1 Born with a rhino’s hide and a battered soul, it was cruel fate that placed me in a family of glass hearts. My poet father drowned in autumn’s melancholy, and my musician mother wept at sad chords. They were fragile dolls needing delicate care, while I possessed a heart of ice. Once, a burly scammer faked injury on our car. My parents dissolved into guilt, ready to sell our home for him. I simply hit the gas, and the man sprinted away like an athlete. My coldness made me their perfect shield. Today, my uncle arrived, eyes bloodshot with theatrical grief. “Your nephew has heart failure! Give him yours!” he pleaded. Before his words faded, my cousin Gurney climbed the balcony railing. “Sign the donor form or I jump!” Watching my father reach for the papers, I laughed coldly, walked to the balcony, and gave Gurney a firm shove. “Jump now, and I can still order your funeral wreath.” … Gurney, now dangling halfway over the edge of the high-rise balcony, let out a terrified shriek. His hands clawed desperately at the metal frame. “She’s crazy! Sloane, you absolute psychopath!” My uncle, Marcus, lunged toward the balcony. His wife, Tabitha, dropped to her knees, frantically grabbing at her son’s jeans to pull him back. I picked up a metal golf club leaning against the wall and pressed the heavy iron head firmly against Gurney’s knuckles. “Weren’t you just screaming about how you wanted to die?” I looked down at him. “I’m a helpful person. Let me assist you.” I applied pressure to the golf club. Gurney burst into hysterical tears. “Dad! Mom! Help! This bitch is actually going to kill me!” A dark, wet stain rapidly bloomed across the crotch of his trousers. Behind me on the sofa, my father, Arthur, clutched his chest. “Sloane, stop this at once! He is your cousin, your own flesh and blood!” “It’s all my fault. I am the one who stole Gurney’s hope for a future…” My mother, Cynthia, was sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath. She turned to my father. “It’s too tragic, Arthur. Gurney is only eighteen. His life is just beginning!” “Arthur, maybe we should just give him your heart. You can still write poetry with your soul, but without a heart, Gurney will lose his life!” It was utterly mind-boggling. How do you write poetry without a heart? Do you channel a ghostwriter through a Ouija board, or do you operate on sheer telepathy? I turned my head, fixing the weeping couple with a dead-eyed stare. “Shut up.” “Say one more word, and I’ll throw both of you over the edge with him.” My parents shuddered, their loud wails cutting off in an instant. Seizing the distraction, Marcus managed to drag Gurney back over the railing. Gurney collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Marcus wrapped his arms around his shivering son, then whipped his head around to glare at me. “Sloane, you are a cold-blooded monster! Your father already agreed to the transplant. What right do you have to interfere?” He reached into his leather briefcase, pulled out a laminated piece of paper, and slammed it onto the coffee table. “Arthur, open your eyes and look at this! This is the blood covenant you signed on our mother’s deathbed!” “You swore an oath that if I, Marcus, ever asked for anything, even if it meant carving out your own flesh and bone, you would never refuse!” My father’s entire body went rigid. He slumped onto the carpet. “It’s true. I cannot be a hypocrite, and I cannot break my promise to our mother.” With trembling fingers, he reached out toward a fountain pen. “I’ll sign. I’ll give my life to Gurney.” A flash of greed lit up Tabitha’s eyes as she quickly pushed the medical consent form right under my father’s hand. I walked over to the table, rested one foot on the edge, and pinched the blood covenant between two fingers. Rip. I tore the paper into shreds, scattering the confetti directly over Marcus’s head. The room fell dead silent. “What do you think you’re doing!” Marcus roared, finally snapping out of his shock as he lunged toward me. I didn’t step back. I simply swung my hand and delivered a brutal slap across his face. The crack echoed through the room. Marcus’s cheek swelled instantly, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You think a worthless scrap of paper gives you the right to harvest a human life?” I looked down at him coldly. “Who do you think you are?” “You want a heart? Fine.” I grabbed a silver fruit knife from the counter and flipped it, driving the blade deep into the wooden floor right between Marcus’s thighs. The steel blade vibrated, glinting under the chandelier. “Carve your own heart out and give it to him. A father’s compatibility is bound to be better than an uncle’s anyway. Do it while it’s still warm.” Marcus stared at the cold steel buzzing mere inches from his crotch, his legs shaking so violently he couldn’t stand up. Seeing that brute force wouldn’t work, Tabitha quickly shifted tactics. She threw herself over her son. Gurney immediately began to convulse on the floor, his eyes rolling back as he clutched his chest, a wet, rattling sound coming from his throat. “Gurney! My baby! Don’t leave me!” Tabitha shrieked, pulling a loaded syringe of epinephrine from her bag. She whipped her head toward me, her eyes wild with malice. “Sloane, this is murder! Your cousin’s heart is failing, and your cruelty is killing him!” At the sight of Gurney thrashing on the floor, my mother’s hyper-empathy kicked into overdrive. She clutched her own chest, her face turning pale as she gasped for air. “Sloane… save him! Seeing him in such pain is breaking my own heart into a million pieces…” My mother scrambled off the sofa, stumbling toward the bedroom. “I’ll get the house deed! I’ll get our savings certificates! We’ll give them everything, just save Gurney!” Meanwhile, my father dropped to his knees, pressed his palms together, and began reciting a poem of tragic self-repentance to the ceiling light. “My blood is cursed, I have stolen the breath of the innocent…” Staring at this circus of hysterics, my temples throbbed. I looked down at Gurney’s writhing body. A heart attack? On the verge of death? I let out a dry chuckle. I walked into the kitchen, pulled a metal basin of ice water from the freezer, and emptied a jar of ghost pepper powder into it. After a quick stir, I carried the bowl of hellfire back to the living room. Tabitha was still waving the syringe around, wailing about how only her brother-in-law’s heart could save her boy. I didn’t waste a single breath. With a swift flick of my wrist, I dumped the entire basin of ice-cold, pepper-infused water directly onto Gurney’s face. “Ahhh!” He bolted upright, screaming at the top of his lungs. He clawed at his eyes, thrashing blindly around the living room. “It burns! My eyes are on fire!” I tossed the empty basin aside and crossed my arms. “And they said his heart was failing.” “With pipes like that, we should sign him up for the opera. He’d win first place, easy.” Tabitha stared at her screaming, red-faced son, her eyes turning murderous. “You little bitch! You ruined my son’s face! I’ll kill you!” She lunged at me, her sharp fingernails aiming for my eyes. I took a half-step to the side, letting her momentum carry her forward, and stuck out my foot. Tabitha tripped, crashing face-first onto the hardwood floor. The sound of her front teeth cracking against the wood was loud and clean. Marcus scrambled up, the mask of the grieving uncle completely gone from his face. He pulled a black remote control from his pocket. “Sloane, did you really think I’d come here unprepared?” He pressed the red button. Immediately, a chorus of angry shouts erupted from outside the courtyard gates. “Arthur Collins is a fraud! Let his own nephew die!” “Arthur Collins, pay with your life!” A malicious grin spread across Marcus’s face. “Hear that? I contacted the local news, the medical forums, and a bunch of online activists. They’re standing right outside.” “Arthur, you sign those papers right now, or I’ll ensure your reputation is completely destroyed by morning!” My father began to tremble. Two silent tears rolled down his cheeks. “My honor… ruined. I have lived a blameless life, only to be vilified by the world. It is better to die…” He sprinted toward the balcony, his body already halfway over the railing. I lunged forward, catching him by the collar of his shirt. With a brutal yank, I dragged him back onto the balcony floor. He hit the ground with a dull thud. “You want to die? Fine,” I said, looking down at him coldly. “But wait until I’ve cleared out this trash. Once they’re gone, you can jump all you want, and I’ll even pay for your casket. But right now, stop getting in my way.” I hauled him up and shoved him toward my dazed mother. “Keep an eye on him. If he tries to kill himself again, I’ll end Gurney myself.” Outside, the shouting grew louder, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Without waiting for their reaction, I dragged both of my fragile parents into the soundproof media room, slammed the heavy door, and turned the deadbolt from the outside. Now that the distractions were locked away, I could finally handle this properly. Marcus watched me, letting out a dark laugh. “Sloane, you really are something. But do you honestly think you can hold off an angry mob by yourself?” He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number. “Do it.” The lights flickered and died. The villa plunged into pitch blackness. They had cut our power. A second later, the sound of metal grinding against metal echoed from the front foyer. Marcus hadn’t just relied on the mob outside. He had brought real muscle. Crash! The heavy security door was ripped off its hinges by a hydraulic spreader. Four large men in tactical gear stepped into the foyer. But it was the man walking behind them that made me narrow my eyes. It was Dr. Evans, my father’s personal physician of ten years. He held a professional medical kit, his eyes darting away, unable to look me in the face. “I’m sorry, Sloane. But the amount your uncle offered me is enough to keep my family comfortable abroad for three lifetimes.” Marcus laughed maniacally. “Sloane, did you think this was a game? That heart is mine today!” He waved his hand. “Take her down!” The four brutes charged. I gripped my golf club tightly, swinging it hard into the face of the first man. The metal head connected with his cheekbone with a sickening crack, and he collapsed, groaning. But before I could swing again, two of the men tackled me from behind, pinning my arms. I managed to kick one in the knee, but a heavy boot slammed into the back of my leg, bringing me down. The remaining man threw a heavy steel-reinforced net over me, pulling the drawstrings tight. I was pinned to the floor, unable to move. Dr. Evans stepped forward, opening his medical kit to retrieve a syringe. “This is a highly concentrated muscle relaxant,” the doctor said, his voice trembling slightly. “Once injected, your mind will remain perfectly conscious, but your muscles will be completely paralyzed.” “Don’t blame me, Sloane. You shouldn’t have stood in the way of a fortune.” Marcus walked over, looking down at me with absolute triumph. “Tie her to the concrete pillar!” “I want her to watch every single second. I want her to see exactly how we cut through that media room door and carve her father’s heart out of his chest!” The steel wires of the net bit deep into my skin as they bound me tightly to the central support column of the living room. Dr. Evans approached, the needle glinting in his hand. I looked at him and smiled. “You’re a doctor, but you clearly don’t know what a real threat looks like.” Before he could react, I slammed my right shoulder violently against the sharp concrete corner of the pillar. The steel wires sliced through my shirt, cutting deep into my muscle. The pain was blinding, white-hot, but I didn’t even blink. Using my own blood as a lubricant, I ripped my right arm free from the metal mesh. My flesh was torn, blood soaking the entire right side of my shirt. Dr. Evans stumbled back in horror, dropping the syringe onto the floor. “You’re insane! You’re a monster! Don’t you feel pain?” I slowly rotated my freed right wrist. “Of course it hurts.” “But I have a very cold heart, Doctor. I’m ruthless to my enemies, but I’m even more ruthless to myself.” In a flash, I lunged forward, grabbing the fallen syringe from the floor and driving the needle deep into his carotid artery. I slammed the plunger down. The doctor didn’t even have time to scream before his eyes rolled back, his body collapsing into a limp heap. “Don’t let her scare you!” Marcus screamed from behind the sofa. “She’s alone, her right arm is useless, and she’s bleeding out!” “Kill her! An extra five million to whoever finishes her off today!” The remaining three men exchanged looks, then roared as they rushed me. I grabbed my golf club with my left hand, swinging it wildly into the temple of the closest man. He dropped to his knees, but the other two hit me with a metal pipe, sending me crashing to the floor. My left arm was still functional, but the massive blood loss was finally catching up to me. My vision began to blur, a metallic taste filling my mouth. I rolled out of the way of another strike, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the floor and stabbing it deep into a thug’s thigh. He screamed, clutching his spurting leg. But the last two men threw themselves onto me, pinning me to the glass-covered floor. One of them ground his heavy boot directly into the open wound on my right shoulder. “Ugh!” The groan escaped my lips as I was pinned flat. My strength was entirely gone, my vision fading into a dark, ringing void. “Hahaha! Sloane, look at you now! Where’s all that tough talk?” Seeing that I was completely incapacitated, Marcus stepped out from his hiding spot. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, placing his foot heavily onto my cheek. He pulled a hunting knife from his belt, slowly resting the cold tip against my chest. “You ruined my entire plan. I’m going to carve you into pieces!” He raised the blade high, aiming directly for my heart. The steel blade sliced downward. Just as the tip of the knife was about to pierce my skin, I forced my eyes open and let out a bloody, terrifying grin. Marcus froze, his hand trembling. “What are you laughing at?” “Me?” I slowly lifted my blood-soaked left hand, pointing a single finger toward the ceiling above him. “Before you kill me… you might want to look up.” They instinctively raised their heads. Directly above them, a massive, dark shadow hung suspended in the air. The metal bolt anchoring the grand chandelier to the ceiling let out a sharp, decisive crack. The massive object plunged toward them. The arrogance on their faces froze, their pupils contracting as a chorus of terrified screams erupted.
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