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Is she the same

last update Last Updated: 2025-01-03 11:51:38

°ADRIAN °

Today, my legs felt strange—sore and tingling where the needles had pierced. Was that normal? I would ask her.

I was already out when it struck me. She’d probably be at college by now.

Whatever. I’d grab some food instead.

I called for my attendant, who helped me down the stairs. Each step was a brutal reminder of how much I hated this—being dependent, being weak. I hope these sessions work soon. This wasn’t a life I intended to endure much longer. I have many unfinished businesses out there.

By the afternoon, I was knee-deep in estate work with Timothy when the door swung open without warning.

By an Uninvited. Unwanted. And the person I despised most in this fucking world—my half-brother, Victor Royce.

“Stop,” I said sharply, my tone cold and biting.

“Relax, Adrian,” Victor said, smirking, already testing my patience.

“Leave,” I ordered, my voice low and measured, barely containing the disdain beneath it.

Victor chuckled, throwing himself onto the couch as if he owned the
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  • The Cure Is you   Emotions.

    °ADRIAN° “Yes, sir. The card was last swiped at a hospital.” The moment the words left his mouth, a million questions struck my mind. That's not what I expected. A hospital? Why would she be at a hospital? Questions churned in my head, relentless and unforgiving. Had she paid someone’s bill? Was it out of necessity? Charity? A calculated move to appear noble? Or was this a ploy, another angle I couldn’t yet see? Was she truly that selfless? The word didn’t sit well. It clashed with the Serena I had constructed in my mind—the little gold digger who married me for money and power. Opportunistic. Manipulative. A woman who knew exactly what she was doing at all times. And yet, here she was, standing in front of me, arms crossed. Her posture was defensive, but not combative. I caught the faint trace of tears clinging to her cheeks, her nose tinged pink from crying. She looked... Cute. Damn it, Adrian. Stop. It doesn’t matter. “Fine. Go,” I said, waving her off dismissively, t

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  • The Cure Is you   A peace offering.

    °SERENA° “But don’t treat everyone as if they’re beneath you. We’re humans, Adrian. We have emotions too.” I don’t even know why I am saying this; he won’t understand anyway. All he ever does is what he wants. I stumbled to my bed, hugging myself, as his words cut through me again and again. It hurts. It really hurts to know he thought I was like that—someone so vile, so opportunistic. For a split second yesterday, I thought maybe, just maybe, he had a heart too. But today, he proved me utterly wrong. And with his cold dismissal, he buried the fragile hope that had dared to sprout, that had threatened to appear. I should be used to this by now—the accusations, the judgment, the way his eyes harden every time he looks at me. But no amount of time or repetition makes it easier. If anything, it carves deeper, each word and action leaving a scar I can’t quite hide. I thought, even though he doesn’t care about me, at least he respects and understands me. That he sees I am not as des

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  • The Cure Is you   Feared answers.

    °SERENA° I came home late tonight, though I’m happy my application was approved and Adrian didn’t do anything to ruin it. All I need to do now is prepare the herbs, give him his needling, and then collapse into bed. Sleep is calling me like a lullaby, and tomorrow is the weekend—a rare chance to breathe. But why do I feel so drained? It was past 9 by the time I finished making the herbal medicine. The rich aroma of the herbs wafted through the air, but even that couldn’t energize me. Now, all that’s left is to deliver it and do the needling. Then, sleep. I dragged myself upstairs, each step feeling like a punishment. For the first time, I found myself getting irritated at how big his house is. Why does he need all this space when he lives alone? Heartless guy. Couldn’t he just stay in a smaller place? I knocked on his door, waiting for that familiar, icy voice to respond. And there it was. “Come in.” Twisting the knob, I pushed the door open with what little strength

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  • The Cure Is you   Messed up.

    °SERENA° It’s been three weeks, and as promised, Adrian hasn’t questioned my methods. Well, apart from his occasional jabs—like calling me “half-dead” or “little gold digger”—everything else felt... normal. Maybe even good. If life could just stay this way—steady and uncomplicated—things might actually turn out okay. Three more years to finish my degree, and I’ll finally become the doctor I’ve always dreamed of being, ready to help those in need. But even as I try to focus on the future, there’s a question gnawing at the back of my mind. One I’ve been avoiding because I’m terrified of the answer. Adrian has started moving his fingers, and now and then, even his legs twitch with effort. It’s incredible to witness. He’s been working so hard, pouring his strength into the exercises, along with continuous simulations, and taking the herbal medicine. If things continue like this, it won’t be long until he’s walking again. And while that thought fills me with joy—it really does—there’s

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  • The Cure Is you   Something wrong

    °ADRIAN° Everything is going unusually well, almost too well, which gives me an odd sense of unease. Life can’t possibly be this good. That little gold digger has been behaving herself—doing her job without complaint and even keeping her sharp tongue in check. Perhaps it’s because I’ve started to respect her, and I treat her accordingly. After digging into her past, I discovered something unexpected: she wasn’t the bride Evelyn had chosen for me. She’s the bride’s younger sister. That explains why she’s so…different from what I expected. And I think Evelyn is still unaware of that fact. She wasn’t raised in the usual privileged bubble. Instead, she grew up with her grandmother, a herbal medicine healer. She wasn’t lying about that, and I’ve verified it myself. I’m not naive enough to trust anyone who claims they can heal my legs, but I can’t ignore the progress. It’s been three weeks, and I can now move my fingers with ease. Even my legs respond with effort—small movements, but

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  • The Cure Is you   Taste of survival

    °SERENA° My head is pounding as if someone is hammering nails into my skull, each strike sharper than the last. My skin burns, a suffocating heat coursing through me, like I'm being roasted alive. Am I dead? Is this hell? No... I’m not dead. I’ve been drugged. The realization crashes into me like a tidal wave, sending my heart into overdrive. My eyes snap open, though the world around me spins in nauseating swirls. My vision is blurry, my surroundings unfamiliar. Where am I? The air is heavy, reeking of alcohol and weed. I’m in a wooden house. My stomach churns as fear grips me, cold and suffocating despite the heat radiating off my body. I try to sit up, but my limbs feel weighted down, unresponsive. My hands—why can’t I move my hands? Panic claws at my throat as I realize they’re bound. Tight ropes bite into my wrists, chafing against my skin. I need to find a way to escape. There’s no sound coming from outside. I’m not sure if they’re still here or not. My breathing qu

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  • The Cure Is you   My rage

    °ADRIAN° The damn forest routes—they seem never-ending, twisting and turning through the dense, shadowy trees. Each mile feels like an eternity. It’s been over an hour since Timothy managed to track her, tracing the mobiles of those two bastards who, to my utter disbelief, turned out to be her classmates. Fucking classmates? The word rattles in my head, fueling my fury. How could people she knew, people she probably trusted, do something like this? The thought alone sets my blood boiling. Timothy keeps driving, the wheels crunching over uneven dirt roads, as we head toward some remote wooden house—one that apparently belongs to Mark Joan, where his mobile was located along with the other one. The more I think about it, the worse the storm in my chest becomes. I swear, when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never been born in this planet. But my rage isn’t enough to smother the gnawing fear creeping into my heart. What are they doing to her? Is she safe? Is she hurt

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  • The Cure Is you   Silent hopes

    °ADRIAN° What the hell is happening? I know I should stop her. I know this isn’t right. But for a fleeting second, I couldn’t. I froze, caught in the chaos of her desperation, her pain, her heat. The metallic taste of blood snapped me out of it. Her blood. My stomach twisted, and my fucking heart sank like a stone. She’s drugged, I reminded myself, forcing clarity through the storm in my head. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t Serena. It was the drugs—clouding her judgment, stealing her control, and leaving her vulnerable in ways I couldn’t bear to see. I will not let her do something she'll regret later. I broke the kiss, grabbing her shoulders gently but firmly, grounding myself and her in the same motion. "Serena, stop," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "This isn’t you. You’re not thinking clearly." As I pressed lightly on her left shoulder to keep her steady, an ear-piercing scream tore from her lips, freezing my blood. I pulled back instantly, my eyes darting to

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  • The Cure Is you   Nolan Hayes.

    °ADRIAN° I don’t know why I’m hesitating. Yet here I am—standing in front of an apartment door in New York, fingers hovering over the bell like it's wired to blow. The city hums behind me: impatient taxis, a distant dog barking, someone arguing on the phone. Life’s moving. I’m not. It’s been a week since the dust began to settle. Since the sirens faded, the courtrooms emptied, and the scars—visible and not—started to ache less. Evelyn lost it when she learned about Victor’s death. She screamed. Threw accusations like knives—mostly at Serena. But Fred pulled the video off my phone, and the forensics backed it. Evelyn had to face the cold, hard truth. Serena didn’t kill him. And she had only herself to blame. On sentencing day, Timothy limped into the courtroom—bruised, battered, but breathing. He dropped to his knees, hands trembling, begging to be forgiven. I thought I’d feel something—rage, disgust. But like my gold-digging little firecracker said, there’s nothing left to

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  • The Cure Is you   Terrifying Love.

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  • The Cure Is you   Her Last Breath.

    °SERENA° I was pushed aside suddenly, my body jerked violently into some kind of wall… The sound of the gunshot still rang in my ears, sharp and disorienting. My vision blurred for a second. My body throbbed where I’d hit the wall — my shoulder scraped raw against the stone. Voices were shouting, echoing, overlapping — but I couldn’t make out any of it. My hands scrambled against the floor to push myself up. Dust clung to my fingers. My heart was slamming against my ribs. And then I saw her. Cassandra. She stood just a few feet away — or was she swaying? Her hands were pressed to her abdomen, but blood was already seeping fast through her fingers, thick and dark, running down her arms, staining the hem of her top. Her breathing was ragged. No. No, no. “What the hell—” I whispered, barely able to move. She had stepped between us and Victor. She’d taken the bullet. “Cassandra!” “Cassandra!” Fred and I shouted at the same time. The panic in his voice mirrored min

  • The Cure Is you   Locked.

    °SERENA° “SERENA!” Cassandra’s scream rang through the cold stone halls, but before I could answer, rough fingers latched onto my arm—tight, urgent. I knew from the grip, from the sheer force, that it was a man. Instinct took over. I clenched the small knife she’d slipped into my hand earlier, spun, and slashed hard. My blade met flesh, and a choked gasp followed. Warm blood sprayed across my skin. A vein. I’d aimed for it. This would weaken Victor. It had to. We needed just enough time— “Ah… Serena!” That voice. My heart skipped and I turned sharply, breath caught in my throat. “Fred?” I gasped. His eyes were wide with pain, his hand clutched tight, blood flowing between his fingers like a river he couldn’t stop. My stomach dropped. Shit. What have I done? “Shit! Why did you grab me?” I was at his side before I finished speaking, panic clawing at my throat. He winced, and I didn’t wait—I tore a strip from my shirt, the fabric protesting with each tug. My f

  • The Cure Is you   An Escape.

    °SERENA° Victor didn’t respond to my insult. Not with words. Just his eyes—sharp as shattered ice, cold as steel, burning with fury. He stared at me like I was the last stain on his empire, and he was ready to scrub me off the face of the world. But only if staring could kill. “I’ll let you think about obedience,” he muttered, snatching up his phone. “Maybe the next time I walk through that door, you’ll have learned your place.” He turned. Walked. The door creaked—slow, deliberate. Then slammed. The sound ripped through the room like a gunshot. And then, silence. Not peace. Never peace. But a tense, eerie quiet clung to the air like smoke after a blaze—thick, choking, haunted. Still, for the first time since I was dragged into this nightmare, I wasn’t afraid of the silence. I welcomed it. I exhaled—slow, shaky. My lungs trembled like they were just relearning how to breathe, my chest sore as if someone had punched the life out of me and left behind an ache n

  • The Cure Is you   A Leverage.

    °SERENA° I woke up with a sharp jolt, my head dizzy and heavy, as if it had been struck by a hammer. My eyes fluttered open, but the world spun in a blur. Where am I? Last I remembered, I was with Tim. We were supposed to go to Nina’s house. I could still feel the warmth of the sun on my skin, the laughter in the air as we joked about old memories... But now? Now, I was here. I blinked, trying to adjust to the dim light filtering through cracked windows. The room smelled musty, like damp wood and stale air. My fingers tingled from the tightness of the ropes around my wrists, and my legs were bound just as tightly to the legs of the chair. The cold wood beneath me seemed to seep through my clothes, making my skin crawl. How did I end up here? Why am I here? Panic started to claw at my chest as I tugged at the ropes, the rough fibers scraping against my skin. My heart hammered in my chest, every beat a reminder that I was trapped. I tried to recall how I got to this hellish p

  • The Cure Is you   A Betrayal.

    °ADRIAN° "Yes. And it begins with—" My phone rang. A shrill, stabbing sound that cut through the room like a blade. I stopped mid-sentence, breath caught mid-chest. Fuck. Annoyed, I pulled it from my pocket—half-ready to snap at whoever dared to— Then the world dropped out from under me. Victor’s face filled the screen. Smiling. No—grinning, smug and twisted, like he’d won a game I didn’t even know we were still playing. His eyes sparkled with something feral, something unholy. Then the camera tilted. My heart turned to stone. Serena. Tied to a chair. Hair clinging to her face, her lips cracked, trembling. A bruise darkened one cheek—deep, fresh. Like someone had slammed their palm across her face. "Adrian..." she whispered. And I couldn’t breathe. Air wouldn’t come. My lungs were locked in ice. He hit her? HE FUCKING HIT HER? My hands clenched around the phone, trembling with barely controlled violence. I could feel the heat rise up my neck, my chest—

  • The Cure Is you   Love and Ruin.

    °EVELYN° Adrian Royce. The Royce heir stood before me—just as he had five years ago—unflinching, unreadable, and devastatingly composed. But he wasn’t the same boy I once pitied. No. That shattered boy with a broken spine was long gone. In his place stood a man carved from silence and sharpened by betrayal. And in his eyes, I saw every secret I thought I had buried claw its way back to the surface. Was this the reckoning I had feared? The collapse of everything I had built with blood, deception, and a twisted kind of love? He didn’t speak. Just walked in with the quiet arrogance of someone who owned the air I breathed—like he knew exactly what it cost me to stand tall. Behind him, that bastard friend of his carried the file—that file—the one that should’ve remained ash and dust. Five years of silence, and still, Adrian found a way to exhume the corpses I buried with trembling hands. I shouldn’t have arranged his marriage. Not to Serena. It was Anna who was meant for

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