The Price of His Cruel Experiment Chapter 2

Elena's POV

At eleven-thirty that night, light footsteps echoed down the hallway outside.

The key turned twice in the lock, and the door pushed open. Tristan stepped inside, carrying the late-night chill with him. He wore a faded, washed-out t-shirt, his hair slightly disheveled, and his face painted with just the right amount of exhaustion.

"Elena, I'm home," he said as he kicked off his shoes by the door, his voice raspy.

I sat on the worn fabric couch, holding an open book that I hadn't read a single word of. Hearing him, I stood up just like I had countless times before and walked toward the tiny kitchenette. "Dinner's on the stove, and I left fresh clothes outside the bathroom. Eat first."

Tristan walked over to the small dining table and looked down at the meager meal: a plate of steamed greens and two slightly charred slices of toast. No meat in sight. His brow furrowed faintly, but he smoothed it out almost instantly.

He picked up his fork and took a couple of bites, subtly tracking my expression from the corner of his eye. After swallowing, he asked casually, though an undercurrent of calculation lingered in his tone, "You sent me three hundred today. How are you going to manage the rest of the month? Did you... ask Lauren to lend you some cash?"

My hand paused against the counter as I wiped it down. Turning around, I looked at Tristan under the dim light.

His face was still the handsome face I had fallen for, but now, beneath that mask of tender weariness, I saw his true motives plain as day.

He was waiting. Waiting for me to break, waiting for me to abandon my pride and beg Lauren for help. He was waiting for Lauren to see with her own eyes just how pathetic and desperate a woman became when stripped of wealth and forced to face the world alone.

"No," I replied flatly, without a hint of emotion. "I still have savings. I don't need to borrow from Lauren."

Tristan's fork froze mid-air. He looked up, a flash of pure shock and disappointment crossing his eyes. Unable to completely conceal the frustration of his failed plan, he slammed his fork onto the table. "What savings could you possibly have? I know exactly how much you make at your shifts! Elena, we can barely afford to eat right now. Why are you tormenting yourself? Lauren is your best friend. What's wrong with asking her for a little help?"

"I told you, I can handle it. You don't need to worry about it." I turned away, ignoring him, and went back to wiping the already spotless counter.

Tristan didn't say another word, but I could feel his dark, brooding gaze burning into my back. He pushed his plate away after barely eating, his face icy as he stormed into the bathroom.

Less than three minutes later, a loud crash came from inside, followed instantly by the roar of violently gushing water.

"Shit!" Tristan cursed from within.

Expressionless, I put down the rag and walked to the bathroom door. Pushing it slightly ajar, I saw the water heater's inlet pipe completely severed. Water was pouring down like a torrential waterfall, instantly flooding the tiny bathroom ankle-deep.

Tristan stood drenched in the middle of it, looking disheveled as he turned to look at me. "The heater broke again. This dump is always falling apart."

This was the third time this month.

I stood outside the doorway, staring at the murky puddle spreading across the floor. My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that they left deep, bruised impressions.

I knew this playbook all too well.

At the end of last month, the first time the water heater broke, Tristan had volunteered to fix it. He "accidentally" ruptured the pipe, and scalding water poured over the back of his hand, raising horrific, angry blisters.

That night, my heart broke for him. I ran through the cold to three different 24-hour pharmacies just to find burn ointment. I didn't sleep a wink, sitting beside the bed all night, crying quietly while gently blowing on his wounds. Seeing his face twisted in pain, I wished with everything in me that the hot water had hit me instead.

The next day, faced with medical bills and repair fees we supposedly couldn't afford, a pale, frail-looking Tristan held my hand and said:

"Elena, please go ask Lauren. It hurts so bad... I can't take it."

Because of those words, I—a girl who guarded her pride with her life—swallowed my dignity and knocked on the door of Lauren's luxury apartment. I got the money, but it was the most humiliating moment of my life.

When I took Tristan to the clinic with that borrowed cash, Lauren happened to rush over to visit. Right in front of her, Tristan casually laid out all my struggles—like how I woke up in the middle of the night to hand-wash laundry just to save on the utility bill.

I would never forget the shock and pity in Lauren's eyes, nor would I ever forget the subtle, mocking smirk playing on Tristan's lips from behind her back.

And now, he was running the exact same play.

"Really?" My voice was colder than ice. "Another accident? Tristan, don't you think your accidents are happening a little too often?"

Tristan froze, clearly caught off guard by my pushback. He scowled, his tone turning hurt and defensive. "What are you trying to say? You think I broke it on purpose? Elena, I took shit from my boss all day at work, and I come home just to be interrogated by you?"

"I'm not saying anything." I looked away and turned toward the bedroom. "Since it's broken, we'll hire a plumber tomorrow. Don't shower tonight."

"A plumber costs money!" Tristan raised his voice behind me.

"Then fix it yourself." The door clicked shut softly, cutting off the sound of his heavy, irritated breathing.

I leaned against the door, sliding slowly down the wood until I hit the cold floor. Burying my face in my knees, my shoulders trembled violently, but I didn't let out a single sound. It turned out that watching someone systematically tear you apart while knowing the truth was a thousand times more agonizing than living in the lie.