock of seeing someone returned from the dead.

It was the irritation of an interruption.

“Victoria?" he said.

“What are you doing here?" His voice was clipped.

Elizabeth caught the detail like a splinter.

He isn't surprised she's alive.

He just didn't expect her to appear here.

“James," Elizabeth said hoarsely, “did you arrange her transplant?"

His gaze flicked to her, then to Victoria.

“Why would you bring this up tonight?" he asked.

“Answer her," Victoria said softly. “She has a right to know."

Elizabeth's breathing turned ragged. “Did you go to my mother? Did you tell her she should give you her heart because she couldn't be cured anyway?"

James's jaw tightened.

“Elizabeth—"

The hesitation was enough.

Grief erupted into fury.

“You used me," she whispered. “You used her love for me to save her."

Victoria stepped closer, as if to calm her.

Elizabeth shoved her shoulder—not hard, just to push her away from the space between her and James.

Victoria seized the moment.

Her heel slid visible on the marble.

She threw herself backward.

Her elbow knocked the crystal perfume bottle on the vanity.

It toppled and shattered on the floor.

Glass burst across the tiles.

Victoria fell with a dramatic gasp.

A long shard sliced her cheek.

Blood appeared instantly.

“Victoria!" James surged forward.

Elizabeth froze, hands half raised, staring at the wrecked scene that now looked like a confession.

Victoria pressed trembling fingers to her face. Tears gathered and spilled with careful perfection.

She looked up at James, voice broken.

“I'm sorry," she cried. “I only came to apologize to Elizabeth… If it weren't for me, maybe her mother would still be alive."