Secrets Of The Neglected Wife

Chapter 687:

She paused at the door, her heart pounding as she noticed the surveillance window left ajar. A nauseating, chemical stench wafted through, making her recoil instinctively.

The smell was painfully familiar, triggering memories she’d tried to bury.

A storm of questions clouded her mind. How had Subject 005, who was once just another experiment, ended up running this twisted lab? It made no sense, but she couldn’t afford to dwell on it now.

Inside the observation room, a figure stood with its back turned. The loose hospital gown it wore was marked with the large number 75.

Allison’s breath caught in her throat. It was Lilian. She had finally found her.

Allison pressed herself against the cold wall, watching as the two researchers shuffled out of the lab, muttering about medicine.

“The experiment’s hit a breakthrough. Subject 75 has survived three rounds of testing. If it makes it through another one, it’ll be a miracle. It might even breach the digital world,” one researcher whispered.

“Yeah, and why is everything so chaotic today? No one’s even here to clean up,” the other grumbled, glancing back at the cluttered lab.

“Let’s hurry up. Hopefully, when Mr. Shaw arrives, he’ll see positive results.”

Allison’s gaze darted to the restrained figure thrashing faintly against her bindings. Subject 75 was Lilian.

She moved swiftly, slipping to the door where a notebook dangled from a hook. She flipped through it, her eyes tracing the data — numbers, charts, results… It all confirmed what she already knew.

But then a terrible sense of being watched crept over her, and she looked up. What she saw froze her on the spot.

Lilian was a few feet away, facing her like a ghost from a horror film.noveldrama

Her once-lustrous hair hung in tangled knots, partially hiding a face marred by bulging veins and ruptured capillaries. The worst was her eyes, dark pits that seemed to drink in every sliver of light, fixed on Allison with a chilling intensity. “Hah…” A hoarse, guttural sound slipped from Lilian’s throat.

Allison’s hands balled into fists, her heart pounding.

She’d seen this kind of desperation before, back when she herself was a mere test subject, discarded on that isolated island.

She drew a breath, steadying herself, and edged closer to the observation window.

“Lilian,” she called softly, as if addressing the ghost of a friend. Here, subjects didn’t have names. Their identities were scrubbed, leaving them only as numbers in the system.

This moment, this fragile chance to find the answer, was all she had.

.

.

.