Three years with leukemia. Three years of Lucas selling his plasma to save me. Today, locked in the bathroom, I pressed a blade to my wrist—just as voices outside my hospital room spilled the truth. "Lucas forced Stella to be a guinea pig, faking leukemia for three years—worse than real chemo." "He even wore a bald cap daily to keep up the act." Lucas chuckled. "She’s a janitor. Honored to help Evie’s research. I’ll marry her later—compensation." To ease his "burden," I’d scrubbed hospital toilets. The razor clattered as blood pooled. The door flew open—Lucas’s eyes burning crimson. As I faded, my abandoned fiancé’s voice echoed: "I’ll wait. However long it takes." 1 When consciousness returned, it felt like my eyelids were glued shut. But I could still hear them. The same voices, filling my room. “Lucas, you looked pretty panicked back there. Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her?” “Get real. He’s the CEO of Lockhart Pharmaceutical Group. You think he’d fall for a janitor?” The room fell silent for a beat, punctuated only by the steady, rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. I heard Lucas’s fingers tapping on the bedside table, a restless, drumming beat. Then, a short, sharp laugh. “Of course not.” His voice was cold steel. “If she dies now, Evie’s three years of research go down the drain. That’s all.” Each tap of his finger was a hammer blow to my soul. And to think, just for a second, I’d held a pathetic flicker of hope that he genuinely feared losing me. A phone rang. Not the cheap burner he always used around me, but a crisp, modern tone. “The monthly transfer came in? Good. Same as always—cash it out and toss it to some beggar on the street.” The voice on the other end was the hospital director’s. I knew it instantly. This hospital had thirty floors. Hundreds of toilets. Every single night, after my so-called "chemotherapy," I would drag my broken body through the halls and clean them all. For two thousand dollars a month. It wasn’t much, but I had every penny deposited directly into the hospital’s account, desperate to lift some of the weight off Lucas’s shoulders. Over seventy thousand dollars in three years. All of it, thrown away to beggars. A chair scraped against the floor, the sound grinding against my exposed nerves, my shredded dignity. “Jesus, man. How can you even stand to look at her face every day? She’s a mess.” “Before the experiment started, she was actually pretty hot. I’d have killed for that body, that face.” A soft thud, like someone kicking the bed frame. “Disgusting,” Lucas spat. “Try wearing a bald cap for three years and pretending to sell your plasma to pay her medical bills. That’s disgusting,” he countered, his voice dripping with resentment. “But for Evie… it’s all worth it.” The last words were a whisper, thick with a tenderness that was never meant for me. Disgusting. The man I thought would die for me, the man I’d been with for two years before this nightmare began, was the very architect of my suffering. What a complete and utter fool I’d been. I ran away from my life, from the corporate marriage my father had arranged, only to have him freeze all my accounts. I was starving on the streets of this city when Lucas, a handsome delivery guy, offered me a bowl of simple rice porridge. For that one act of kindness, I’d torched the bridge back to my family. For five years, he was my everything. But it was time to wake up. With a monumental effort, I forced my eyelids open. “Stella! You’re awake!” Lucas’s voice was choked with emotion. He threw his arms around me, his eyes red-rimmed, clutching me like a priceless treasure. It was a performance so perfect, you could drown in it. “Don’t you ever do something so stupid again! I told you, I will never give up on you. You’re going to get better.” Then, he pulled back slightly, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Stella… did you… did you hear anything?” I stared at his bald head. It was the same head I’d looked at for three years, but now it seemed utterly alien. I stretched my lips into a weak smile, mimicking the adoration I always showed him. “Should I have heard something?” He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding. The puff of air ghosted over my ear as he reached up and self-consciously touched his head. His tell. The nervous gesture he always made when he was lying. And for the first time, I saw it. The wig cap. The seam near his ear. It was so fake, so obvious. How had I never noticed in three years? How many times had I held him, my heart aching for him, begging him not to destroy himself for my sake? My gaze drifted to the other men in the room. They were dressed in expensive, tailored suits. Lucas, in contrast, wore a faded, washed-out shirt. The perfect disguise. Who would ever guess he was their boss? “Who are they?” I asked, my voice raspy. “Oh, them? They’re the buyers. For my plasma,” he said smoothly. “I just made a sale. Your next round of chemo is paid for.” One of the men in suits cleared his throat. “That’s right. Fifty thousand dollars, already transferred. Well, we’ll be on our way.” As they left, I spoke into the sudden quiet of the room. “I want to go home.” I knew the entire hospital was practically his property. To escape him, I first had to escape this building. He stared at me, stunned. I repeated myself, my voice firmer. “I want to be discharged, Lucas.” “I’ve been here for three years. I feel like my whole body is pickled in antiseptic!” I grabbed his arm, summoning the old, playful whine he could never resist. For three years, I had dreamed of leaving, but I’d never dared to ask. I wanted him to see me as a fighter, positive and determined. Now, uttering the words, I watched his face. And he agreed. Of course he did. He was, after all, still playing the part of the perfect, doting boyfriend who would do anything for me. The taxi sped through the city, his hand holding mine the entire time. It stopped in front of a run-down, decrepit apartment building. He carried my single bag up the stairs. The moment he opened the door, the air hit me first—stale and thick with the scent of damp and decay. “Stella, after you were hospitalized, I… I had to sell the condo we bought together. I rented this place,” he said, his voice heavy with false regret. “But don’t worry. I’ll work my ass off to buy it back for us.” The condo. We’d saved for two years, filling it with pictures of us, cozy furniture, matching towels and toothbrushes. Lucas, wearing an apron, cooking for me. How could the man in my memories be the same one whose lies I’d overheard in the hospital? Something soft and squishy under my shoe brought me back to the present. I glanced down. A dead mouse. I forced a bright smile. “It’s okay, Lucas! It’s… cozy. It even comes with a little pet!” He dragged my bag inside and began putting my clothes in a rickety dresser, just as he used to do in our beautiful home. “Stella, go get washed up. The doctor said you need to rest.” I went into the bathroom. The water meter on the wall read a definitive, stark: 0. He hadn’t just rented this place. He’d found an abandoned, condemned apartment to complete his charade. Rain began to streak down the grimy windowpane. I turned and caught my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back sent a jolt of terror through me. Her bald head gleamed with a pale, bluish tint under the single bare bulb. Her cheekbones jutted out like razors. Her eyes were sunk deep into bruised, hollow sockets. That woman… it was me. For three years, Lucas had never let me look in a mirror. Now I knew why. I was a monster. Suddenly, the bathroom door flew open. With a roar of frustration, Lucas slammed his fist into the mirror. Glass exploded, showering the floor. A thousand tiny shards reflected a thousand versions of my grotesque face. Blood dripped from his knuckles onto the cracked linoleum. “Stella, don’t look,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms. “I’m sorry. Don’t look.” But his embrace was suffocating. He was so deep in his own lie, he was starting to drown in it himself. "I'm not that fragile," I mumbled, pulling away to see his hand. "Let me take care of that." As I wrapped his knuckles in gauze, the memories became sharper, more painful. Whenever he’d gotten hurt before, he would whine and beg me to kiss it better. It would always end with him pressing me into the mattress, his voice hoarse as he whispered a name over and over. “Evie… Evie…” Not Stella. Evie. A tear escaped and landed on the back of his hand. He flinched as if burned. Just then, his phone rang. He gently stroked my hair and stepped out onto the tiny, rusted balcony to take the call. The flimsy door did nothing to block the sound. “Are you coming home tonight, Lucas?” a girl’s voice, sweet and playful, chirped through the phone. “It’s my birthday tomorrow, you have to be there!” “I’m on my way back right now, sweetheart,” his voice was a river of gentle affection. “I’ll have a present for you tomorrow.” A clap of thunder rattled the windows. “I just got a call for a job,” he said, rushing back inside. “I have to go now. Lock the door behind me. If the thunder gets too loud, just cover your ears.” He was gone in a flash, but not before remembering my fear of thunderstorms. He’d left the balcony door open. A cold gust of wind swept in, drying the tears on my face. Using the last of the money on my phone, I bought a plane ticket home. Just as I confirmed the purchase, a text message popped up from an unknown number. “The Grand Imperial Hotel, tomorrow. You’ll get to see a very different side of your dear Lucas.” I knew who it was. Evie. The mastermind of my three-year-long torture. I’d never even met her. Why was she revealing the truth to me now? It was a trap. I knew it was a trap. But the next day, in an act of pure self-destruction, I went downstairs and bought a wig. … The taxi pulled up to the Grand Imperial Hotel, and the first thing I saw was the massive screen above the entrance. It displayed a looping photo of Lucas, dressed in a breathtakingly expensive custom suit, his hair styled to perfection. On his arm was a beautiful, smiling girl. Evie. So, after five years of being the center of my world, this is how I finally meet her. The invisible girl who, without ever showing her face, had turned my life into a living hell for her own ambition. I slipped into the grand ballroom like a rat slinking through the shadows, watching her moment of triumph. She stood on a stage, holding a microphone. “Thank you all for coming to my birthday celebration! I’m also thrilled to announce that my groundbreaking research on a new leukemia treatment is nearing completion!” The room erupted in applause. They were all praising her genius, her dedication. Her eyes found mine across the crowded room. A glint of challenge, of pure malice, sparked in them. Then, her voice, amplified and laced with panic, filled the hall. “Oh my god! The St. Christopher medal my brother gave me… it’s gone! Someone must have stolen it!” A wave of murmurs and commotion swept through the guests. Lucas immediately ordered the hotel security to find the thief. But they didn’t search the crowd. They walked in a straight line, directly towards me. My blood ran cold. I turned and ran. A hand tangled in my hair, yanking hard. The wig came off, fluttering to the floor. “It’s her! She’s the thief! She’s been lurking in the corner the whole time!” “Search her!” I spun around to face them, and my eyes locked with Lucas’s. He froze, the color draining from his face. He reflexively ran a hand through his own, real hair. “Stella? What are you doing here?” He took a step forward. “Whatever you saw tonight… I can explain when we get home. Please, just be good and give Evie back her medal.” Looking at him now, so polished and powerful, a bitter laugh escaped my lips. Tears streamed down my face. “Explain? Explain what? That I don’t have leukemia? That I was just a lab rat for Evie’s little project?” “You’ve been playing me for three years! Was it fun? Did you get a good laugh? I wanted to kill myself, Lucas! I almost did, over and over again!” “You know?” His voice trembled. He reached for me, his hand outstretched. He tried to say more, but Evie’s supporters were already on me. He did nothing to stop them as they grabbed at my clothes. My coat was ripped from my shoulders, exposing the thin hospital gown underneath. And beneath that, my skin. A horrifying canvas of countless needle pricks and vast, mottled bruises covering my torso and arms. Gasps filled the room. “Oh, god! How disgusting!” “What is wrong with her? She looks like she’s carrying a plague! Get her out of here!” Amidst the chorus of disgust, a sharp crack echoed on the marble floor. The St. Christopher medal had fallen from my pocket and shattered. The medal he claimed he’d gotten for me after a pilgrimage to a famous cathedral, where he’d knelt in prayer for days. I remembered him pressing it into my hand, a hot tear falling with it. “Stella,” he’d whispered, “you’re going to be okay.” “That’s it!” Evie shrieked, pointing at the broken pieces. “That’s the one my brother got for me after my fever last year! He went all the way to…” She trailed off, squinting. “Wait… no. That one just… looks like it. I remember now. This is the one he bought online for $4.99 with free shipping.” “A cheap knockoff.”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393973", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel