The Fake Heiress Stole My Fiancé - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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Tears streamed down my mother's face as she stormed into the hospital room and struck me across the cheek.
I pressed a hand to my stinging lip, then pulled it back—my fingertips smeared with blood.
"Have you lost your mind?" I spat.
For a split second, she looked stunned, as if the quiet, obedient daughter she knew had been replaced by someone who dared to fight back.
Then her hysteria erupted. "Is this what your adoptive parents raised you to be? No manners, no respect—attacking your own sister? I thought you'd changed!"
I scoffed. "And you think Elaine's any better?"
Her chest heaved with rage. Before I could react, she seized my arm and dragged me off the bed. "You're going back to that school—now!"
"Like hell I am."
We struggled—until my foot slammed into her stomach.
She crumpled with a gasp, clutching her abdomen as she gaped at me in shock.
Just then, a sharp knock cut through the tension. The doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Raina's family?"
Lucian's jaw tightened as he scanned the medical report.
My mother's voice wavered. "You—you can't be serious, Doctor."
The man's expression darkened. "Why would I joke about this? She's covered in bruises, fresh injuries, old scars—and she's severely malnourished."
Lucian's grip faltered; papers fluttered to the floor.
I leaned back against the pillows, indifferent, as if this conversation had nothing to do with me.
The doctor shot me a wary glance before continuing, "This looks like long-term abuse. You should—"
My father cut in, voice sharp. "Don't waste your breath. She does this to herself."
My mother nodded frantically. "She's always been… difficult. Our apologies."
The doctor's gaze lingered on me before he said, pointedly, "I strongly recommend a full psychological evaluation."
My parents murmured agreement.
The moment the door shut, my father whirled on me, eyes blazing. "Are you trying to humiliate us?"
I tugged the blanket higher. "I don't belong to you. My father is Polonius."
"Bullshit!"
He lurched forward, face purple with fury—until my mother caught his arm. "Calm down! You know your heart can't take this."
Lucian, silent until now, finally spoke, voice rough. "Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, go check on Elaine. I'll stay with Raina."
Relieved, they hurried out.
The second the door closed, Lucian approached, grief etched into every line of his face. "Raina, let me see."
I recoiled. "Don't."
"Please."
Before I could stop him, he lifted my shirt.
Under the sterile hospital light, the scars stood out—jagged, overlapping, a grotesque map of pain. Fresh cuts sliced over old ones, while dark bruises mottled my skin.
His breath hitched.
Gently, he pushed up my sleeves, my pant legs—only to find more.
Then, without warning, he pulled me against him.
A hot tear dripped onto my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking.
I pressed a hand to my stinging lip, then pulled it back—my fingertips smeared with blood.
"Have you lost your mind?" I spat.
For a split second, she looked stunned, as if the quiet, obedient daughter she knew had been replaced by someone who dared to fight back.
Then her hysteria erupted. "Is this what your adoptive parents raised you to be? No manners, no respect—attacking your own sister? I thought you'd changed!"
I scoffed. "And you think Elaine's any better?"
Her chest heaved with rage. Before I could react, she seized my arm and dragged me off the bed. "You're going back to that school—now!"
"Like hell I am."
We struggled—until my foot slammed into her stomach.
She crumpled with a gasp, clutching her abdomen as she gaped at me in shock.
Just then, a sharp knock cut through the tension. The doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Raina's family?"
Lucian's jaw tightened as he scanned the medical report.
My mother's voice wavered. "You—you can't be serious, Doctor."
The man's expression darkened. "Why would I joke about this? She's covered in bruises, fresh injuries, old scars—and she's severely malnourished."
Lucian's grip faltered; papers fluttered to the floor.
I leaned back against the pillows, indifferent, as if this conversation had nothing to do with me.
The doctor shot me a wary glance before continuing, "This looks like long-term abuse. You should—"
My father cut in, voice sharp. "Don't waste your breath. She does this to herself."
My mother nodded frantically. "She's always been… difficult. Our apologies."
The doctor's gaze lingered on me before he said, pointedly, "I strongly recommend a full psychological evaluation."
My parents murmured agreement.
The moment the door shut, my father whirled on me, eyes blazing. "Are you trying to humiliate us?"
I tugged the blanket higher. "I don't belong to you. My father is Polonius."
"Bullshit!"
He lurched forward, face purple with fury—until my mother caught his arm. "Calm down! You know your heart can't take this."
Lucian, silent until now, finally spoke, voice rough. "Mr. and Mrs. Simpson, go check on Elaine. I'll stay with Raina."
Relieved, they hurried out.
The second the door closed, Lucian approached, grief etched into every line of his face. "Raina, let me see."
I recoiled. "Don't."
"Please."
Before I could stop him, he lifted my shirt.
Under the sterile hospital light, the scars stood out—jagged, overlapping, a grotesque map of pain. Fresh cuts sliced over old ones, while dark bruises mottled my skin.
His breath hitched.
Gently, he pushed up my sleeves, my pant legs—only to find more.
Then, without warning, he pulled me against him.
A hot tear dripped onto my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice breaking.
End of The Fake Heiress Stole My Fiancé Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Fake Heiress Stole My Fiancé book page.