My Heart Keeps Him Alive Chapter 03

My Heart Keeps Him Alive Chapter 03

By the time they pushed me into the diagnostics bay, my hands were shaking too much to steady.

The electrode pads stuck to my skin, freezing cold against it.

The monitor screen still showed a mess of tangled waveforms.

Julian was pinned outside the door, his white coat streaked with dirt, his eyes locked on me. “Ivy. Hold on.”

I tried to smile but couldn’t.

My chest felt like invisible wires were tightening around it, one loop at a time.

The former institute director, an elderly man with disheveled hair, ran in. He shoved a tablet in front of Margot.

Two sets of data on the screen. My heart waveform. And the remote operation log of Nathaniel’s artificial heart.

The timestamps, spike patterns, and frequency of destabilization were exact matches.

The old man’s voice shook. “From the moment you pulled Ivy’s biosensor patch, Mr. Croftfield’s side started showing sync anomalies.”

“After you cut the backup server, he had his first collapse.”

“Now Ivy’s heart rate is deteriorating, and Mr. Croftfield’s artificial heart is in critical condition.”

Margot’s expression hardened for a second. Then, as if dismissing the evidence, she smiled. “Data can be faked too.”

The old man froze.

Margot tossed the tablet onto the table.

“This whole institute belongs to Nathaniel. If all of you want to help Ivy sell her lie, it would only take one word from him to stop it, wouldn’t it?”

The old man’s voice rose. “Ms. Sheffield, these are human lives!”

“That’s exactly why I need to get to the bottom of this.”

Margot turned and had a lawyer hand her a document.

She shoved a pen into my hand. “Sign it.”

I looked down.

“Affidavit of Voluntary Admission of Medical Fraud and Embezzlement of Special Funds.”

It said that for years, I had faked my condition and worked with institute doctors to steal Croftfield medical resources.

I let out a laugh, though my throat felt like sandpaper. “Margot.”

She stared at me.

I raised my head and said, each word deliberate, “You’re not punishing me.”

“You’re destroying Nathaniel’s heart with your own hands.”

Her expression went completely cold. “Still trying to threaten me.”

I gripped the pen, my fingers shaking so hard I could barely hold it.

“I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to save him.”

Margot bent down, grabbed my wrist hard, and the pen slipped, scratching my fingertip badly as it dragged across the paper.

“Save him?” she said. “Who do you think you are?”

“Nathaniel needs top tier medical teams. The world’s most advanced artificial heart technology.”

“I was never just someone cast aside from the foster system.”

She let go of me and turned to the nurse. “Give her a stimulant.”

The nurse went white. She didn’t move.

The old director stepped in front. “No. Her baseline heart rate is already unstable. A stimulant will trigger full cardiac collapse.”

Margot picked up the syringe and walked toward me.

“You want to act tough?” She smiled. “Let’s see how steady your heartbeat really is.”

The needle went into my vein. My whole body tensed up.

The cold fluid flowed into my veins.

A few seconds later, my heart felt like someone had thrown it into boiling oil.

I heard my own heartbeat lose its rhythm, crashing like it was trying to burst through my ribs.

The monitor screamed.

The old director lunged forward. The guards stopped him.

Outside the door, Julian fought like a man possessed, his eyes bloodshot.

“Margot! You’re insane!”

I slid off the exam chair and collapsed onto the floor. I didn’t feel the impact.

My vision kept going dark.

In the blur, I remembered the first time I met Nathaniel.

He was in a wheelchair, pale, his chest covered in wires.

The doctors said my heartbeat could keep him alive.

He just looked down at me and asked, “Do you want to?”

I was young, so I asked him, “What if I don’t?”

He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, “Then that’s fine.”

But I stayed anyway.

Because that day, he was dying, and he still didn’t force me.

And now someone was forcing me to die for him.

Meanwhile, six thousand miles away, in a European emergency room, Nathaniel opened his eyes for a second.

The doctors were about to put an oxygen mask on him. He ripped it off.

His chest heaved. The artificial heart’s alarm was deafening.

His assistant bent down. “Mr. Croftfield, you can’t move.”

Nathaniel’s voice was raw.

“Get the jet ready.”

“I’m going home.”