Reborn After My Father Stole My Heart: This Time, You'll Pay Blood for Blood

I died on the operating table.

My father personally strapped me to it.

To transplant my heart to my half-sister.

In a private hospital, on a cold operating table.

Looking at the chilling surgical instruments, I cried out loudly, "Dad, please, let me go."

But with my hands and feet restrained, I couldn't escape.

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A sharp pain shot through me.

The doctor wanted to anesthetize me, but my father stopped him.

"No need for anesthesia, just take out her heart directly."

I stared at him with wide eyes, hardly believing this was my father.