The Girl No One Believed

The doctors said it was over—stage four, nothing left to fight. I had three days, max.

I signed the organ donor papers myself. If I was gonna die, at least someone else could get a second shot.

Told my family I was sick. But my so-called sister—the doctor—shrugged it off like I was making it up.

She convinced them I was losing it, not dying.

My parents and fiancé fell for it. Handed me over like she was some hero. She wasn't. She pushed me closer to the end.

And when I finally died, the same people who wouldn't listen cried like they hadn't let it happen.

The second I hit the hospital doors, pain tore through my chest like a blade.

I doubled over, coughing so hard I couldn't breathe.

Sweat dripped down my face as I grabbed the wall for balance.

Then I heard it—smooth, steady, way too familiar.

"Emilia?"

Antonio Santoro.

My fiancé. And the freaking mafia boss.

I tried to pull back, but his hand clamped around my wrist.

"Emilia, what are you doing here? Viviana's been freaking out. You're supposed to be in the hospital. Snuck out again to dodge treatment, didn't you?"

I dropped my gaze. Viviana Bellanti wasn't treating me—she was straight-up torturing me.

But what was the point in saying anything? No one ever listened. And I was running out of time anyway.

Pain slammed into my lungs. I bent over, choking on it.

Antonio just frowned, like I was being dramatic again.

He sighed, trying to play nice.

"Emilia, seriously? Viviana's your sister. Why would she hurt you? Let's go. She adjusted your meds 'cause of the paranoia. Just stick with it, you'll feel better."

His grip tightened. I didn't even get a chance to push back—he dragged me straight to the exam room.

Viviana was mid-convo with someone, but the second she spotted me, that mask slipped.

A flicker of cruelty, gone in a blink, replaced by a sugary smile.

"Emilia, you can't just run off like that. It's dangerous."

I turned my head, staying quiet.

She didn't even blink.

"She's probably having another episode. Thinks I'm trying to hurt her again," Viviana said, all casual. "I'll grab the new treatment plan."

I shook my head. "I'm not—"

She cut me off. "Still resisting. It's getting worse. Antonio, keep an eye on her. I'll get things prepped."

I kept my head down. Tears slid down my face.

Viviana's version of 'treatment'?

Being strapped to a chair, pumped full of God-knows-what until I couldn't taste, couldn't eat, just blood and bile.

And they still called it healing.

My parents. Antonio. They all believed her.

So I stayed quiet. Took it.

I was twelve when traffickers grabbed me.

Made me beg on the streets. If I didn't bring in enough, they'd beat me or starve me.

When I finally got away and made it home, there was another girl in my house.

My parents had adopted her. Told me to call her my sister.

Said they missed me so much, they brought Viviana in.

I thought having an older sister meant love and laughs.

Nope.

Viviana played the perfect angel—sweet, generous, always so 'thoughtful.'

She trashed me behind the scenes, made me look like the messed-up one.

My parents started thinking I'd come back broken, picked up bad habits.

Even Antonio—my childhood fiancé—started gushing over Viviana like she was some kind of saint. Right in front of me.

Not long after I got back, I started coughing up blood. Breathing got hard. Just crossing a room felt like drowning.

Viviana was already a doctor at some fancy private hospital.

So of course, that's where my parents took me.

Viviana said it was just a lung infection. Some antibiotics and I'd be fine.

I didn't buy it. I was coughing up blood nonstop, couldn't sleep, and every breath felt like fire. That wasn't just some minor bug.

When I pushed for more tests, she changed her tune—called it paranoia.

My parents backed her up. Said she was a top doctor, so she had to be right.

They forced me to follow her treatment plan.

I tried to run. More than once.

Every time, Antonio dragged me back.

Now he was frowning again, lecturing me like a kid.

"Viviana's done everything for you. And you keep fighting her. Aren't you ashamed of throwing it all away? Quit causing trouble and behave."

I looked up at him, desperate. He used to swear he'd always believe me.

Now, all he believed was Viviana.

"Antonio, tie her up," she said. "She'll just run again."

He tried to soften it. "Emilia, I know it hurts. But just a little longer, okay? The wedding's in three days. You don't wanna have a meltdown at the altar, right?"

Tears blurred my vision. Fear wrapped tight around my chest. Still, I nodded. My voice barely came out. "Okay... I'll do it."

I climbed onto the table. Didn't fight.

Let him strap down my wrists, then my ankles.

His face lit up like I'd just made him proud.

"Emilia, you're finally accepting treatment... You're being so good."

No wonder Antonio looked shocked. Before, just hearing the word "treatment" made me snap. They needed a whole crew to hold me down.

As the rope bit into my wrist, I whispered, "Antonio, it hurts..."

I shut my eyes.

Would dying hurt like this?

Bleeding out, lungs failing?

Or was that easier than living through this?

Before Antonio left, he kissed my cheek.

"You're doing great this time. It'll hurt a little, but it'll be over fast. Be strong—I know you are. Be good. I'll be right outside."

The second he walked out, Viviana dropped the fake warmth.

She leaned in, that cold smile cutting through me. "You should've stayed gone, like the stray you are. Why come back and fight for something that was never yours?

"There's only one daughter in this family, and it's me. And Antonio's fiancée? That'll always be me."

I kept my mouth shut. No reaction.

Viviana didn't miss a beat.

"You like Antonio, huh? Think he'll cry when you're gone? Don't worry, I'll be there to comfort him. Right after you die."

She hit a button.

Wires uncoiled from the bed, buzzing with blue light.

Pain tore through me. My body jolted.

I bit down hard, refusing to scream.

She cranked the voltage higher.

"Ah—mm!"

When I finally lost control, she stuffed gauze in my mouth.

I thrashed, body shaking, teeth grinding.

The stench of burnt skin filled the room.

Blood coated my tongue.