Why Does The Heart Turn Red In A Heart As Red As Paint?

"Aya, will you accept the job?" Red asked as he stared into Aya's eyes. She blinked, wanting to tell Red to stop looking into her eyes because she could hardly think. She was sitting across the most handsome guy she had ever met, so gorgeous that if his lips kissed her, she might forget that she was here for a job and was under a pretense about her true identity. He shouldn't be her type, but Red's alluring sister. He gave her one chance of a lifetime, making all her problems disappear, but she did not expect to fall in love with him. This was all part of the job he expected her to do well, but the longer she pretended, the deeper she fell in love.

He took her from a cult. He marked her as his possession. He never expected her silence to ruin him. Liana has lived her entire life inside a forbidden cult hidden in the mountains. Blind obedience. Sacred rituals. Absolute isolation. Until the night the world ends. A man they call The Blood King—feared mafia lord, known as The Red Serpent—slaughters the entire sect and takes her captive. Not for love. Not for ransom. But for the strange mark burned into her skin… a mark that can unlock a weapon older than the mafia itself. Liana becomes his prisoner, his leverage, his obsession. He is cold. He is merciless. He is everything she was raised to fear. But the more he breaks her world apart, the more he finds himself drawn to the girl who refuses to break. Because monsters don’t always kill you. Sometimes… they keep you.

She is one who loves fiercely, but it always ends bad for her lovers. One boy upsets her pattern of love crisis, and she would rather leave him, than destroy him. However, there's more to this than she realizes

Post - Apocalyptic Horror | Action | Yuri Harem | 18+ | Rated R | Mature Content | Slow Pace It started with a kiss I don’t remember giving. A rooftop. A moan. Someone’s fingers buried in my hair like they belonged there. A mouth on my throat that said I tasted like something they lost in another life. I wasn’t dreaming. The city was already cracking beneath me. Power grids flickering like dying stars. Tech failing. Screens static. The sky bruising in strange new colors. Everyone said it was coincidence. Collapse. Noise. But I knew better. The moment I felt her breath on my skin — even if I couldn’t see her — I knew the end had already arrived. And I had something to do with it. Ten butterflies followed me after that. Not literal ones. Not always. They shimmered in my periphery. Each the wrong color. Each too vivid. Each drawn to me like heat to blood. They touched me in dreams. They watched me when I undressed. They whispered without words. I could taste their want. Some called me cursed. Broken. Unstable. But the truth is simpler. I’m blooming again — and they all feel it. They don’t love me. They remember me. They remember what I used to be — what I still am, underneath the silence. One of them burned me with just a kiss. One broke my spine with kindness. One slid her hand under my shirt like it was always hers. One cries when she touches me. One never speaks, but her eyes dig. One wants to keep me. One wants to ruin me. And one just wants to finish what we started. They think I’m choosing. I’m not. My body already did. And now the bloom inside me is turning darker.

When the nurse pulled the IV needle out of the back of my hand, her gaze was filled with pity. “Mr. Young, the heart meant for your transplant was transferred at the last minute. It was sent to the VIP ward on the seventh floor. It’s a shame, but all your pre-operation prep has gone to waste.” Marcus Stewart was warded on the seventh floor. He was the frail young man my sister brought home. Ten minutes ago, Marcus suddenly had terrible chest pain. My usually strong mother burst into tears. My stoic father slammed the table in front of every expert in the hospital, then decided to give Marcus the heart I had been waiting three years for. It was supposed to save my life. I hurried to the end of the corridor, but the green operating light had already come on. Clutching the twisting pain in my chest, I leaned against the ice-cold wall and slid to the floor. There was no need to wait anymore. My heart failure was terminal. The doctor said I would not last the next few days. The mechanical voice sounded in my head. [Master, your vital signs are rapidly deteriorating. If you terminate this body and leave this world now, you still have a chance at a new life. Would you like to proceed?] I looked at the faint grey hue of death tinging my fingertips. “...Yes.”

Just because I ate one chicken leg more than my brother, my father kicked me out of the house in the middle of a snowstorm. Later on, my father of an archeologist dug up my body. Due to my missing head, he did not recognize me. Even when he saw that the body had the same scars as I did, he did not care. Later on, my mother dug out my heart and showed it to her students. "Today, we will study the heart of someone with congenital heart disease." She once said she would recognize me no matter what I looked like. Mom, now that the only thing left of me is my heart, do you still recognize me?