My Faked Death, His Endless Torment

Ela Campbell POV:

The taxi dropped me at the edge of town, a dingy motel with a flickering neon sign that read "The Oasis." It was anything but. The air was thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and cheap disinfectant. The room was small, with a single saggy bed and a dusty window overlooking a cracked parking lot. This was my sanctuary, my final stop. A far cry from the opulent Hayes estate, but at least it was mine. No one here knew my name, my history, or the slow, agonizing death that was consuming me.

I collapsed onto the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. The chronic pain, usually a dull throb, now flared into an inferno. It ripped through my abdomen, twisting my insides, making me gasp. I curled into a fetal position, clutching my stomach, sweat beading on my forehead. It felt like a thousand tiny needles, hot and sharp, piercing my organs, tearing me apart from the inside.

This wasn't new. This agonizing pain had been my constant companion since childhood. I remembered the early days, when I was seven, and Isabel had just joined our family. She was always so sweet, so eager to help. One day, she'd insisted I wear a new dress she'd picked out, a beautiful velvet number. But the fabric was stiff, itchy, and within hours, my skin was covered in an angry rash, my throat closing up. My parents, distraught, banned me from velvet. Isabel, with tears in her eyes, had whispered to King, Ela's just so fragile. I worry about her.

Then there was the summerキャンプ, before my teens, when Isabel had dared me to climb a treacherous cliff face. I fell, of course, twisting my ankle, scraping my knees. I lay there for hours, alone, in excruciating pain, before I was finally found. Isabel, when asked, had tearfully insisted I was so brave for trying, but that I had always been a bit clumsy. She had become the hero, rushing to get help, while I was the burden, needing constant care.

And the "healing herbs," the special teas she brewed for me, claiming they would strengthen my "delicate constitution." They were always sweet, and at first, they seemed to help. But over time, the pain intensified, the fatigue became crushing, the episodes of coughing blood more frequent. I used to think I was just naturally weak, prone to illness. My parents reinforced that belief, always comparing me to Isabel's robust health.

But tonight, seeing the fast, unnatural reaction Isabel conjured up, a horrifying truth clicked into place. The "allergy" to wool, the velvet dress, the climbing accident that left me with chronic leg pain, the "healing herbs." It was all connected. A chilling, terrifying realization.

Isabel wasn't helping me. She was poisoning me.

A cold, visceral rage surged through me, momentarily eclipsing the pain. All those years. All that suffering. All that gaslighting. It wasn't my weakness. It was her malice. She had stolen my health, my family's affection, my fiancé-my entire life. The fury was a burning fire in my veins, eclipsing the dull ache of my dying body.

Ela.

The voice was a whisper, a faint echo in my mind. King. A familiar, almost forgotten connection, a mental link that had once been strong but had faded over years of neglect. He was calling to me.

Ela, where are you? The voice was laced with a strange urgency, a desperation I hadn't heard in years.

I scoffed. Too little, too late, King. I was too weak to respond, too weary to care. My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I could feel my body shutting down, piece by piece. Fifteen minutes. Ten. Five.

Suddenly, a soft knock on the door. "Room service," a gentle voice called.

Room service? Here? I frowned, confused. The door creaked open, and a kind-faced woman with soft gray hair and warm, crinkled eyes stood in the doorway. She held a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a glass of water. Her smile was genuine, a stark contrast to the cold faces I had seen all my life.

"I saw you check in," she said, her voice soft and maternal. "You looked a bit under the weather. I thought some hot soup might help." She placed the tray on the small table. "I'm Gertrude, I own this place."

Tears pricked my eyes. A stranger's kindness, a gesture so simple, yet so profoundly touching, broke through the numb shield I had built around myself. I hadn't realized how desperately I craved human warmth.

Just then, the door was violently shoved open a second time. Isabel stood there, her eyes blazing, her elegant dress a cruel mockery of my ragged state. Her expression was triumphant, bordering on psychotic.

"You really thought you could just disappear, didn't you, Ela?" Her voice was a purr, laced with venom. She pushed Gertrude aside, sending the tray crashing to the floor. The hot soup splashed onto my face, stinging my already raw skin.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" Isabel said, her voice dripping with fake concern, but her eyes conveyed pure malice. "Such a clumsy girl I am!"

Gertrude, surprisingly, stood her ground. "What happened? And who are you?" Her voice was firm, despite the shock.

Isabel laughed, a cold, brittle sound. "I'm Isabel Fox, Ela's sister. And you, old woman, should mind your own business." Her eyes narrowed. "Unless you want to end up like that nosy city councilman who suddenly 'resigned' after trying to investigate our family's charity foundation." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Some people just can't keep their hands out of other people's affairs, can they?"

My blood ran cold. The city councilman. The one who had been asking too many questions about Hayes Industries' questionable land deals. He had vanished, his reputation smeared. Isabel. It was always Isabel.

"You… you monster," I choked out, my voice barely audible. The world spun. I felt cold, so cold.

"Monster?" Isabel's laugh filled the small room, a chilling sound. "You have no idea, darling. You think this is bad? You think you're close to the end?" She stepped closer, her face inches from mine, her eyes gleaming with a terrifying satisfaction. "This is just the beginning of your suffering, Ela. The end will be so much sweeter for me." She leaned in, her voice a cruel whisper. "You were always a curse, Ela. A burden. A weak, pathetic shadow. And now, you will finally vanish. Just as I always planned."