The Maid's Deception Chapter 2 - 1: The Diagnosis

Three Weeks Earlier...

The fluorescent lights of St. Mary’s Hospital flickered overhead, casting sickly shadows across the worn linoleum floor. Aria Chen sat in the waiting room, her leg bouncing with nervous energy as she watched the second hand on the wall clock tick forward with agonizing slowness.

4:47 PM.

Dr. Morrison was thirteen minutes late.

She told herself that was normal. Doctors ran behind schedule all the ti. It didn’t an anything. It didn’t an the test results were bad.

It didn’t an her mother was dying.

Stop it, she commanded herself, digging her nails into her palms hard enough to leave crescent-shaped marks. Don’t think like that.

But she couldn’t help it. She’d seen her mother’s face growing paler over the past six months, watched her vibrant, unstoppable force of nature reduced to a frail woman who could barely climb a flight of stairs without stopping to catch her breath. The cough that wouldn’t go away. The weight loss. The way her hands trembled when she thought Aria wasn’t looking.

Sothing was very, very wrong.

Aria’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, seeing a notification from one of her underground art buyers: When can we expect the next piece? Collectors are asking. - M.R.

She dismissed it without responding. Her various identities: the artist, the hacker, the dical consultant all seed impossibly distant right now. None of those skills, none of that brilliance, could help her mother.

And that helplessness was eating her alive.

"Miss Chen?"

Aria’s head snapped up. Dr. Morrison stood in the doorway a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and the sort of gentle expression that made Aria’s stomach drop like a stone.

That was the face doctors wore when they had to deliver bad news.

"Please, co in." Dr. Morrison gestured toward her office.

Aria’s legs felt like lead as she stood and followed. The hallway seed to stretch on forever, each step taking her closer to words she didn’t want to hear. The office was small and cluttered with dical journals, frad diplomas on the wall, a dying fern on the windowsill that sohow felt prophetic.

"Sit down, please." Dr. Morrison settled behind her desk, and Aria noticed she didn’t imdiately reach for the folder of test results. Another bad sign.

Doctors who had good news didn’t need ti to gather themselves.

"How is she?" Aria asked, her voice coming out smaller than she’d intended. "My mother. The tests, what did they show?"

Dr. Morrison’s expression softened with sympathy, and Aria felt sothing crack inside her chest.

"I’m afraid the results aren’t what we hoped for," the doctor said gently. "Your mother has what we call Wasting Syndro a rare degenerative condition that affects multiple organ systems simultaneously."

The words didn’t make sense at first. They seed to float in the air between them, refusing to land, refusing to beco real.

"Wasting Syndro," Aria repeated numbly. "I’ve never heard of it."

"Most people haven’t. It’s extrely rare we see perhaps a dozen cases worldwide each year." Dr. Morrison pulled up images on her computer screen, showing deteriorating tissue samples that made Aria’s dical knowledge kick in despite her emotional turmoil. "The condition causes the body to essentially attack itself, breaking down muscle tissue, weakening the cardiovascular system, compromising immune function."

Aria stared at the images, her brilliant mind already processing the implications. Already understanding what the doctor was about to say.

"Without treatnt, patients typically have six to eight months."

Six to eight months.

Half a year.

Less than a year.

Her mother the woman who had raised her alone after her father died, who had worked three jobs to put Aria through school, who had sacrificed everything so her daughter could have opportunities she’d never had, was going to die in less than a year.

"What’s the treatnt?" Aria heard herself ask. Her voice sounded strange, distant, like it belonged to soone else. "Surgery? Chemotherapy? There has to be sothing"

"Traditional treatnts are largely ineffective," Dr. Morrison said, and there was genuine regret in her tone. "We can manage symptoms, make her comfortable, but we can’t stop the progression. The disease is too aggressive, affects too many systems simultaneously."

Comfortable. That was code for palliative care. For giving up.

"No." The word ca out sharp, almost angry. "No, there has to be sothing. This is the twenty-first century. We have treatnts for everything. Gene therapy, experintal drugs, clinical trials"

"I understand this is difficult to accept"

"You don’t understand anything." Aria was on her feet now, hands clenched into fists at her sides. "That’s my mother. The only family I have. There has to be sothing we can do. Soone who specializes in this. A different hospital, a different country I’ll pay whatever it costs, I’ll"

She stopped abruptly, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it had co. Pay whatever it costs? With what money? She was a twenty-four-year-old with multiple inco streams from her various identities, sure, but barely thirty thousand in savings total. The dical bills from these tests alone would wipe out a significant chunk of that.

"There is one thing," Dr. Morrison said quietly.

Aria’s head snapped up, hope flaring painfully in her chest. "What? What is it?"

"It’s not... officially sanctioned. And the chances of accessing it are virtually nonexistent." The doctor hesitated, as if weighing whether she should continue. "There’s a dicinal plant called Vitalis Radix. Ancient Chinese texts refer to it as the ’Root of Life.’ A handful of studies from the 1970s suggest it might have properties that could slow or even reverse the progression of Wasting Syndro."

Aria’s mind was already racing, filing through everything she knew about rare dicinal plants. "Then why isn’t it being used? Why aren’t we giving it to her right now?"

"Because it’s nearly extinct. The plant requires very specific growing conditions, particular soil composition, precise temperature ranges, exact humidity levels. It can’t be synthesized in a lab, and every attempt to cultivate it outside its natural habitat has failed."

Dr. Morrison pulled up an article on her computer. "As far as I know, there are only three or four places in the world where it’s successfully cultivated, and none of them make it available for dical use."

"Where?" Aria leaned forward, her hands gripping the edge of the desk.

"Where is it grown?"

"Aria.."

"Where?"

Dr. Morrison sighed, recognizing the determination in her patient’s daughter. She’d probably seen it before the desperation of people who refused to accept the inevitable.

"The largest known cultivation is on the Blackwood Estate, about twenty miles outside the city. They’re a very wealthy, very private family. The patriarch, Charles Blackwood, started growing it decades ago as part of a botanical collection hobby of the extrely rich, that sort of thing. But they don’t sell it. Don’t donate it.

Don’t make it available for research. It’s purely for their own..." She gestured vaguely. "Whatever purposes."

Blackwood.

The na echoed in Aria’s mind like a bell. She knew that na. Everyone in the city knew that na.

The Blackwood family was old money the kind of wealth that transcended normal understanding. Real estate, technology, pharmaceuticals, shipping they had fingers in every pie, and their influence extended into political circles at the highest levels. Charles Blackwood had built an empire, and his grandson, Damien, was continuing and expanding the legacy.

Damien Blackwood.

Aria had seen his face in business magazines, on the news, in those tabloid articles about the city’s most eligible bachelors. Impossibly handso, ruthlessly intelligent, and notoriously private. He’d taken over as CEO of Blackwood Enterprises three years ago at age twenty-eight and had sohow managed to double the company’s value while maintaining an iron grip on his personal life.

No scandals. No public relationships. No apparent weaknesses.

The Blackwood Estate was legendary a sprawling compound on the outskirts of the city, protected by state-of-the-art security and an army of staff. Getting an audience with Damien Blackwood would be nearly impossible for soone like her.

But getting into the estate...

An idea began forming in Aria’s mind. Dangerous. Reckless. Probably illegal.

But...possible.

"Thank you, Dr. Morrison," Aria said suddenly, her decision made. "For everything. I’d like copies of all my mother’s test results, please. And any research you have on Vitalis Radix."

The doctor looked at her with concern. "Aria, whatever you’re thinking"

"I’m thinking I’m not going to let my mother die without trying everything." She t the doctor’s gaze steadily. "Even the impossible things."

"The Blackwood family doesn’t just give that plant away. They’re... protective of their collection. Security is extre. And even if you could sohow get access, harvesting it incorrectly could kill the specin. It’s not as simple as"

"I understand." Aria’s mind was already working through logistics, possibilities, risks. "But I have to try."

Dr. Morrison studied her for a long mont, then nodded slowly. "I’ll have my assistant prepare copies of everything. But Aria be careful. People have tried to steal from the Blackwood Estate before. It never ends well."

I’m not like other people, Aria thought but didn’t say.

She’d spent her entire life being underestimated, the poor girl who sohow got a full scholarship to dical school, the quiet student who turned out to be a genius, the unassuming woman who could hack governnt databases or forge docunts that would pass any inspection.

She’d been with many people, worn many masks, and survived impossible situations.

This would just be one more.

Two hours later, Aria sat in her mother’s hospital room, watching the woman sleep. i Chen looked so small in the bed, her once-vibrant face pale against the white pillows. Her black hair, now streaked with more silver than Aria rembered, was pulled back in a loose braid.

She looked fragile. Breakable.

When did that happen? When had her indomitable mother beco this frail creature?

"You’re staring again, baby girl."

Aria started. Her mother’s eyes were open, dark and still sharp despite the illness ravaging her body.

"I’m not staring. I’m observing. There’s a difference."

"Mmm." i’s lips quivered with a small smile. "And what are you observing?"

That you’re dying. That I’m losing you. That I can’t imagine a world without you in it.

"That you need to eat more," Aria said instead, forcing lightness into her tone. "You’re getting too thin. I’m going to bring you real food tomorrow, not this hospital garbage."

"The food here isn’t so bad."

"Mother, yesterday you told the soup tasted like dishwater mixed with regret."

i laughed, then coughed a wet, rattling sound that made Aria’s chest tighten. When the fit passed, she reached for the cup of water on her bedside table with trembling hands.

Aria was there instantly, holding the cup to her mother’s lips.

"I can do it myself," i protested weakly.

"I know you can. Humor ."

After she’d drunk her fill, i settled back against the pillows with a sigh. Her eyes were still so sharp, still so knowingly studying her daughter’s face.

"The doctor told you."

It wasn’t a question.

"Yes," Aria said softly.

"And?"

"And we’re going to fight it. There are treatnts, clinical trials, experintal therapies"

"Aria." Her mother’s hand found hers, squeezing with surprising strength. "Don’t lie to . I’ve been dying for months. I knew before the doctors did. I can feel it."

"Don’t say that."

"Why not? It’s true." i’s expression was calm, accepting in a way that made Aria want to scream. "We all die eventually, baby girl. So of us just get less ti than others."

"No." Aria pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. "No, you don’t get to give up. You don’t get to just accept this. We’re going to find a treatnt. We’re going to fix this."

"Aria.."

"I an it, Mother. I’m not letting you go without a fight."

i was quiet for a long mont, studying her daughter with an expression Aria couldn’t quite read. Pride? Worry? Sadness?

"You’re so much like your father," she finally said.

Aria froze. Her mother almost never talked about her father. The man who’d died when Aria was three so young she had no mories of him, only stories her mother rarely shared.

"What do you an?"

"Stubborn. Brilliant. Convinced you can solve any problem if you just work hard enough, think long enough, and refuse to give up." i smiled sadly. "He was like that too. It’s what got him killed, in the end."

"What do you an?" Aria moved closer to the bed. "You never talk about how he died."

"Because it hurts. Because I watched him destroy himself trying to save soone who couldn’t be saved." i’s eyes were distant, lost in mory. "His sister was dying. Cancer. He was convinced he could find a cure if he just worked harder, tried more things. He pushed himself until there was nothing left. Until his body gave out from exhaustion and stress."

The words hit Aria like a physical blow. She’d never known this about her father. Had never known he’d died trying to save soone.

Just like she was about to risk everything to save her mother.

"Promise sothing, Aria." i’s hand reached for hers again. "Promise you won’t do anything reckless. Don’t throw your life away trying to save mine. Don’t beco so obsessed with fighting death that you forget to live."

Aria couldn’t make that promise. Wouldn’t make it.

Instead, she leaned down and kissed her mother’s forehead. "Get so rest. I’ll be back tomorrow."

"Aria"

"I love you, Mother. More than anything in this world."

She left before her mother could extract any promises she had no intention of keeping.