The following morning, Elena Chen awoke to an unfamiliar silence in her small apartment. No sound of the maid tidying up, no kitchen bustling with freshly brewed coffee or her breakfast waiting. For five years, her mornings had been defined by luxury and comfort, orchestrated by the staff at Damien Ashford's mansion.
Now, all she had was silence.
She rolled onto her side, staring at the cracked ceiling. It felt as though her entire body had been drained of energy, the heavy weight of heartbreak pinning her down. She thought about Damien's cold voice from the night before.
"It's over, Elena. Don't make this harder on yourself."
The words replayed in her mind like a haunting melody, each repetition sharper than the last.
Dragging herself out of bed, Elena shuffled into the tiny bathroom. She turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face. When she looked up, the reflection staring back at her was unrecognizable. Her once radiant complexion had paled, and dark shadows marred the space under her eyes.
"How did I get here?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Her phone buzzed on the counter, breaking the silence. Elena turned her head slowly, eyes narrowing on the glowing screen. She had almost forgotten about the doctor's appointment she'd scheduled weeks ago. A nagging cough had turned into constant fatigue, and she had been feeling weaker every day.
Doctor's Appointment: 10:00 AM.
Sighing deeply, Elena dried her face and straightened up. "Get it together," she muttered to herself.
As she walked through her small, unfamiliar living room, Elena couldn't help but miss the grand spiral staircase of the Ashford mansion. The fresh sting of betrayal twisted in her chest, but she pushed the pain aside.
There were more pressing matters to deal with.
By the time Elena arrived at the clinic, her nerves were stretched thin. She sat in the cramped waiting room, fiddling with the zipper on her bag. Around her, strangers coughed, shuffled papers, and whispered anxiously to one another.
The clinical smell of antiseptic made her stomach churn.
"Elena Chen?"
The nurse's voice startled her, pulling her back to reality. Elena stood abruptly, brushing her hands over her rumpled clothes. She followed the nurse down a narrow hallway and into Dr. Roberts' office.
Dr. Roberts, a calm-looking man in his fifties, greeted her with a kind smile. "Good morning, Ms. Chen. Thank you for coming in. Please, have a seat."
Elena sat across from him, trying to mask her anxiety. "What's wrong, Dr. Roberts?"
The doctor's expression softened. "We received the results of your blood work and scans. Elena, there's something we need to discuss."
Elena swallowed hard. Her palms grew clammy, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Go on," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dr. Roberts hesitated for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. "Elena, you have lymphoma. It's a type of cancer that affects the lymphatic system."
The world tilted beneath her. Elena blinked, stunned, unsure if she had heard him correctly. "Lymphoma?"
Dr. Roberts nodded gently. "Yes. It's not easy to hear, I know, but the good news is that we've caught it in an early stage. There are very effective treatment options available, such as chemotherapy and radiation."
Elena felt as though her chest had caved in. Cancer. It was a word she had heard in passing—something tragic that happened to other people—never to her. Never to someone who still had so much life left to live.
"Treatment," she echoed, her voice hollow. "How long will it take?"
"It varies, depending on how your body responds," Dr. Roberts said, leaning forward slightly. "The important thing is to start as soon as possible. You're young, Elena. You have every reason to believe you can beat this."
The words fell on deaf ears. Elena's mind spiraled with thoughts she couldn't control. How had this happened? Only yesterday, she had been crying over Damien, convinced her life couldn't get any worse.
But now...
Now, everything had shifted.
"How long... do I have?" She asked faintly.
Dr. Roberts' kind eyes met hers. "Lymphoma is treatable, Elena. If we begin treatment now, your chances of remission are very high. It will be a difficult journey, but it's one you can win."
Elena barely heard him. She nodded numbly, not trusting herself to speak. Dr. Roberts handed her a stack of pamphlets, each one filled with words like "chemotherapy," "side effects," and "survival rates."
It felt surreal, like she was watching someone else's life unfold.
"Take some time to process this," Dr. Roberts said gently. "But don't wait too long to decide. I'll have my nurse schedule your next appointment."
Elena left the clinic in a daze. The bright sunlight felt blinding as she stepped outside. Cars honked and people bustled past her, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside her.
Back in her apartment, Elena sank onto the couch, clutching the stack of medical pamphlets in her trembling hands. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the smiling stock photos of cancer survivors on the covers.
How ironic. She had spent years sacrificing everything for Damien—her time, her dreams, her identity—and now, when she had nothing left, life was demanding one final sacrifice: her strength.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, snapping her out of her thoughts. She picked it up and saw a message from Damien.
Damien: I'll send someone over tomorrow to pick up my things. Don't make a scene, Elena.
The audacity of it left her breathless. After everything—after throwing her out like yesterday's trash—he still had the nerve to dictate her life.
Elena stared at the message, something inside her breaking.
No more.
Tears streamed silently down her face as she typed a single reply: Don't bother. Your things are already gone. So are you.
She tossed the phone onto the table and pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around herself. She let the tears fall, mourning not just Damien's betrayal but the loss of the life she had imagined—the life that no longer existed.
For hours, she sat there, alone in her grief. Eventually, her tears slowed, and her breathing steadied.
When Elena finally lifted her head, there was something new in her eyes—something that hadn't been there before. Determination.
Damien had taken everything from her, but life had given her a choice. She could crumble, or she could fight.
And she would fight.
Not for Damien. Not for anyone else. For herself.
"I won't let this beat me," she whispered into the silence.
Her voice was soft but firm, carrying a promise that she would keep.