My Donor

I was Ariel Burnett, a tech mogul, a genius celebrated in Silicon Valley, with a loving husband, Damien, and a loyal best friend, Cohen. My world was perfect until a rare, aggressive liver disease threatened to take it all away.

They promised to save me, and they did. Three years of fighting, a successful transplant, and I was finally healthy, ready to surprise them. But when I arrived at my penthouse, a security guard stopped me, claiming Mrs. Hobbs was already upstairs.

My smile froze when he showed me a photo: Kara Gregory, my liver donor, standing on my balcony, looking just like me. The world tilted. I stumbled, hitting my head, as Damien' s voice crackled over the guard' s radio, telling him to get rid of the "crazy woman" disturbing Kara, his "wife."

They were in my home, my bed, the penthouse Damien designed for me. Kara, the woman I pitied, the one who claimed she didn't take charity, was now living my life, with my husband and my brother-figure.

The pain in my head was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. My husband, my brother, they were in this together. The betrayal was complete. I knew then that my perfect world was a lie, and I was nothing but an inconvenience to be managed.

Chapter 1

I was Ariel Burnett, a name that used to shine in Silicon Valley. I built a tech empire from the ground up, and the world celebrated my genius.

My husband, Damien Hobbs, was the charismatic CEO of his own colossal tech firm. He treated me like the center of his universe, a fragile treasure he had to protect. Every morning, he' d personally make my coffee, exactly how I liked it, and every night, he' d read to me until I fell asleep. He said my mind was a gift to the world, and his job was to cherish it.

Then there was Cohen Goodwin, the venture capitalist who saw my potential before anyone else. He was more than a business partner; he was the brother I never had. He guided me, celebrated my wins, and picked me up after my failures. He always said, "Ariel, you and I, we're a team. Nothing can break that."

They were the two most important men in my life. The pillars holding up my perfect world.

Then, that world started to crack. A diagnosis came out of nowhere: a rare, aggressive liver disease. The doctors gave me a year, maybe two.

Damien and Cohen fell apart. I remember Damien holding my hand, his face pale with fear.

"I'll spend every dollar I have. We'll find a cure, Ariel. I swear it."

Cohen just held me, his own body trembling.

"Whatever it takes," he whispered. "Whatever it takes to save you."

And they did. They kept their promise.

Damien poured a fortune into finding the best specialists, finally locating a cutting-edge clinic in Switzerland that specialized in partial liver transplants. Cohen put his entire life on hold, moving into a suite near the clinic to be with me through every painful procedure and month of recovery.

It took three long years. Three years of fighting, of hoping, of being separated from the life I knew. But it worked. The transplant was a success. I was alive. I was healthy.

I decided to fly back to the US unannounced. I imagined the looks on their faces-the shock, the joy. I pictured Damien dropping whatever he was doing to sweep me into his arms, Cohen ruffling my hair and telling me, "I knew you could do it."

I took a cab straight to our San Francisco penthouse, the glass tower that overlooked the bay. My home.

But I couldn't get past the lobby. The new security guard stopped me, his hand held up firmly.

"Ma'am, can I help you?"

I smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. "I live here. I'm Ariel Burnett. Mrs. Hobbs."

The guard' s expression didn't change. He looked me up and down, then his eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"I don't know who you are, but Mrs. Hobbs is upstairs."

My smile froze. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

He seemed to enjoy my confusion. His tone shifted from professional to annoyed, as if I were wasting his time.

"Mrs. Hobbs is here. You need to leave before I call the police."

"There must be a mistake," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "I am Mrs. Hobbs."

The guard let out a short, nasty laugh. He pulled out his phone and shoved the screen in my face.

"This is Mrs. Hobbs."

I looked at the photo. It was a woman standing on our balcony, smiling into the camera. A woman who looked so much like me it was disorienting. The same dark hair, the same jawline, the same shape of the eyes.

But it wasn't me. It was Kara Gregory.

My liver donor.

The world tilted. I stumbled back, my hand flying to my mouth. The guard's face twisted into a sneer.

"See? Now get out of here. We get crazy fans like you all the time, trying to get to Mr. Hobbs. It's pathetic."