Kapitel 2: Chapter 2 – Vows in Ashes
Evelyn woke to the dull ache of her ribs and the steady hum of the ventilator. Morning light slanted through the window blinds, slicing the room into alternating bands of shadow and illumination. Her chest still felt foreign, the transplanted heart pounding against flesh that wasn’t entirely her own.
A soft knock preceded the door opening. Dr. Patel, the attending cardiothoracic surgeon, entered with two cups of weak tea. He set one at her side. “Good morning, Ms. Lin. How are we feeling today?”
She lifted the cup with trembling fingers. “Like I slept on shards of glass,” she replied, voice raspy. “Thank you for coming by.”
He offered her a sympathetic nod. “Your vitals are stable, but we’re keeping you under close observation. The immunosuppressant levels are within target range, and there’s no sign of organ rejection.” He tapped the chart clipped to his clipboard. “You’re making excellent progress.”
Evelyn forced a smile. “Progress is measured in pinging machines and pills, it seems.”
He chuckled softly, then grew serious. “We’ll be discussing your long‑term care plan later. In the meantime, rest and take your medications on schedule.” He flipped a page. “And Ms. Lin—your fiancé is here to see you.”
Her smile faded. She set the tea aside. “Fiancé.”
Dr. Patel nodded, then left. Evelyn closed her eyes, steeling herself. The door opened again, and Lucien stepped in. His tailored suit was gone, replaced by a crisply pressed white shirt open at the collar. His dark hair was mussed—evidence of restless hours.
He paused at the foot of her bed. “You awake?”
She sat up on her pillows. Every movement sent a wave of soreness through her torso. “Barely.”
He placed a chair beside her bed and sat, folding his hands. The silence stretched between them—thick with unresolved grief and the new, chilling intimacy of shared organs.
Finally she spoke. “Why did we have to marry? The contract… it said marriage triggers immediate coverage for transplant liability, but did it have to be this?”
His gaze wavered. “With Wei‑han’s estate frozen pending the coroner’s investigation, your insurance wouldn’t process without next‑of‑kin sponsorship. Legal counsel advised a domestic partnership wouldn’t suffice in our jurisdiction. A clandestine marriage was the only path.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want to exploit you, Evelyn. I wanted to save you.”
She stared at him. “Exploit? The wording in the paperwork… liability clauses, confidentiality—haven’t you noticed? It reads like a real estate trust, not a marriage license.”
His jaw clenched. “I had the lawyers scrub it as much as possible—but Shen Medical’s board insisted on iron‑clad protection. They’d have killed the whole procedure if a rival caught wind of it.”
She folded her arms. “So I became a liability asset. A ghost contract wife.”
His expression crumbled. He stood, pacing. “I’m sorry. I thought… I thought we could make it legal and quiet and then figure out everything else later. I never imagined you’d feel… owned.”
Warm tears pricked her eyes. She wanted to hate him, but grief and relief tangled in her chest. “You made me marry you to cover my bills. You turned me into a corporate shield.”
His voice cracked. “I did it to protect you—from the hospital, from the press, from myself.”
She shook her head. “Protect me? Or protect your reputation?”
He stopped. “Both. But mostly you.”
Her chest tightened. She closed her eyes, breath shallow. When she opened them again, she slammed her palm onto the call button. A nurse appeared within seconds. “Yes?”
“I need my discharge paperwork updated,” Evelyn said, eyes locked on Lucien’s. “And counsel present to review this marriage contract.”
The nurse glanced at Lucien. “I’ll get the documents. Please rest until we bring them in.”
As the nurse left, Evelyn turned to Lucien. “You can’t just sweep this under the rug. I need time to think. To chart my own path.”
Lucien’s shoulders slumped. “I understand.”
The nurse returned with a tablet and clipboard. Evelyn demanded legal counsel be summoned. As they left to coordinate, Lucien remained behind, silent.
Once they were alone, Evelyn exhaled. “There’s something else.”
He looked up. “Yes?”
She closed her eyes. “That… panel. The ‘Debt Status’ gauge. And the ‘Hate‑Level’ meter. That wasn’t in the patient brochure. What is it?”
Lucien hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. “I’ve been investigating. It’s a prototype biofeedback algorithm Shen Medical developed. It monitors emotional valence—particularly affection and resentment—and ties it to adaptive dosing schedules and insurance liabilities.”
She sat up straighter. “Adaptive dosing? You mean they’ll tweak my meds based on how I feel about you?”
His lips were pale. “In theory, yes. If your resentment crosses a threshold, the immunosuppressant dosage can be reduced to provoke an emotional event—hospitalization, a reinterpretation of the contract, and new revenue streams. Or…the opposite, bolstering your care if you’re overly affectionate. It’s… unethical.”
Evelyn’s fist clenched around the sheet. “It’s inhuman.”
He whispered, “I’ve tried to disable it, but it’s embedded in their network. We need to get you out of here before it can enforce anything.”
She closed her hand around his wrist. “Help me get out.”
He exhaled a shaky breath. “I will. As soon as your legal counsel arrives, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”
Evelyn leaned back, exhaustion and fear pressing down. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” he said softly, pressing her hand to his cheek.
— — —
An hour later, Evelyn and Lucien sat in a stark conference room. A young lawyer—Ms. Morales—scrolled through the digital contract. Evelyn watched the lawyer’s expression shift from professional detachment to disbelief.
“This clause here,” Ms. Morales said, highlighting text on the tablet, “stipulates that, in the event of your divorce or death, Mr. Shen or his assignees inherit 75 percent of any residual estate and ongoing medical patents tied to your biometric data. That’s unprecedented in marital contracts.”
Evelyn’s pulse quickened. “The rest? Does it mention children?”
Ms. Morales scrolled. “Section 7.4 allows Lucien to assume guardianship of any offspring under guardianship trust terms and hold exclusive rights to genetic results. That’s—most couples don’t sign away parental rights in advance.”
She looked at Lucien. “Is any of this what you intended?”
He shook his head, voice hollow. “No. I asked for minimal liability protection, nothing about inheritance or parental rights. The board insisted.”
Ms. Morales sighed. “We can challenge this contract on grounds of unconscionability and undue influence. But given the timing—signed under duress and medical emergency—it will be a lengthy battle. Meanwhile, Shen Medical controls your discharge.”
Evelyn closed her eyes, frustration warping her features. “I need—”
Lucien reached across the table, covering her hand. “We’ll fight it. Tonight, I’ll drive you to my family’s private retreat. No cameras, no corporate eyes. We’ll keep moving until we find you sanctuary.”
She stared at her hand in his. The promise felt fragile—like a lullaby in a storm. Yet she clung to it.
— — —
That evening, Lucien wheeled Evelyn down the hall in a wheelchair. The corridors felt oppressively bright, monitors flashing. They passed nurses who averted their eyes, security cameras blinking.
At the valet, a sleek black SUV idled under a covered walkway. Lucien slid Evelyn’s wheelchair into the backseat’s ramp. She settled onto the leather seat as a driver—a stern man in a dark suit—held the door.
The engine purred to life. Lucien climbed in beside her. He reached for her hand. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, the ache in her chest less from pain and more from adrenaline. Outside, the city lights reflected off rainy pavement. They vanished into the night.
Inside the SUV, Evelyn pressed her hand to the window, watching the ward fade. “It feels like I’m leaving part of myself behind.”
Lucien’s voice was gentle. “You are. But you’ll rebuild—with me, without these contracts, without the System’s eyes on your heart.”
She turned to him, eyes fierce. “I’m not yours to rebuild, Lucien. I’m my own person.”
He nodded slowly. “I know. And I’ll protect your autonomy, however fiercely I must.”
She exhaled, the familiar ache of hope and fear knotting together. “Then drive me far from here.”
He touched her hand again. “Wherever you want.”
Rain spattered the window as the SUV accelerated into the dark, leaving broken lights and shattered contracts behind. In the hush, Evelyn closed her eyes and felt—for the first time since the transplant—that she might just survive this. Not as a debtor, not as a liability, but as herself. And perhaps, one day, as someone who could love again on her own terms.
Geschenke
-- Geschenk
erhalten Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
-- Power-
Rangliste 
-- Power-
Stein