Chapter 88 The Secret Buried In Blood (Demilia’s POV)
Some truths don’t just show up at your door. They hang back, hiding in the corners, growing roots in your life until one day crack they rip everything apart.
When I found out how closely my life had been watched and quietly nudged, I honestly thought I’d hit my limit. Turns out, I hadn’t. Because the next truth wasn’t about someone pulling strings. It was about where I actually came from.
It started when Adrian flagged a message as HIGH PRIORITY. At our next meeting, he sounded extra careful.
“Demilia, we found something new while digging through the oldest data tied to you.”
I felt a chill crawl up my spine. “New… how?”
He paused. That alone scared me.
“It’s older than your public life. Before your career. Even before most of what we know about your childhood.”
Ethan’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t about profiling anymore, is it?”
Adrian shook his head. “No. This is about biological records.”
My heart started pounding.
“What kind of records?” I managed.
“Birth registries. Medical files. Adoption research databases.”
Suddenly, the walls felt like they were closing in.
My heart was hammered.
“Just say it,” I whispered.
Adrian looked right at me.
“There are inconsistencies around your birth.”
The words hit me like a silent bomb.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
“Inconsistencies?” I could barely get the word out. “What does that mean?”
He softened his voice. “It means some parts of your origin story don’t line up with what you’ve been told.”
Ethan shot up from his chair. “Are you saying she”
“I’m saying,” Adrian cut in, calm as ever, “that Demilia’s early life links back to an undisclosed research project.”
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
“You’re telling me I’m part of some experiment?” I whispered.
“No,” Liora jumped in fast. “Not exactly an experiment. More like… maybe a case study, starting from when you were a baby.”
My hands shook.
“That’s crazy,” I said. “My parents—my family they”
Adrian turned his screen toward me. A file opened. And just like that, I was staring at a version of myself I’d never seen.
The name on the file wasn’t mine. Not really. Close, but different.
Subject ID: D-0147
Birth Classification: Restricted
Program: Longitudinal Influence Potential Study
My vision went fuzzy.
“That’s not me,” I said, barely a whisper.
Adrian shook his head.
“We believe it is.”
I felt something inside me splinter.
“They tracked children with rare cognitive, emotional, and leadership markers,” Adrian said. “Kids who stood out. From the start.”
I just stared at the screen.
“So they picked me… as a baby?”
“Yes.”
That word echoed in my head, cold and final.
Suddenly, memories came rushing back. My mom’s soft voice. Family photos. Stories about the day I was born. The hospital room. How she always said, “You were meant for something big.”
Did she know? Or did she just believe what someone told her?
“Who were my real parents?” I said, so quietly I barely heard myself.
Adrian hesitated.
“We don’t know yet. But we do know you were placed in a civilian family under a confidential agreement.”
The room tilted.
“So I was… placed,” I said, “like a case file.”
Ethan hurried over, steadying me. “Demilia, you don’t have to take this all in right now.”
But I did. I had to. This didn’t just shake me, it broke something deep.
“They tracked everything,” I whispered. “My growth. Influence. Psychology. The impact I made.”
“Yes,” Liora answered. “Since you were a child.”
My chest squeezed painfully.
“So my whole life,” I said, “never really belonged to me.”
Silence. No one argued.
I let out a bitter laugh.
“First they shaped my career,” I said. “Now you’re telling me they might have shaped my whole existence.”
Adrian spoke carefully, “That’s not exactly it. They saw potential in you. And they watched to see what you’d become.”
I shook my head.
“I wasn’t born. I was selected.”
The word felt like poison in my mouth.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every childhood memory felt like it was crumbling. The stories my parents told me. The little hospital bracelet my mother kept. The baby photo in the hallway.
Was any of it real?
The next day, when we visited my parents, I sat on the floor of my old room. My mom looked at me with the same love she always did, but I felt so far away.
“Sweetheart,” she said, touching my shoulder, “what’s wrong?”
My voice shook.
“Tell me the truth. About my birth.”
Her eyes went wide.
“What truth?” she asked.
I swallowed hard.
“Was I adopted?”
She froze.
And then tears. Her face just collapsed.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But we never thought it mattered.”
The world shattered, just like that.
“You were a miracle to us,” she said, her voice trembling. “They told us your birth parents couldn’t care for you. We were grateful. We loved you from the very first moment.”
I could barely speak.
“They said you were special,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Gifted. That you deserved a home that could help you reach your potential.”
My chest went tight.
“Did they ever talk about research? Or programs? Were they monitoring me?” I asked.
Her eyes went wide, pure shock, hurt written all over her face.
“No,” she breathed. “Never.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Demilia, I swear we just wanted to give a child a loving home. That’s all we thought it was.”
I believed her. I really did.
And, somehow, that just made it worse.
Later, standing alone in front of the mirror, I stared at my reflection.
“Who am I,” I asked the glass, “if even my beginning was manufactured?”
Anger simmered inside me. Not my parents. No, not them.
I felt it for the people behind the curtain, the ones who’d decided I was something to study. Something to mold. Something to watch.
My hand drifted to my stomach.
“They won’t get to you,” I promised my unborn child. “I won’t let them.”
But then things got messier.
Adrian started digging and found more.
“They didn’t just keep tabs on kids,” he told me. “They matched high-potential subjects with environments they thought would shape them into influencers.”
My heart pounded.
“So they put me somewhere I’d grow up to matter,” I said.
He nodded. “Exactly.”
A cold, sharp clarity cut through me.
“So even my school my teachers my mentors”
Liora’s voice was barely a breath. “Might’ve all been chosen for you.”
I let the truth sink in, bitter and jagged.
“So I wasn’t just a product of chance,” I muttered. “I was cultivated. Like an experiment.”
Ethan clenched his jaw. “They made her into a blueprint,” he said.
But the worst was still coming.
“There’s something else,” Adrian said. His tone made my skin crawl.
My chest tightened again.
“What now?”
He hesitated, weighing his words.
“We think there were other kids. Part of the same program.”
A chill ran down my spine.
“And?” I asked, quiet.
“One of them,” he said, “might still be part of your life.”
My heart almost stopped.
“Who?” Ethan snapped.
Adrian looked straight at me, careful.
“We don’t know yet. But there’s evidence someone else from the program made it. Someone else reached this level.”
My stomach twisted.
“There’s another one like me,” I whispered.
He nodded. “Yes.”
Someone else shaped. Watched. Maybe set up as my equal. Or my rival.
That night, fear changed. It wasn’t just about the system anymore.
Now it was about someone out there who shared my origin. Someone who’d been trained differently. Given a different path. A mirror or maybe an enemy.
I stared out into the night. One awful thought kept circling:
What if I wasn’t just built to rise?
What if I was meant to crash into someone else?
As darkness thickened over the city, I felt it shift.
A new player enters the story. Not a stranger. Someone with the same start as me.
Someone whose presence could blow apart everything I thought I knew about fate, power, and choice.
Because the next part isn’t just about digging up secrets. It’s about meeting the person who’s been walking a parallel road all this time, waiting for the moment when our lives finally collide.