The afternoon my critical condition notice was issued, Silas Stenson popped a bottle of champagne in the lab.

On social media, a photo showed him and Wynter Keller standing side by side in the golden sunset, their white coats bathed in light. The caption read only one line—'Ten years—it finally worked.'

Everyone said he was devoted, that he'd spent ten sleepless years trying to save me.

When the nurse, her eyes red, showed it to me on her phone, I was staring at the wavering lines on the monitor.

No one knew that the drug had already been perfected a year ago. And I was the only candidate who wasn't allowed to receive it.

The Patient Who Couldn't Be Saved

Late that night, Silas finally came to the hospital. He reeked of alcohol, and his white coat still carried a trace of a woman's perfume.

"Chloe, how are you feeling?"

I looked at him and asked softly, "Silas, when can I start the treatment?"

He frowned. "Wynter said your current survival rate is only 30%. It's too risky."

"What about Mr. Zerin's daughter last month?" I asked quietly. "What was her survival rate?"

Silas hesitated. "She was only in stage three. You're terminal. It's different."

"They donated 30 million to your research fund," I said, fixing my eyes on him. "Is that what makes it different?"

His face darkened. "Chloe, how can you think of me like that? I developed this drug for you."

Seeing the righteous look on his face, I suddenly laughed. "Silas, do you even remember how I got this illness in the first place?"

…

Ten years ago, there was an explosion in his lab, and I inhaled the toxic chemical fumes from running into the fire and dragging him out.

The diagnosis read: acute chemical lung injury, irreversible fibrosis in the later stage.

He had knelt by my bed and sworn, "Chloe, I'll find a way to cure you."

…

He was about to speak when his phone rang—a call from Wynter.

"Prof. Stenson, the lights in the lab went out. I'm a little scared… could you come over?" Her voice was soft, almost tearful.

Silas immediately stood up. "Don't be scared, I'll be right there."

I grabbed the corner of his coat. "Silas, I'm not done talking to you—"

"We'll talk another time. Wynter's alone, I can't leave her like that." He pulled his coat free and walked out without looking back.

After he left, I asked the nurse to check the condition of that rich tycoon's daughter. As expected, she had been given Silas' new drug. In three months, her condition had stabilized, and she was already living a normal life.

Meanwhile, I had been issued my third critical condition notice.

…

The next day, I forced my failing body to sneak into Silas' lab. Standing outside the door, I heard Wynter's voice.

"Prof. Stenson, let's give this new batch to Mr. Jemison's daughter. He's willing to invest another 50 million."

There was a brief silence inside before Silas spoke, his tone gentle—one I hadn't heard in years. "Wynter, I know you're thinking of what's best for the lab, but—"

"But what?" she interrupted, sounding aggrieved. "Prof. Stenson, I know I shouldn't say this, but… is Chloe really that sick? Every time she's in critical condition, it's right when you're the busiest. Last time, when you were about to present at the international conference, she was admitted to the ICU. Now, just as we're celebrating the success of the new drug, she's critical again. Isn't that a little too convenient?"

She sighed softly. "Professor, you've already sacrificed so much for her. Mr. Jemison's investment will determine the project's future. You can't keep letting her… hold you back."

Silas was silent for a long time. I held my breath, waiting for his answer.

"You're right," he finally said. "Maybe I've been too soft on her. Fine—let's do as you said. Give this batch to Ms. Jemison." His voice turned cold. "After all, Chloe's condition probably isn't as dire as she makes it out to be."

So all those times I hovered between life and death—in his eyes, it was all pretend.

I pushed open the door, shattering the cozy scene inside. Wynter startled and instinctively leaned toward Silas, who reflexively turned, shielding her with half his body.

Silas' expression faltered. "Chloe? What are you doing here? In your condition, you shouldn't be wandering around like this."

The Cure That Wasn't Mine

"If I hadn't come," I rasped, staring at him with all the strength I had left, "would I have died without even knowing why?"

Wynter peeked out from behind him, her tone gentle but her eyes evasive. "Chloe, how could you get out of bed? Didn't the doctor tell you to rest?"

"Rest?" I let out a bitter laugh. "You mean lie there quietly while you hand my medicine to someone else?"

Silas' expression darkened completely. "Chloe Campbell! Watch your tone! Wynter's only worried about you!"

"Worried about me?" I pointed straight at her. "Worried enough to convince you to give my treatment to someone else? Worried enough to suggest I'm faking my illness?"

"I didn't…" Wynter's eyes reddened instantly as she turned to Silas with a trembling voice. "Prof. Stenson, I was only worried you were pushing yourself too hard…"

Silas' voice turned colder. "Look at yourself, Chloe. You're paranoid, irrational! Wynter's been nothing but kind to you, yet you twist everything she says!"

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. "I'm being irrational? Silas, I'm the one lying in that hospital bed waiting to die! I'm the one who's been denied the drug!"

"Enough!" He cut me off sharply. "Do you really think that if you collapse right now, I'll drop everything like before and stay by your side again?"

He stepped closer, his glare searing. "Chloe, how long are you going to keep up this act?"

My whole body trembled; I could barely stand. "You think my critical condition is an act?"

Wynter gently tugged at his sleeve, her voice soft and pleading. "Prof. Stenson, please don't. Chloe might just be scared…"

"She's not scared—she's selfish!" Silas finally exploded, as if all the anger he'd held back for years had found a target. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead already! You should be grateful you're still alive, not acting like this! Now that we've made progress, Wynter brought in investors, and all you care about is yourself!"

At that, he slipped an arm around Wynter's shoulders, the gesture both possessive and protective. "If Wynter hadn't stood by me, supporting me, I wouldn't have made it this far. And you? What have you ever given me besides using your illness to tie me down?"

I looked at the two of them and suddenly felt like I didn't know him at all. What happened to the boy who had once held my hand and promised, 'I'll save you, no matter what,' ten years ago? When had he turned into this man who used guilt and moral lectures like weapons?

With the last of my strength, I asked quietly, "Silas… would it be better for you if I just died?"

He frowned, his tone impatient. "There you go again—always the same drama. Go back and rest. Stop interfering with my work and Wynter's."

He didn't look at me again. Instead, he turned to Wynter and said softly, "What happened to your hand? Did you bump it just now? Let me see."

That tender tone—I hadn't heard it from him in ten years.

I turned and walked away, and at last, the tears I'd been holding back began to fall.

The Truth in the Medicine

The violent surge of emotion sent me into another crisis that very night. My breathing grew shallow, my oxygen levels plummeted, and I was on the verge of needing a ventilator.

Angela Reign, the head nurse who had cared for me since the beginning, stood by my side with reddened eyes as she administered the medication, gently patting my back to soothe me. "Chloe, hang in there. You have to hold on! Prof. Stenson has already succeeded, hasn't he? I saw the news yesterday—his new drug has made a miracle happen..."

Her voice broke as she spoke. "I still remember when you first fell ill. Prof. Stenson cared for you so much—he'd stay by your bedside through the night, holding your hand and saying, 'Don't be afraid, Chloe, I'll save you.' And now he's finally done it. Your suffering's almost over."

Listening to her, I could only force a faint, bitter smile.

Once my condition finally stabilized, Angela went to fetch some water, leaving me alone in the room. Just then, Wynter appeared in the doorway. She held a delicate box of medicine in her hand, her smile bright enough to sting the eyes.

"Chloe, guess what I brought you? This is the new drug that Prof. Stenson developed!" She waved the box teasingly in front of me, then tucked it away again. "But, well… this one's pretty expensive—500 thousand for a single dose. And you, Chloe, still owe the hospital quite a bit. I'm afraid you can't afford it."

I drew in a deep breath. "The medical fund my parents left behind—"

"Ten million?" Wynter laughed softly. "Chloe, you really don't know, do you?"

She walked closer to my bed, looking down at me from above. "That money's long gone. Prof. Stenson already spent it."

"That's a lie!" I struggled to sit up.

"Is it?" Wynter pulled out her phone, swiping to a photo before tossing it onto my blanket. It was a financial report, every detail of the fund's flow laid out in black and white.

"He used your parents' money to build his lab, buy a riverside villa, and get himself a luxury car. Oh, and…" She pointed to one of the entries with a grin. "My living expenses. Over the years, that's added up to more than a million."

A chill spread through my body as I stared at the report, my fingers trembling. The column marked "medical expenses for Chloe Campbell" was pathetically small.

"Do you know why your illness hasn't improved in ten years, but only gotten worse?" Wynter leaned closer, her voice low and deliberate. "Because what Prof. Stenson's been giving you isn't treatment—it's a placebo. Just plain vitamin tablets."

A deafening roar filled my mind. I couldn't hear anything else.

"Chloe, did you really think you were his fiancee?" Wynter's voice sounded like it came from miles away. "You were nothing but his control subject—his living sample.

"To prove that his new drug worked, he needed someone like you in the control group—someone denied real treatment so he could track the disease's natural progression and compare results. These ten years, you thought he was saving you? He was watching you die, little by little, collecting data the whole time. And the money your parents left to save you? He used it all to build his own success."

My mouth opened, but no sound came out. The monitor beside me started to spike wildly, its alarms shrieking in the sterile air.

Wynter watched my reaction with obvious satisfaction, her smile growing more triumphant by the second. "Now that the new drug has succeeded, everyone in the medical field is praising Prof. Stenson as a genius. But none of them know that this medicine could've saved you long ago. He just chose to let you die, because…"

She leaned close to my ear and whispered, "Because you're worth more alive than dead. Chloe, do you know why he's been visiting you less these past six months? It's because he's already gathered enough data from you—you've almost outlived your usefulness. So now… you can die."

My chest heaved violently as the air caught in my throat. Each breath burned, each second harder than the last. The monitor beside me erupted into a shrill alarm, the red lights flashing in sync with my panic.

Wynter straightened her clothes and looked down at me, her expression cold and unfeeling. "Don't blame me for being cruel, Chloe. Blame yourself for being stupid."

With that, she turned and walked out. The door slammed shut behind her with a hollow thud.

By the time Angela burst back into the room, my face had gone ghastly pale, my lips turning purple beneath the oxygen mask. "Chloe! Chloe, hold on!"

Her hands shook as she adjusted the oxygen flow and slammed the emergency button. The on-duty doctor rushed in, and after a frantic round of resuscitation, my vitals finally began to steady.

"Ms. Reign," the doctor said gravely, "Ms. Campbell's emotional fluctuations are too severe. She must remain calm, otherwise…" He left his words hanging, only shaking his head.

Otherwise what—I already knew. Otherwise, I would die, just like Wynter said—I would quietly wait for death to take me.

But suddenly, I didn't want to die anymore.

"Chloe, don't be afraid. I'll go find Prof. Stenson. He'll know what to do," Angela said, her eyes red with worry.

"No." My voice rasped out suddenly, hoarse but firm. Angela froze.

"Angela… do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, sweetheart. Always."

"Help me with something..." I reached beneath my pillow with trembling fingers and pulled out a small, crumpled slip of paper—a note containing every drug name I'd ever been prescribed. "Help me test these. I want to know what kind of medicine I've been taking all these years."

Angela took it from me, her hands trembling. "Chloe, what did you find out?"

I didn't answer. I simply closed my eyes. I needed proof. Real, undeniable proof.

…

Three days later, Angela returned in secret with the lab report. She looked at the results and broke down in tears. "Chloe… these medicines—they're just regular vitamins and glucose injections. How could this happen? What have you been taking all this time?"

I took the report from her with shaking hands, my fingers tracing the cold printed words—Vitamin B, Vitamin C, Glucose. Not a single drug that could treat my illness.

Wynter hadn't lied. Silas had really made me his control subject—a living experiment.

"Angela." I looked up, my tears long dried, my voice calm and steady. "I need you to do one more thing for me."