Forbidden Heart.

Chapter 6 – Blood on Her Hands

Elizabeth woke to the steady beep of a monitor and the prick of an IV in her hand. The hospital ceiling swam into focus.

Then memory returned in a brutal rush—Victoria's smile at the engagement party, the truth about her mother's heart, James's slap, the rain at the cemetery.

She turned her head.

A woman stood beside her bed, long dark hair falling over a black coat. A neat bandage crossed one cheek.

Victoria.

“Why are you here?" Elizabeth asked, voice raw.

“I came to see how you are," Victoria said. “You caused quite a scene."

“I ended a lie," Elizabeth said. “Now leave."

Victoria's brows lifted. “The engagement is off for good?"

“He carried you away. That was his answer," Elizabeth said. “And mine."

“James didn't look like a man ready to let you go," Victoria said lightly. “As long as you're alive, he'll keep feeling responsible for you."

“I don't care what he feels." Elizabeth's gaze went flat. “I never want to see that man again. I want him out of my sight, out of my life, like he never existed."

She said it and meant it. The James who had once brought soup to her apartment and stayed up with her mother's test results had dissolved into someone unrecognizable—someone who could bargain with a dying woman's love and call it mercy.

The edge of irritation flashed across Victoria's expression.

“You can pretend you're indifferent," she said, “but his guilt will follow you both. And it will keep him from being fully mine."

“Then you've chosen a poor hobby."

Victoria ignored the jab and stepped closer.

“Do you know what it was like being loved by him before you?" she asked softly. “James used to plan everything. He remembered every small preference I had. I once said I missed the seaside in winter. Two days later he had a private cottage booked and a chef who knew exactly how I liked my tea."

Elizabeth stared at the wall, refusing to give her a reaction.

“He'd send me gifts that were silly and precise," Victoria continued. “A rare fountain pen because I doodled in meetings. A scarf in the only shade of red that didn't wash out my skin. On my birthday he arranged a whole trail of clues across the city, like it was a game only we understood. The last clue led to a rooftop with lanterns and music and a ring he said he wasn't ready to buy yet, but wanted me to see someday."

Victoria's smile turned sharp. “He was always clearer with me. He never needed to talk himself into caring."

“When I got sick," she went on, voice lowering, “he became ruthless. He fought doctors, paid for experimental treatments, sat through nights where I couldn't breathe without oxygen. He promised me I wouldn't die alone. He promised me he would do anything."

Elizabeth finally turned her head.

“And he did," Victoria said softly. “He did anything."

The meaning was obvious. The heart beating inside her was the proof.

Elizabeth's stomach heaved with a slow, helpless disgust.

“That James didn't love out of duty," Victoria added. “He loved out of instinct."

“Congratulations," Elizabeth said flatly. “You want an award for having good memories?"

Victoria's mouth tightened.

“Your numbness is an act," she said. “I can see it cracking."

“I don't have anything left to c***k," Elizabeth said. “You and he already took it."

For a beat Victoria watched her, deciding where to cut next.

“And your mother," she said.

Elizabeth's body went rigid.

“She spent her last days thinking of you," Victoria murmured. “The nurse told me she asked about you constantly. Is Elizabeth eating? Sleeping? Will she be okay when I'm gone?"

“Don't you dare use her name."

“I'm telling you the truth you avoid," Victoria said. “When James visited her, your mother didn't beg for herself. She begged for you. She told him to take care of you. To protect you. To marry you if that was what it took."

Elizabeth saw her mother's face in a flash—pale, exhausted, still smiling as if love could stiffen a spine against death.

“She trusted him," Victoria added softly. “Even as she was dying. Even as she chose the quickest end. She said you were gentle, too forgiving, too easy to hurt. She asked him to be strong for you when she couldn't be."

The words were meant to sound loving.

They felt like a knife.

“Do you understand?" Victoria asked. “Your mother handed you to him as her last wish. And you're throwing that away like it means nothing."

Something inside Elizabeth snapped.

She swung her legs off the bed, ignoring the tug of the IV line. The room tilted, but hatred kept her upright.

“Elizabeth?" Victoria took a step back.

Elizabeth's gaze dropped to the floor. A glass water tumbler had shattered earlier; someone had swept the pieces into a careless corner. A jagged shard still glinted beneath the bedside light.

Elizabeth picked it up.

Victoria's eyes widened. “Put that down!"

“You want to preach my mother's last wish while her heart beats in you?" Elizabeth said quietly. “You're not a messenger. You're a thief."

“She gave it," Victoria hissed. “She chose it!"

“And you chose to come here and gloat."

Elizabeth moved.

Victoria stumbled back, knocking the chair. The door banged against the wall as she yanked it open.

“Help! Someone help me!"

She ran into the hallway.

Elizabeth followed, the shard clenched in her fist, her fury burning hotter than the weakness in her limbs.

“Give my mother back!" she shouted.

The corridor lights were bright and cruel. A nurse's voice called from somewhere distant, confused by the screaming. Shoes slapped against the floor, but no one reached them in time.

Victoria rounded the corner toward the elevators—and collided with someone coming the opposite direction.

An older woman in a wool coat, pearls at her throat, a small bouquet of white lilies in her arms.

Mrs. Young.

James's mother.

Her eyes softened with concern when she saw Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth, dear," she began. “I heard you were awake. I brought—"

“Mrs. Young!" Victoria clutched her arm. “She's trying to hurt me!"

The older woman startled and instinctively stepped between them.

“Elizabeth, what is this?" she demanded.

Elizabeth froze for a heartbeat, the shard trembling in her hand.

The sight of another mother standing upright in a hospital hallway was unbearably unfair. Elizabeth couldn't stop the bitter thought—why could James's mother stand here alive, while her own mother was buried in the ground?

Victoria backed into Mrs. Young with dramatic force.

The impact knocked both women off balance.

Elizabeth's grip loosened.

The shard slipped.

It flew forward.

Then drove into the soft space just below Mrs. Young's collarbone.

She gasped.

Blood spread fast across her blouse.

The lilies scattered across the floor.

Voices erupted down the hall—shouts, alarms, the pounding of running feet.

Elizabeth couldn't move.

Her fingers were still stretched out, empty.

One thought rose above the chaos, cold and clear.

I did it.