His Billion-Dollar Regret

My body was a battlefield, stitches screaming with every step, but my heart soared.

I had just given a kidney to save Liam, the struggling artist I loved more than life itself.

This massive sacrifice for the man I believed was my destiny, the fellow orphan who understood my every struggle, was all worth it because he would live.

But then, laughter peeled from his hospital room – not just Liam' s, but his wealthy friends', their voices dripping with cruel amusement.

"I can' t believe she actually did it," Tiffany' s voice sliced through me.

"Sold a kidney!

For you!

That is the funniest thing I have ever heard."

My world shattered as Liam, the "dying" patient, emerged from his charade, pulling off a fake IV and lighting a cigarette, his smirk cold and unfamiliar.

The room reeked of betrayal.

Liam, the "struggling artist," was the heir to the massive Blackwood Corporation.

His illness, our shared past, his love – all a meticulously crafted lie, a cruel game orchestrated by Tiffany to "teach the little orphan a lesson."

The thought made me sick; I had carved myself open for a ghost, my every genuine feeling trashed for their entertainment.

Why?

Why would someone inflict such calculated cruelty?

My hope, once so vibrant, was crushed, leaving a gaping wound where my heart used to be.

The humiliation was a physical weight, but then a cold, quiet rage began to burn away the tears.

They thought they had broken me, reduced me to a pathetic charity case.

They were wrong.

I would not be their mouse anymore.

I pulled out my phone, a new purpose hardening my resolve.

I was done playing their game; it was time to leave.

The stitches on my side pulled with every shaky step, a sharp, constant reminder of the sacrifice I had just made.

My body felt hollowed out, weak and unsteady, but my heart was full.

It was full of a desperate, soaring hope.

Liam was going to be okay.

That was all that mattered.

I had given him one of my kidneys.

The doctors said his was a rare case of sudden, aggressive renal failure.

They said he needed a transplant immediately.

Finding a match was a miracle, and the fact that I was that match felt like destiny.

So I did it.

I sold everything I owned, drained my savings, and went through the surgery to save the man I loved.

He was Liam Blackwood, a struggling artist with a soul as beautiful as his paintings, and an orphan, just like me.

He was my everything.

Clutching the small paper bag with the warm soup I' d bought for him, I finally reached his hospital room.

It was a private room, one I couldn' t afford but one his mysterious benefactor had apparently arranged.

I was just glad he was comfortable.

A fresh wave of dizziness washed over me, and my face, I knew, was as pale as the hospital walls.

But I smiled.

The pain was worth it.

He was worth it.

I raised a hand to knock, but it froze in mid-air.

Laughter spilled from inside the room, loud and carefree.

It wasn't just Liam' s voice.

I recognized the others.

Tiffany Hayes, his childhood friend who always looked at me with a kind of cold amusement.

And Ethan and Olivia, the other two from his privileged circle who tolerated me at best.

"I can't believe she actually did it," Tiffany' s sharp, mocking voice cut through the door.

"Sold a kidney! For you! That is the funniest thing I have ever heard."

Ethan laughed loudly.

"Seriously, Liam.

Your acting skills have really improved.

You almost had me convinced with that whole 'I'm dying' routine.

You deserve an Oscar."

My blood ran cold.

The paper bag slipped from my numb fingers, the container of soup hitting the tiled floor with a dull thud.

I didn't feel the splash of warm liquid on my shoes.

What did he mean?

Acting skills?

What did he mean, deceive her? a voice inside me screamed, but no sound came out.

What did he mean, deceive her?

"The best part," Olivia chimed in, her voice dripping with condescension, "is that she probably emptied out that pathetic little bank account of hers.

How much was in it again?

Five thousand dollars?

Ten?

It' s just so tragically pure."

The door wasn' t fully closed.

It was ajar, just a crack.

Through it, I saw something that shattered my world.

Liam, my dying Liam, was not in bed.

He was standing, dressed not in a hospital gown but in a sharp, tailored suit that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

He ripped a fake IV bandage off his arm and tossed it in the trash.

He pulled a cigarette from a sleek case and lit it, the smoke curling around a face that was no longer gentle and pained, but sharp, arrogant, and utterly unfamiliar.

He took a long drag, a smirk playing on his lips.

It wasn't the warm, loving smile he saved for me.

It was cold, cruel.

"It was Tiffany' s idea," he said, his voice a low drawl I' d never heard before.

He glanced at her, and the look they shared was intimate, ancient.

"She wanted to teach the little orphan a lesson for daring to get too close."

Tiffany giggled, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"She actually thought you, Liam Blackwood, the heir to the Blackwood Corporation, would be a starving artist living in some dump?

It' s hilarious."

Blackwood Corporation.

The name echoed in the sudden, roaring emptiness of my head.

They were one of the biggest conglomerates in the country.

A prince.

Not an orphan.

Not my fellow sufferer.

My body began to tremble violently.

My stitches screamed in protest, a fiery line of agony across my abdomen.

My hands and feet went numb, and the world started to tilt.

It was all a lie.

The shared past, the illness, the desperation, his love.

All of it.

A lie.

A cruel, elaborate game played by the rich for their own amusement.

"What about the fake medical records?" Ethan asked, still chuckling.

"Easy," Liam said, shrugging.

"Money buys anything.

A few fake documents, a cooperative doctor on a private payroll.

She was so desperate to believe, she never questioned a thing."

I couldn't breathe.

I stumbled back, my legs threatening to give out.

My vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges.

I had to get out of there.

I couldn't let them see me.

I couldn't let them know I had heard.

A passing nurse saw my state.

"Miss?

Are you alright?

You look like you're about to faint."

Her voice was a lifeline.

I shook my head, unable to speak, and half-ran, half-stumbled away from that door, away from the laughter and the smoke and the wreckage of my life.

I found the nearest restroom, locked the door, and slid down the wall, my body finally giving in to the violent shudders.

The hope I carried just moments ago was gone, crushed into dust, leaving only a cold, gaping wound where my heart, and my kidney, used to be.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital bathroom hummed, casting a sterile, unforgiving glow on my reflection in the mirror.

The face staring back at me was a stranger' s-deathly pale, eyes wide with a horror so deep it felt bottomless.

My hand, still trembling, came up to touch the glass.

It was cold.

Everything was so cold.

Their voices echoed in my head, a cruel chorus on a loop.

"I can't believe she actually did it.

Sold a kidney!"

"The heir to the Blackwood Corporation."

"It was Tiffany' s idea... to teach the little orphan a lesson."

The words dismantled my reality piece by piece.

Two years.

Two years of my life, built on a foundation of lies.

I thought back to the beginning, to the day I met him.

I was working two part-time jobs, barely making rent on my tiny apartment, desperately trying to save for college.

He had a small art stall at a local market, his paintings full of a beautiful, melancholic light.

He told me he was an orphan, too, that he understood the struggle, the loneliness.

That was the hook.

For the first time, I felt seen.

I felt like I had found not just a partner, but a family.

The only family I' d ever known.

We were two lost souls who had found each other in a harsh world.

I cherished him.

I cooked for him, cleaned his small, rented studio-a studio that was just a prop, I now realized-and I poured every ounce of love I had into him.

When he got "sick," it felt like my world was ending.

The diagnosis, the rapid decline, the doctor' s grave face-it was all a performance.

A meticulously staged play, and I was the unwitting, tragic lead.

The fifty thousand dollars I got for my kidney, the money I handed over to him with tears in my eyes, telling him we would get through this together... where was it now?

Probably spent on a single bottle of champagne for their victory celebration.

The thought made a fresh wave of nausea roll through me.

Everything was fake.

His story was fake.

The cancer was fake.

His love was fake.

Was our meeting even real?

Or was that staged, too?

A memory surfaced, sharp and sudden.

A university speech competition, a year before I met Liam.

I had won first place.

Tiffany Hayes had won second.

I remembered her standing backstage, her smile tight, her eyes like chips of ice.

I remembered her whispering to a friend as I passed, "No one gets to steal my spotlight.

No one."

At the time, I'd dismissed it as the sour grapes of a sore loser.

Now, it felt like a declaration of war.

She had been watching me, waiting for a chance to tear me down.

And Liam was her willing weapon.

The sheer, calculated cruelty of it all was breathtaking.

It wasn't just a prank.

It was a targeted, systematic destruction of a person she deemed beneath her.

A hot, bitter feeling rose in my throat.

It wasn't just sadness anymore.

It was rage.

A cold, quiet rage that burned away the tears.

They thought they had broken me.

They thought I was just some pathetic little orphan they could play with and discard.

They were wrong.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers still clumsy but now driven by a new purpose.

I found the number for Professor Davies, my old mentor from community college.

He had always believed in me, had told me about a scholarship to a prestigious university abroad, a path I' d abandoned because I couldn't bear to leave Liam.

He answered on the second ring.

"Sarah?

Is everything alright?"

My voice was hoarse, but steady.

"Professor Davies.

Is that scholarship opportunity... is it still available?"

There was a pause.

"It is," he said, his voice full of warmth and concern.

"But Sarah, are you sure?

I thought-"

"I'm sure," I interrupted, my resolve hardening with every word.

"I don't want to stay here anymore.

I want to leave.

I want to study."

This game they were playing, this sick cat-and-mouse chase, I was done.

I wouldn't be their mouse anymore.

After hanging up, I looked at my bank account.

The payment for the kidney had been split.

Part of it had gone directly to the fake "medical bills."

The rest, a substantial sum I' d been saving for our "future," was still there.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

This money, bought with a piece of my own body, was now my escape fund.

It was a grim irony.

I was glad, in a twisted way, that Liam hadn't taken all of it.

Maybe that was the one small mercy in this whole nightmare.

I walked out of that bathroom and straight to the nearest bank.

I transferred the funds for the tuition deposit.

I went online and bought a one-way ticket to London.

The confirmation email felt like a gasp of fresh air after drowning.

I had fifty thousand dollars left.

It wasn' t much to start a new life in a new country, but it was a start.

It was mine.