Chapter 89: Not Her

The more I thought about it, the more wrong it felt.A heart transplant isn’t simple. It isn’t something you hide behind makeup and a smile. It takes planning. Tests. Recovery time that changes the way you move, the way you breathe, the way your body responds to stress.

After my death, I had lingered near Julian. I watched Camilla closely. Every step she took. Every lie she spun.

And yet... she never once looked like someone who had survived something so invasive.

She walked freely. Stirred trouble. Laughed too loudly. Even carried a child.

Someone who had just gone through such a procedure wouldn’t be able to live like that. Not so soon. Not while pregnant.

And organs don’t wait. Once removed, time becomes an enemy.

I finally said what had been clawing at my mind.

"Lewis, it doesn’t add up. She doesn’t act like someone who’s had a transplant. And now she’s pregnant. Even if she took Elena’s heart, it wouldn’t still be usable."

Lewis didn’t look surprised. His gaze stayed calm, sharp, like he was already ten steps ahead.

"Riley," he said slowly, "a few years ago, there was a breakthrough. If a heart is kept beating in a sealed container, with most of the air removed, it can be preserved through extreme cooling. It slows everything down. Time, decay... even damage."

A chill crept up my spine.

"And," he continued, his voice lowering, "what if it wasn’t stored at all? What if it was transplanted while she was still alive while it was still beating? That would make it even more viable."

He paused.

"It might not have been her heart. It could have been her kidneys. Or even her eyes."

My stomach twisted violently.

I grabbed his sleeve, my fingers tightening as if I’d fall apart if I let go. My mind filled with images I couldn’t stop cold hands, sharp tools, deliberate cuts.

I had seen Camilla’s cruelty before. What she did to Grandma had already shown me how far she could go.

But this... this was beyond money. Beyond revenge.

If she only wanted me dead, she could have done it quickly.

Instead, she destroyed me piece by piece.

This wasn’t just hatred. It was obsession. She didn’t only despise me she despised what I represented. The Morrigans. Grandma. A past she wanted erased.

There was something she was hiding. Something so ugly that killing me wasn’t enough. I had to disappear completely.

Rage surged through me, hot and violent, pressing against my ribs, begging to be unleashed.

I wanted to tear her down. To silence her forever.

But I knew better.

If I let that fury take control now, it would consume me.

Lewis sensed it immediately. He pulled me into his arms, steady and sure, one hand supporting the back of my head. His presence pressed the chaos down, grounding me.

"Don’t be angry," he murmured. "She’s not worth losing yourself over."

For a moment, I rested against him.

And then a thought slipped in, sharp and dangerous.

Did he know?

Did Lewis already realize that I wasn’t truly Riley but Elena?

After my death, he had searched everywhere. Lit candles. Followed every rumor. Refused to let go.

Had it been me he was looking for all along?

No.

That couldn’t be true.

If he loved me, why hadn’t he said anything back then?

I pushed the thought away and stepped out of his arms, forcing myself to breathe evenly. My gaze fell on a black coat draped over a chair.

"Are you heading out?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "I’m going to the cemetery."

The families had chosen to count my death from the day I was buried. No one not even me could say exactly when my heart had stopped.

Today marked the seventh day.

Before leaving, Lewis stopped by the greenhouse. When he returned, he was holding a bouquet of roses.

Roses.

The sight stirred something painful and familiar in my chest.

For a moment, I wondered if his care came from me or simply from the fact that Riley looked so much like the woman he’d lost.

My heart sped up, but I quickly shut the thought down. It was pointless to dwell on something I couldn’t confirm.

After the Hales left, I went out too.

I drove to a flower shop and bought two kinds of flowers.

White hydrangeas.

Black roses.

Hydrangeas had always been my favorite. They stood for loyalty, hope, and sincere emotion.

The black roses were Riley’s favorite.

They stood for a love that never made it to the end. A love soaked in pain.

This would be the first and last time I visited both graves. Elena’s and Riley’s. Because the person standing here now carried fragments of them both, yet belonged to neither.

By the time I arrived, the Morrigans and the Hales were already there.

People adapt quickly. Too quickly.

On the day I died, the world had cracked open. Tears, screams, disbelief.

But only seven days later, grief had already softened into something neat and manageable.

Even Vivian looked calm. Her attention never left Camilla. The daughter she truly cared about.

What stood before me wasn’t mourning. It was a performance.

As soon as I stepped out of the car, Camilla’s gaze snapped toward me, sharp and burning.

"Why are you here?" she snapped. "And what are you even wearing?"

I looked nothing like someone attending a memorial.

A bright red cashmere coat hugged my body. My makeup was flawless. My heels clicked against the stone path. In my hands, I held white hydrangeas wrapped with black roses soft petals paired with thorns.

While they mourned a death, I was quietly celebrating survival.

Julian’s eyes dropped to the flowers. Something flickered across his face surprise, maybe even confusion.

"How did you know she liked those?" he asked cautiously.

I smiled, slow and shallow. Just enough to hurt.

"The designer who worked on your wedding clothes once did a fitting for me," I said lightly. "She mentioned Miss Morrigan’s favorite flower. Funny thing, though... Elena’s final dress was paired with roses instead."

His jaw tightened.

I didn’t wait for a response. I stepped forward and laid my bouquet among the sea of dull white daisies. The contrast was sharp. Wrong. Perfect.

I bent down, my fingers brushing the edge of the engraved photo.

"Rest well, Elena," I whispered.

And yet doubt crept in.

Was I Elena?

Was I Riley?

Or something stitched together from loss and blood and second chances?

Both women were gone. One betrayed. One sacrificed.

This grave marked the end of both their lives.

When I straightened, I realized Lewis wasn’t there.

I turned to Julian. "Where’s Lewis?"

He hesitated before answering. "It’s the anniversary of my mother’s passing. He went to see her. Want to come?"

I hadn’t expected that.

"...Alright," I said.

My memories of Julian’s mother were faint. A gentle smile. A warm presence. She had left too suddenly, and time had blurred her into a shadow.

Her grave wasn’t far.

The drive was silent. No accusations. No small talk. Whatever once tied Julian and me together had long since snapped. Only old resentment remained.

When we arrived, I saw Lewis immediately.

He was kneeling by the grave, carefully placing a bouquet of deep red roses on the ground. His movements were slow. Reverent. His presence carried a quiet weight, like the air before a storm settles.

Something twisted in my chest.

Those roses weren’t meant for me.

They never were.

Understanding hit all at once.

Lewis had never truly been cruel to Julian. Firm, yes. Unyielding. But always restrained. Always holding back.

Now I knew why.

Lewis hadn’t been protecting Julian because he was family.

He was protecting the son of the woman he loved.

Julian’s mother.

And suddenly, everything made painful sense.