The CEO's Regret: You made me your lie, I become your Loss-Chapter 114: The Procedure in the Dark

Sebastian lowered the phone slowly, his expression unreadable as he set it aside. His gaze shifted to the small velvet box resting on his desk. He opened it. Inside wasn’t a ring. But something far more deliberate.

A delicate, hand-carved ivory rattle. Small. Intricate. Symbolic. His fingers brushed over it lightly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. He didn’t just want Amara back. No. He wanted her legacy.

The future she was so carefully building. He wanted it to carry his name instead.

—

The next morning came too quickly.

Amara stepped out onto the front steps beside Amira, the early air cool against her skin. She looked calmer than she felt, though the faint tension in her shoulders hadn’t quite faded.

Convincing Julian hadn’t been easy.

"I don’t like this," he had said, his gaze sharp, his instincts already pushing back.

"It’s just a sister moment," Amira had insisted, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "We need it."

Amara had added softly, "We’ll be fine, Julian." He had studied them both for a long moment.

Reluctant. Unconvinced. But eventually.. He stepped back. "Call me if anything feels off," he said quietly, his eyes lingering on Amara. "Anything."

"I will," she promised. Now, as the car door shut behind them, that promise lingered in the air like something fragile. The drive to the "clinic" was quiet.

Too quiet. The noise of the city faded into a distant hum, muffled by the tinted windows of the SUV. Buildings passed in a blur, but neither of them seemed to notice.

Amara sat in the back, her gaze drifting absently to the window. Amira sat in the passenger seat. Still. Rigid.

Her hands gripped tightly around her purse, her fingers pressing into the leather as her thoughts spiraled. She had already justified it. Gone over it again and again until it sounded almost reasonable.

Amara would never know. It wouldn’t hurt her. And in return.. Everything would be secured. The fortune. Her place. Her future. Her eyes flickered briefly to the rearview mirror.

To Amara. Her sister. Quiet. Unaware. Trusting. Amira’s chest tightened. Just for a second. Then she looked away. Because doubt... had no place in what she had already decided to do.

As they pulled into the secluded, high-walled facility on the outskirts of the city, the clinical coldness of the building felt like a warning.

"Are you sure this is the place?"

Amara’s voice was quiet, but there was something in it, something uneasy, like a whisper of instinct she couldn’t quite shake.

A chill crept up her spine as she looked at the building again. It didn’t feel wrong exactly... but it didn’t feel right either.

Amira didn’t hesitate.

She nodded quickly. "That’s the address I was given," she said, her tone firm, almost too firm. "It has to be here."

Amara lingered for half a second longer. Then she followed. Side by side, they walked in.

The air inside was cool, sterile, but oddly still. Too still. The faint scent of antiseptic lingered, sharp against the silence.

Two nurses approached them almost immediately.

"Who is.." one of them began. But before she could finish.. Amira stepped forward and gently but firmly pushed Amara ahead.

"She is the one," Amira said, her voice steady. "The one here to see the doctor." Amara blinked, caught off guard by the sudden motion. She turned slightly, her eyes searching Amira’s face.

Something tightened in her chest. "Come with me," the nurse said, her tone polite, but distant. Amara hesitated. Just for a second.

She glanced back again. "Go on," Amira said, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "You’re in good hands."

The words were meant to reassure. But they didn’t. Amara swallowed hard, pushing down the unease rising inside her. Maybe it was just nerves. Maybe she was overthinking.

She nodded faintly. And followed.

—

"Hello, I’m Dr. Bruce."

The man standing in the room wore a calm, professional smile. Everything about him looked right the coat, the posture, the tone. And yet.. Something felt... off.

"Hi, I’m—" Amara began. "I know who you are," he interrupted smoothly. "And I know why you’re here."

Her words died in her throat. A flicker of confusion crossed her face. "Oh..." she said softly.

"Please," he gestured toward the chair. "Have a seat. And drink this it’ll help calm you down while we begin the examination." He handed her a glass.

Clear. Harmless-looking. Amara hesitated. Just for a moment. Her instincts stirred again quiet, persistent. But she pushed them aside. Forced a small smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

And drank.

—

The clinic moved with quiet precision. Too quiet. Too precise. Behind closed doors, the "staff" worked with an eerie efficiency no wasted movement, no unnecessary words. It was seamless. Controlled.

Amara was led into a private room, her steps slower now, her body beginning to feel... lighter.

Her heart fluttered not entirely from fear.

There was hope there, too. A fragile, desperate hope that maybe... just maybe... this would lead to something good. She didn’t see the brief exchange in the hallway.

Didn’t see the subtle nod Sebastian gave to the head surgeon. Didn’t know that everything had already been arranged. Carefully.

Deliberately. She didn’t know that the water she had been drinking all morning, prepared lovingly, convincingly by Amira, had already begun its work. The vitamin was strong. Silent. Effective.

—

"Just lie back," a nurse said gently. Amara nodded faintly. The room felt... distant now.

Muted. She lowered herself onto the table, the cool surface pressing against her back as the ceiling lights above her flickered slightly, or maybe her vision did.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. Something wasn’t right. "I feel..." she whispered, her voice slurring slightly. "A little..."

Blurred. The words slipped away. The lights above her stretched, bending into streaks of white.

Her breathing slowed. Heavy. The last thing she saw was the ceiling collapsing into a single, blinding point of light.

Then. Darkness. Complete. And absolute.