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.

No clue how long it went on.

When it finally stopped, I was soaked, gasping like I'd nearly drowned.

Viviana ripped the gauze out and tossed it like trash.

"Why?" I panted. "Viviana, what did I do? Why do you hate me?"

She stared down, eyes cold. "I don't get why they even brought you back. You were already gone. Lost things should stay lost. And useless people? They shouldn't exist."

She slammed the door.

Her words echoed—

'Stay lost... Useless...Shouldn't exist...'

But I'm their real daughter.

Was it my fault I was taken?

Now I'm finally home, and I'm not even wanted?

Everything spun. I blacked out.

No clue how long passed before I heard her voice outside.

"Antonio, will you stay with me tonight?"

Through the glass, I saw her wrap an arm around his neck, all flirty and fake.

Antonio shoved her off. "I told you—I only love Emilia. She's it for me. We're getting married. Back off."

He walked away without a glance.

I stood frozen, head spinning.

He says he loves me.

So why won't he believe me?

Why let Viviana play doctor while I'm the one getting crushed under it all?

If he ever finds out she's the reason I'm dying...

Would he even care?

Or just regret picking the wrong side too late?

My chest felt ripped open. I shut the door quietly and slipped back to my room.

Pulled the papers from under my bed.

Stage IV lung cancer.

The words hit like a punch.

Three days, the doctor said.

Three days left.

The wedding's in three days.

Guess I won't be there.

I gave a bitter smile and started packing.

Everything was a memory of Antonio.

The clay doll we made—his was hideous, and I roasted him for days.

Our first movie ticket, tucked in my journal.

The necklace he gave me, promising he'd always care.

The sweeter the memory, the deeper it cut.

I boxed it all up, silent tears slipping down.

After packing, I headed downstairs.

My parents were already at the table, loading Viviana's plate.

Dad smiled when he saw me. "Emilia, come eat."

Mom chimed in, all sweet, "You need to eat more, honey. You're not well."

I nodded and sat.

One glance at the food—every dish was Viviana's favorite.

Nothing I could touch with my diagnosis.

I set my fork down. "Mom, Dad, I need to talk to you."

Dad looked up. "What is it?"

"Can we pause treatment for a couple days?" I asked. "I just want to focus on the wedding."

Dad's face dropped. "No. Treatment can't stop."

Antonio tried to soften it. "Your health comes first, Emilia. I'll handle the wedding. You just need to be the most beautiful bride."

Viviana gave her fake sorry face. "If it weren't for the pain from the new plan, you wouldn't be fighting it so hard..."

But her eyes said something else—'See? You still can't run.'

Dad jumped in. "Viviana's not at fault. She's helping you. You can't skip. What if something happens at the wedding?"

Mom nodded. "Exactly. Listen to your sister. One session a day. No skipping. Be good."

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.

'If you knew each treatment was killing me faster, would you still push me?'

Viviana walked over, smiling. "Time for your treatment."

"No—" I flinched.

"Emilia, stop," Antonio snapped. "It's for your own good."

Mom and Dad chimed in, "Listen to us, Emilia."

"If you keep this up, we'll postpone the wedding," they warned, annoyed.

Before, I would've fought. Thrown a fit.

They knew how much I loved Antonio—how much I wanted this wedding.

But now, I just bit my lip and cried quietly.

It's not the pain I'm scared of.

It's losing the little time I have left.

Three days. This could steal even that.

What if I don't make it out of that room? What if this is goodbye?

Mom saw my tears and wiped them gently. "Don't cry, sweetheart. Be good. It won't hurt after."

Viviana smiled, took my arm, and yanked me upstairs. "Let's go, Emilia."

She leaned in, voice low and sweet.

"Resist again, and I'll crank it so high you'll scream."

I looked at Antonio, begging him to see something—but he just told me to stay strong.

Viviana dragged me to the lab and strapped me down.

She picked up a syringe, voice icy.

"Stage IV hurts, huh? Since you're dying anyway, let's test something."

She jabbed the needle in and pushed the drug.

Cold shot through my veins. My vision blurred.

Pain exploded, my body locking up.

'Am I dying?

'Is this it? Will I never see Mom, Dad... Antonio again?'

When I came to, I was back in my hospital bed.

Outside, Viviana's voice slipped through the door. "Antonio, I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened—maybe an allergic reaction or something."

His voice cut like ice. "An allergic reaction? Viviana, what the hell were you thinking giving her untested meds? She's barely hanging on as it is!"

Viviana's voice cracked. "I didn't mean for this to happen. I just wanted her to get better fast, be strong for the wedding. I didn't think she'd react like that..."

Antonio let out a tired sigh. "Be more careful. She's too fragile for this. Don't screw up again."

That was it?

He let her off that easy?

Not even a second opinion?

If he brought in literally anyone else, he'd see—I'm actually dying.

My chest burned with that ugly twist of betrayal. I shut my eyes as tears slid down.

But even if he knew... what would it change? I'd still be gone.

The door creaked open. Antonio stepped in.

His face softened when he saw me awake. "Emilia, hey. How're you feeling?"

I shook my head. "What'd the doctor say?"

His eyes flickered. Fake smile, locked in. "Nothing major. Just stress. Stick to the treatment, you'll be okay."

I looked away, swallowing the bitterness. He wasn't worried about me—just scared I'd blame Viviana.

He tried to change the subject. "Wedding's in two days. Your dress is ready—they want you to try it on."

I nodded. I knew I'd never walk down that aisle, but maybe slipping into the dress, snapping a few pics... it'd be something.

My throat tightened. I blurted, "If I died... would you miss me?"

His face fell. He grabbed my hand, full panic. "Don't say that. You're not dying."

"But what if I do? I have lung canc—"

"Mr. Santoro! Dr. Bellanti fainted!" a nurse shouted from the hall.

Antonio froze—then bolted.

I stared at the door, numb.

***

Antonio never came back.

I got up and cracked the door open, catching a nurse in the hallway. "Where's Antonio?"

"He's with Dr. Bellanti," she said.

I clenched my jaw and pulled out my phone.

Viviana had just posted.

Photo: her and Antonio at some fancy restaurant, all smiles.

Caption: [Finally made it to the place I've always wanted to try! Thank you, Mr. Santoro.]

My hands shook. The phone slipped and hit the floor.

Pain stabbed through my chest. I coughed—blood.

Antonio... if you knew I was dying, would you stay?

Would you still choose her over me in my final hours?

***

After popping my pain meds, I left the hospital.

Didn't go home—went straight to the bridal shop. Tried on the dress. It hung a little loose, but in the mirror, I looked beautiful.

A staff member knelt to fix the hem. "Ms. Bellanti, you're so thin. It's not healthy. We've had to resize this dress so many times. You look even slimmer today."

That one stung.

Even a stranger could tell I was fading. But my own family? My fiancé? Clueless.

***

I left with the dress, heading home. I needed Antonio to see me in it.

Because if he didn't see me now... he never would.

The second I walked in, I saw them—Antonio and Viviana—sitting on the couch, tense.

Viviana's eyes flashed something nasty.

Antonio stood, voice sharp. "Emilia, did you report Viviana for screwing up your meds and causing your collapse?"

I froze. "What report?"

"Don't play dumb." His voice got sharper. "The hospital got a formal complaint about Viviana's meds. Who else would file it?"

"Antonio, don't talk to her like that," Viviana said gently. "Emilia, I know I messed up the treatment, and I'm sorry. But a report? That could destroy everything. I could lose my license."

My whole body went cold.

They'd already made up their minds. Guilty—without even asking.

"I didn't," I said.

Antonio's jaw tightened. "Still lying? You've been after Viviana for a while. Want me to list everything you've pulled? Why do you keep attacking her? She's your sister."

He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward my room.

"You need to think about what you've done. Stay in here until you get it."

Then the door slammed shut.

I sat on the floor, knees to my chest, silent. Tears slid down, sinking into the wood.

Then came the blood.

I touched my face—nose, mouth, both bleeding.

It soaked into the white of my wedding dress.

I closed my eyes and collapsed, vision tilting toward the clock on the wall.

Eight hours left.

Almost free.

***

That night before dinner, Antonio glanced up at the locked room, eyes clouded with doubt. "I should check on Emilia."

Emilia's parents—Riccardo and Francesca—nodded.

"Go for it. Last thing we need is her passing out before the wedding."

"Wait!" Viviana jumped in. "Already handled it. I sent someone up with food."

She grabbed his arm, voice soft but firm. "Don't cave now. She'll just twist it, like always. Let her learn—she can't keep acting like a brat."

Antonio kept staring at the door, something gnawing at him. But after a beat, he dropped back into his seat.

"...Alright."

***

The next morning, Antonio was up early, getting ready for the wedding. The Bellanti house was full-on buzzing.

Just before they headed out, Riccardo and Francesca nudged him.

"Why's Emilia so quiet? Don't tell me she's still sulking 'cause she hasn't said sorry."

"It's time. Go check on her."

Antonio headed upstairs.

He froze at the top. Something about the silence felt... off.

His gut twisted. He shoved it down and pushed the door open.

The second it cracked, the sharp, metallic sting of blood punched him in the face.

The white wedding dress—drenched in red.

He looked up. Blood was everywhere, splattered across the floor like some sick painting.

His chest locked up. No air. No logic.

"Emilia!"