Chapter 1

I was born with a few screws loose. I tend to take things too literally and only process half of what people say.

Growing up, my grandmother constantly called me a "money-losing commodity."

To balance the scales, she bought a young boy and told me he was my new brother, commanding me to take good care of him.

I focused on one specific part of that sentence: "bought."

I immediately called the police and reported Grandma Evelyn Hart for human trafficking.

My father, Dwight Hart, pointed a finger at my nose and screamed that I was unfilial for destroying his family line.

I wanted to be helpful.

In the middle of the night, while he was fast asleep, I took a knife and physically cut off his "line."

Dwight's agonized howling filled the house before he lost control and killed me in a blind rage.

When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into the body of Eliza Hart, the tragic female lead of a romance novel.

I had been married to the wealthy Quentin Hayes for ten years. At this very moment, Quentin's childhood sweetheart, Sophia Newell, had just returned from abroad and was in desperate need of a kidney transplant.

Quentin dragged me to the hospital, his voice cold and commanding. He told me to donate my kidney to Sophia.

I nodded obediently. I went out, bought a pig, cut out its kidney on the spot, and handed it to the surgical team.

......

Quentin's face turned a terrifying shade of ashen rage. "Eliza, are you actually stupid? I told you to donate a kidney. A human kidney!"

He gripped my arm, his eyes flashing. "Do you have any idea how important Sophia is to me? She saved my life once. I have to repay that debt of gratitude!"

I thought about it for a second and then nodded in realization. "I'm sorry. I misunderstood you just now."

My sudden compliance caught him off guard. The fire in his eyes died down a few degrees, and his tone softened considerably. "It's fine. Just go and get ready for the procedure."

I nodded and gently poured him a glass of water.

Perhaps feeling guilty for his earlier shouting, he drank it down.

Soon, he began to feel drowsy. He told me to make sure the pre-op preparations were handled correctly while he went to a ward to take a quick nap.

I followed him with a smile.

The moment he drifted off, I signaled the nurses. "Nurse, the donor is ready."

I watched with a heart full of emotion as Quentin was wheeled into the operating room.

When the red "Surgery in Progress" light flickered on, I actually moved myself to tears.

I never imagined Quentin would be so noble as to donate his own organ to repay a debt.

I knew I had to tell Sophia all about his beautiful sacrifice.

"Eliza? Why are you still standing here? Shouldn't you be in surgery?" A sharp, questioning voice came from behind me.

I turned my head, searching through my new memories to place the woman standing there.

It was the mistress herself, Sophia Newell.

I tilted my head in confusion. "Miss Newell, shouldn't you be the one on the operating table?"

She marched toward me, pointing a manicured finger at the closed doors. "If you're out here, then who is in there?"

I told her the simple truth. "Quentin Hayes."

Sophia's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "What?! You let Quentin go in for surgery? Eliza, are you brain-dead?"

I blinked my large, innocent eyes at her. "He said you were his childhood sweetheart and that you saved his life. He said he had to repay that debt personally."

Upon hearing this, Sophia was visibly shaken. Her eyes turned red with tears, and she looked toward the operating room with an expression of profound moved devotion.

I blinked again, genuinely curious. "Miss Newell, aren't you supposed to be having surgery? Why are you standing here in the hallway?"

She snapped a glare at me. "I'm going in right now!"

"Oh!"

I believed her. I watched her back as she hurried away, feeling touched by the scene.

They really were quite a pair.

I tried to think of the right word for them, but I couldn't quite find it. "Couple" felt wrong, because that term usually referred to married pairs, and Quentin was already married to me.

But then again, Quentin didn't like me.

I remembered seeing something on television once: if a husband and wife don't like each other, they can choose to get a divorce.

I tapped my slightly empty head, pulled out my phone, and began searching for a lawyer named Miles Rivera to handle a divorce.

Later, Quentin was wheeled out of recovery. As his wife, I stayed by his side to fulfill my duty.

When he finally woke up and discovered the surgical incision on his torso, he lunged upward.

"Eliza! What did you do to me?"

I blinked, giving him a factual report. "You had a kidney donation surgery."

He glared at me with pure fury. "Are you an idiot, Eliza? I told you to donate! What gave you the right to make me do it?"