Traded for a Dying Heir

"That is your brother.

Take a good look, and stop bothering me." My biological brother shot an irritated glance at his Rolex, casually pointing down the hospital corridor at a terminally ill stranger surrounded by bodyguards.

The look in his eyes was pure, unadulterated relief—the look of a man finally dumping a heavy burden. He had hated me for seven years. This was his perfect excuse to get rid of me.

The stranger stepped forward. His face was deathly pale, but his presence was absolutely terrifying.

He draped his custom cashmere coat over my shaking shoulders, the sharp, icy scent of cedar enveloping me. His arm wrapped around me in a powerful, undeniable grip. "Let's go.

My penthouse is always open to true family.

I will be your brother." Later, to save this dying "brother," I put my own life on the line to tear down the doors of toptier medical specialists.

I stayed awake with him through countless suffocating, neardeath nights.

In the dead of winter, surrounded by blinding snow, my biological brother stepped into my path and blocked my way. His chest heaved.

His voice broke, a pathetic wreck trembling in raw panic. "Did you really… forget about me?" Chapter 1 I had just woken up in the hospital bed when the doctor declared my memories were scrambled.

A plunge from a high bridge into the river below had left me with a severe concussion and in a coma for over half a month.

Before all that, half a month ago, Roman and I had an explosive fight.

As I slammed the door on my way out, I yelled, "If I die, don't even bother claiming my body!" Roman's face had twisted in rage.

He sneered at my back. "Then I hope you get your wish." Now, half a month later, I was still breathing. I opened my eyes to the early winter sunlight filtering through the window.

After a long moment of blurred vision, the muffled sounds outside the door finally registered. The doctor was talking to Roman. "Severe head trauma, prolonged coma.

Amnesia or memory confusion is entirely possible. Forget about not remembering family and friends; she might not even remember herself…" I stumbled to the door.

Roman's cold, deep voice drifted through the gap.

There was something else woven into his tone—something that sounded sickly close to joy. "This… is for the best." As if to validate the doctor's theory, he added, "She woke up in a daze last night.

She looked right at me and asked who I was." The brief moment I surfaced from unconsciousness last night flashed through my mind. Roman was right.

But my vision had been swimming, the faces above me just blurred shapes. That was the only reason I asked. My fingers froze around the cold metal of the door handle.

The doctor offered a comforting tone. "There's no need to rush. We won't know for sure until your sister fully wakes up.

Even if her memory is compromised, we can still…" Roman cut him off. "It's better she forgot.

Don't bother restoring them." I could hear the undisguised relief dripping from his words. Did he really want me to forget him that badly?

In the years since our parents passed, we had fought countless times. But in this entire world, he was the only blood relative I had left.

I had thought plunging into that river would be the end of it. Now that I had somehow survived, I just wanted to talk to him. I pulled the door open. My eyes locked onto his.

A flash of shock crossed Roman's face before his gaze instantly hardened into ice. My throat was raw from the long coma.

When I finally spoke, my voice was a broken rasp. "Roman, I actually…" His brows snapped together in disbelief.

But almost immediately, a twisted form of selfdeception settled over his features. He was convinced that I had lost my mind and was just calling out to a stranger.

The hospital corridor was bustling with patients and staff. He clearly felt I was humiliating him.

He violently yanked his arm away from my reaching hand, pointing down the hall at a stranger radiating pure, dangerous energy. Roman sneered, "Go cling to him.

That is your brother!" I thought the head trauma was making me hear things. I stared at him, stunned. "What?" A fleeting shadow of hesitation flickered in Roman's eyes.

We had been siblings for over two decades.

No matter how much he resented me, I couldn't process that he would shove me toward a total stranger while I was still broken and bleeding.

I figured we really needed to sit down and hash this out. I opened my mouth, ready to drop the stubborn act.

He cut me off before the words could form. "I said, that is your brother. Take a good look, don't just call anyone your family, and stop bothering me." This time, his jaw was set.

When he gestured again toward the man who had now stopped in his tracks, every ounce of hesitation was gone from Roman's face.

Chapter 2 The doctor had already slipped away, clearly terrified of saying the wrong thing.

People milled about the corridor, their eyes darting toward me with a mix of pity and morbid curiosity.

To them, I was just the braindamaged girl fished out of the river, so far gone she didn't even recognize her own flesh and blood.

The stranger leaned against the wall outside the VIP suite. A flawlessly tailored Armani suit hugged his tall, lean frame. He had sharp, striking features and freezing eyes.

Even though his skin possessed a sickly, translucent pallor, he radiated a suffocating, domineering aura of absolute power.

Any normal person would have been pissed off by the absurd accusation. He didn't flinch. Through the shifting crowd, his cold gaze slid from Roman to me.

He just watched in total silence, waiting to see how this trainwreck would play out. Roman's voice was pure ice. "I'm just an acquaintance of your brother's.

I only dropped by out of basic courtesy. Go find him yourself.

Whether he claims you or not is between the two of you." Without another word, he spun on his heel and strode down the hall. He didn't look back.

My fingers twitched, a sharp tremor shooting up my arms. I dug my nails into my palms. I knew he hated me—he had for years.

It was just losing a brother who couldn't stand the sight of me anyway. We hadn't shared a civil word in a decade. But a sharp burn clawed at the back of my throat. My vision swam.

Humiliation, rage, and a crushing weight slammed into my chest, sealing my lips shut. I couldn't force a single sound past my teeth.

I stared at Roman's retreating back until the edges of the hallway blurred. My knees gave out. I threw a hand against the doorframe to keep from hitting the floor.

A highpitched ringing pierced my ears. I couldn't breathe. The man who had been watching in dead silence finally moved. He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us.

My pulse spiked. I braced myself for the verbal assault, sure he was coming to chew me out for dragging him into this mess. Roman was gone; I was the only target left.

My instinct screamed to back away. But my muscles were useless after weeks in a coma, the adrenaline crash leaving me paralyzed. My feet felt glued to the linoleum.

I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting him to shove me aside like everyone else. Instead, large, longfingered hands gripped the back of my head. The movement was undeniable, forceful.

He pulled me flush against his warm, solid chest. The ringing in my ears faded, replaced by the steady, deep rumble of his voice.

It sounded exhausted, yet surprisingly gentle. "Let's go. I'll take you home." How many years had it been since Roman called himself my brother? Decades, it felt like.

Long enough for the word to lose its meaning. I tilted my head back, staring blankly up at him. I had fought a losing battle for so long after my parents died.

I figured my mind really had snapped. I looked into the eyes of this complete stranger. And I nodded. "Okay." I followed a stranger into a strange penthouse.

The space was meticulously clean, minimalist to the point of feeling like a morgue. There wasn't a speck of dust, nor a single trace of a living soul.

It perfectly mirrored the man's deathly pale, unreadable face. Years ago, a place like this would have sent chills down my spine. But now?

Life, death—it was all the same static noise to me. I had nothing left to fear. My eyes tracked across the vast living room.

They locked onto a cluster of small white prescription bottles sitting on the glass coffee table. I recognized the labels instantly. I used to hoard those exact pills.

The doctors were always too damn paranoid. No matter how many lies I spun about severe insomnia or crushing stress, they never handed over more than a few at a time.

It took me half a year just to stash away a dozen. I stared at the cluster of bottles on the glass table. A twisted, dark urge flared in my chest. I actually felt envious.

That was more than enough to end it all. Chapter 3 Next to the pill bottles sat a photograph. It was bizarre—an 8x10, strictly black and white.

The man in the picture stared straight into the lens, his expression flat, devoid of any life. It was too glaring to ignore.

I couldn't help but stare at it, then flicked my gaze to the man standing beside me. His face was a mirror image of the photograph—just as blank, just as dead.

Catching me eyeing what looked suspiciously like his own funeral portrait didn't even make him blink.

He strolled over to the glass coffee table, sweeping the bottles and the photo into a drawer with a casual flick of his wrist. His voice was soft, even. "Have a seat.

I'll go make us something to eat." Oh. He actually believed it. He really thought my brain was fried and I couldn't remember my own brother.

A sliver of sanity clawed its way back into my mind. Scamming a guy who clearly had one foot in the grave left a sour taste in my mouth.

I opened my mouth to explain and walk out the door. But the image of that blackandwhite photo and the mountain of pills flashed through my head.

A morbid curiosity pinned me in place. What kind of hell had this guy dragged himself through to end up exactly where I was—ready to pull the plug on everything?

And seriously, who was his hookup for that kind of prescription haul? Before I knew what I was doing, I sank into the expensive leather sofa.

He disappeared into the kitchen to "cook," but the place stayed dead quiet for way too long. Frowning, I pushed myself up and padded over to the doorway.

He was just standing there, the refrigerator door wide open, staring blankly into the cold light.

The massive doubledoor SubZero refrigerator was just as soulless as the rest of the penthouse.

It held nothing but a few bottles of overpriced Fiji water and a row of heavyduty painkiller injections.

The sleek kitchen island was entirely stripped of any human touch, save for a highend capsule coffee maker sitting in the corner. It took him a solid minute to snap out of it.

He finally blinked, tearing his gaze away from the empty shelves to look at me. A shadow of guilt crossed his pale face. "Sorry. Forgot to get groceries.

I'll make a run." For years, I had stared at my own reflection, wondering how a body could still be breathing when the soul had already checked out and floated up to the ceiling.

But standing here right now, it hit me. I had actually found someone who looked more like a walking corpse than I did. He brushed past me, heading for the front door.

He didn't make a sound. No footsteps on the hardwood, not even the softest hitch of breath.

A cold realization washed over me—this total stranger was probably going to walk out that door and never come back. Just like that night on the bridge.

Roman and the doctors had all convinced themselves that the storm was too heavy, the pavement too slick. That it was just a tragic accident. But I knew the truth. It wasn't a slip.

He reached the foyer, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

Staring at the rigid line of his shoulders, the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "I like fish." The tall silhouette froze instantly.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around slowly.

His eyes were still that flat, bottomless void as they locked onto mine. "What?" I held his gaze, refusing to blink, and repeated it. "I said, I want fish. For dinner.

Can you make me fish?" The front door was cracked open. The biting winds of the early winter evening whipped into the entryway, catching the hem of his cashmere coat.

The gusts tangled his dark hair, making his face look even more sharply, violently pale against the shadows. A tiny tremor vibrated through the fingers hanging loose at his side.

The silence stretched between us for a long, heavy moment. Finally, he gave a faint nod. "Yeah." I watched him step out and let the heavy door click shut behind him.

That little anchor… maybe it would be enough to pull him back. The thought crossed my mind, followed immediately by a sharp bark of cynical laughter.

I was literally planning to jump off a bridge again, yet here I was, playing savior to a guy I didn't even know. Chapter 4 I sank back into the leather sofa.

The second I closed my eyes, the nightmare slammed right back into me. My parents, who should have been perfectly fine, crushed beneath the jagged concrete.

And me—pulled from the wreckage, breathing only because I was standing on the graves of the two people who gave me life.

The flashback violently shifted, zeroing in on Roman's eyes, burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.

His voice ground out through clenched teeth. "You're the one who should be dead, Cora! You dying is exactly what you deserve!" "How do you sleep at night, Cora?!

After all these years, does your conscience even let you breathe?!" It never let me breathe. For years, I hadn't known a single night of real sleep.

I thrashed against the phantom weight of the nightmare, finally clawing my way back to consciousness.

My eyes snapped open, immediately locking onto the closed drawer of the coffee table. My body moved without permission.

My fingers reached out, sliding the drawer open in dead silence, and wrapped around the cluster of pill bottles. I had never stolen a thing in my life.

A cold sweat instantly broke out across my palms, making the smooth plastic slip against my skin. But I had researched the fatal dosage of these exact pills down to the milligram.

If I took half and left the other half for him… there would still be more than enough left over if he was dead set on ending it. My grip on reality was slipping.

Mumbling hollow justifications to an empty room, my hands shook as I popped the childproof cap off the first bottle.

A phone vibrated against the glass tabletop, the ringtone piercing the air. The sudden noise detonated like a bomb in the suffocating silence of the living room.

The bottle nearly slipped from my trembling fingers. My heart slammed against my ribs. Panicking like a caught thief, I dropped the pills and scrambled to snatch the buzzing phone.

My thumb hit accept blindly before the cold realization hit me—this wasn't my phone. He had left it behind when he walked out. The line connected.

A furious, spitting voice instantly exploded through the speaker. "Listen to me, Asher!

Billions in the family trust and company shares, and you want to donate every last dime to charity? Don't even think about it!

I will drag this to the Supreme Court if I have to, but I am getting that money back!" "I might not have raised you, but I'm the one who gave you life!" "Your worthless sister already died for you.

As your father, inheriting my terminally ill son's estate is my absolute right! You want to give it all away?

In your dreams!" I had zero intention of eavesdropping on a stranger's family trauma. But the man was screaming so fast and so loud, the damage was done before I could react.

By the time I snapped out of my shock and frantically jammed the end call button, I had already heard way too much. A piece of paper lay on the expensive rug.

I must have dragged it out of the drawer when I was fumbling for the pills. It was a highly classified diagnostic report from the Mayo Clinic.

A bright red stamp reading [Terminal Heart Failure] was slammed across the top. The patient's name read: [Asher]. The name gnawed at the edges of my memory.

It was the exact name the maniac on the phone had just been screaming. It took a second to connect the dots to a recent viral news cycle. The founder and CEO of Astra Tech.

Right at the absolute peak of his company's valuation, he had abruptly announced a total buyout. Liquidating an empire like that overnight was financial suicide.

When the paparazzi had swarmed him in the broadcast, the man on the screen had worn that exact same dead, expressionless face.

He had offered only one brief sentence to the flashing cameras. "I'm tired. I just want to rest." So, it was him. His death wish wasn't just giving up; it was a terminal diagnosis.

The universe really had a twisted sense of humor.

Someone perfectly healthy like me was begging to die, while a billionaire at the absolute pinnacle of his empire was being handed a death sentence.

I carefully picked up the medical report. Along with the pill bottles, I placed everything back into the drawer, exactly as I found it.

Stealing a dying man's exit strategy… even if I made it down to hell, I was pretty sure the devil himself would spit in my face for that.

Chapter 5 The sky darkened, and rain began to batter against the floortoceiling windows. The downpour intensified until the last sliver of daylight was snuffed out.

Dead silence echoed from the entryway. Did he actually just die out there? I exhaled a heavy breath.

After wrestling with myself for a few minutes, I pushed myself off the sofa and headed for the door. The cars were still parked in the driveway, meaning he had left on foot.

Without a phone, there was no way he could hail a ride, at least not until he cleared the gated community. Maybe he hadn't gone too far.

I grabbed an umbrella, walked past the estate gates, and flagged down a cab, giving the driver the address of the nearest mall.

Honestly, deep down, I knew that if he had been gone this long, he wasn't just out buying fish. But I still had to look. The biting cold kept the usual crowds at bay.

I combed through the mall, floor by floor, scanning for his silhouette. Nothing.

Just as I turned toward the exit, mentally calculating the distance to the next shopping center… "Why are you stalking me like a ghost?" Roman's furiously impatient voice slashed through the air from behind me.

I spun around. He was standing there, protectively shielding Kendall, who was draped in custom Chanel. She was the heiress to a massive Wall Street conglomerate.

To secure her father's investment, Roman treated her like royalty, even publicly declaring her as his beloved sister.

Her father praised him for being so warm and kindhearted, but I knew better. Roman wasn't warm. He just despised me—his actual, biological sister.

A heavy, suffocating weight settled right behind my ribs. I had spent years trying to adapt.

Trying to reconcile the brother who used to spoil me rotten, the one who would move mountains for me, with the man standing before me who looked at me like I was trash on the bottom of his shoe.

But no matter how much time passed, the muscle memory of his love never really faded, and the sting of his hatred never stopped burning.

I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat down. My knuckles turned white as my grip tightened on the handle of my umbrella.

I leveled my gaze, keeping my voice utterly flat. "I'm not following you. I'm… looking for someone." Roman's eyes darkened with raw contempt. "You never come here.

If you aren't stalking me, who else could you possibly be looking for?" Kendall covered her mouth, letting out a soft, mocking laugh.

Her eyes dragged up and down my frame with disdain. "Roman, is this the pathetic sister you told me about?

Mall security really needs an upgrade if they're just letting anyone wander in." The second the words left her mouth, my eyes shifted past them.

I locked onto a familiar silhouette standing right behind Roman. Honestly, the sharp details of Asher's face were still a bit blurred in my memory.

But it was impossible to mistake that deathly, icy pallor on anyone else. He stood a few dozen feet away, perfectly still. He didn't close the distance.

He just watched me with those dead, unfathomable eyes. It seemed like he preferred it this way—observing me from the cold safety of a distance.

Furious at my silence, Roman snapped, "I'm talking to you. Stop creeping around and following me. I am not your brother.

Do I make myself clear?" Asher was holding a clear plastic bag. Through the thin material, I could clearly see a fully prepped fish.

He had been gone for over three hours, and he had actually gone to buy the damn fish. For absolutely no reason, a memory from years ago violently crashed into my mind.

I was a kid, throwing a midnight tantrum because I wanted the handmade pastries from a specific bakery across town.

Roman had scolded me with a stern face, telling me I'd rot my teeth out eating sugar that late, and besides, the shop was closed.

But halfway through the night, he sneaked into my bedroom. He smelled like freezing night air, hiding from our parents. Tucked inside his jacket, the pastry was still warm.

He had glared at me with mock severity. "This is the last time." But there were countless "last times" after that.

Chapter 6 I pulled my thoughts back and looked at the plastic bag carrying the fish. A soft, breathless laugh slipped past my lips.

Roman stared at me like I had grown a second head. Following my line of sight, he looked over his shoulder.

His expression snapped from shock to pure fury. "Why the hell is he still here?" I finally pulled my gaze away from Asher and gave Roman his answer. "I'm not following you.

I'm here to find my brother." Roman kept his eyes locked on Asher, his posture stiffening defensively.

His harsh reprimand, however, was aimed at me. "I told you, I am not your brother. Stop calling me that!" I brushed right past him, stopping directly in front of Asher.

At first glance, he looked just as impeccably put together as when he left the penthouse.

But his expensive leather shoes were completely soaked, and dark mud splattered the cuffs of his tailored trousers.

It was the exact same mud that had coated my skin the night they pulled me out of the river. He had gone to the bridge. But he had come back.

He came to the mall and bought the fish he promised me. I reached out and took the plastic bag from his hand.

I looked up into his freezing eyes. "Let's go home, brother." A sharp, violent tremor rippled through the dark void of Asher's eyes.

Before he could speak, Roman charged forward, livid. "What did you just call him?

Cora, have you lost your goddamn mind?!" I tilted my head, feigning genuine confusion. "He's my brother. What else am I supposed to call him?

You're the one who told me." Roman's face turned a violent shade of purple. He choked on his words, momentarily paralyzed by rage.

I hooked my arm through Asher's and started to walk away. Roman lunged after us, blocking our path. "You haven't been home all afternoon.

Cora, don't tell me you actually went back with this guy? Are you insane? Running off with a total stranger, do you have a death wish?!" A jagged lump wedged itself in my throat.

I couldn't make a sound. He was acting so frantic.

It was almost hilarious—as if he wasn't the exact same man who had eagerly seized the chance to sever all ties with me just a few hours ago.

Roman lost whatever shred of control he had left. He lunged forward, reaching out to grab Asher's collar.

In a blur of motion, a pair of hidden bodyguards materialized from the shadows behind Asher, their massive hands clamping down on Roman's shoulders and pinning him in place.

Asher looked down at him with bonechilling apathy. He casually adjusted his custom platinum cufflinks. "Call the cops? Try it.

Let's see who in the entire precinct has a death wish to take a case against Asher." Watching Roman's pathetic display of impotent rage, I stepped forward with a cold sneer and violently slapped his hand away.

I shielded the physically frail but undeniably terrifying Asher behind me. "Keep your filthy hands off him! He's my man.

You take one more step toward him, and I will personally bankrupt your company by tomorrow morning!" The commotion was drawing a heavy crowd of onlookers.

Roman, who valued his elite public image above all else, finally gritted his teeth and backed down.

He glared at Asher, a nasty sneer twisting his lips. "She says you're her brother? Fine! Tell me right now, do you even know her goddamn name?" "Cora," I fired back instantly.

Roman practically blew a gasket. "I was asking him! Who the hell told you to answer?! Drop the act, Cora!

You know damn well he doesn't even know who you are!" I kept my face deadpan. "You need to get your head checked." I turned and walked away with Asher.

Behind us, Roman's vicious sneer ripped through the cold air. "You think faking amnesia erases the fact that you killed our parents?

You think you can just keep breathing, living your selfish, pathetic life with a clear conscience…" My heart slammed against my ribs. My pace involuntarily quickened.

A loud ringing filled my ears, drowning out every toxic syllable spilling from his mouth.

By the time we hit the mall exit, I was practically sprinting into the freezing night, fleeing like a hunted animal