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Lina had been dreaming about this moment for years. Every time she scrolled through social media and saw perfectly contoured figures with hourglass hips and flawless curves, she imagined herself in that position. Confident, beautiful, finally free from the self-consciousness that had followed her since she was a teenager. The decision hadn’t been impulsive. She had spent months researching clinics abroad, comparing prices, reading reviews, and watching recovery videos.

Her choice eventually settled on a renowned cosmetic clinic in Istanbul, Turkey. The online testimonials were glowing—patients praising the surgeons for their artistry, the nurses for their care, and the results for being worth every penny. A few negative comments floated in between, warning of risks and discomfort, but they were drowned out by the overwhelming tide of praise. For Lina, this trip wasn’t just cosmetic—it was transformative.

By the time she zipped up her last suitcase, she could already picture herself in the mirror post-surgery, with fuller breasts, balanced hips, and a confidence she felt she’d been missing all her life. She wasn’t nervous. If anything, she felt energized.

The flight from her home country to Istanbul was scheduled to take roughly ten to twelve hours, with a short layover in between. After four hours in the air, she pulled her blanket over her legs, leaned her head against the window, and watched the city lights vanish into darkness below. The rhythmic hum of the engines was oddly comforting. She calculated in her head—about six to eight more hours until she landed.

Lina scrolled through the clinic’s website once again on her phone, re-reading the Meet the Team section. The staff photos exuded professionalism: smiling surgeons in pristine white coats, with credentials listed beneath each portrait. Her assigned surgeon, Dr. Selim, looked particularly trustworthy, his sharp jawline softened by the kind of reassuring smile you’d expect from a man who’d spent decades perfecting his craft.

When she finally arrived in Istanbul, it was well past sunset. The city lights shimmered across the water, and the sound of distant traffic merged with the muffled voices of people moving through the airport. She was exhausted but exhilarated. The clinic had booked her a room in a sleek, modern hotel just a few blocks away. The lobby smelled faintly of citrus and polished wood.

She hadn’t even unpacked before her phone buzzed with a message from Dr. Selim’s assistant, informing her that the doctor could meet her in the hotel lounge within the hour to go over final details. Lina quickly changed into a casual dress and headed down, her excitement outweighing her fatigue.

The lounge was softly lit, with deep leather chairs arranged in cozy clusters. Dr. Selim arrived right on time. He was dressed in an immaculate navy suit rather than surgical scrubs, which made him look more like a businessman than a doctor. They shook hands, and his grip was firm, his eyes scanning her in a way that felt clinical rather than inappropriate.

They discussed the procedure for nearly forty minutes. He explained that the surgery would involve both breast augmentation and hip enhancement, with recovery expected to take four to six weeks. He was upfront about possible side effects—nausea, dizziness, headaches, temporary weakness, and, in rare cases, infection. Lina listened carefully, nodding at the right moments, but inwardly, none of it scared her. She’d read it all before. To her, these were minor hurdles for a major payoff. After they wrapped up, Dr. Selim wished her a good night’s rest and left as abruptly as he’d arrived. She returned to her room feeling reassured, already imagining the post-op photos she’d send to her friends.

The next morning, her alarm went off at 7:00 a.m., though her appointment wasn’t until 2:00 p.m. She wanted plenty of time to get ready, eat breakfast, and mentally prepare. She spent the morning carefully choosing the bag she’d bring to the clinic, packing her passport, a change of clothes, her phone charger, and the envelope containing the full payment for the procedure.

She was running through the checklist one last time when a knock sounded at her door. It was a polite, steady knock—three taps, a pause, then another two. Lina assumed it was room service confirming her breakfast tray, so she swung the door open without hesitation. Instead of a server, the hotel manager stood there, looking tense, flanked by two uniformed police officers. Her heart skipped.

“Is… something wrong?”

She asked, her voice uncertain. The manager spoke first.

“Miss Lina, may we come in? There’s something important we need to discuss.”

Confused, she stepped aside to let them in. One of the officers began to speak, his tone calm but firm.

“We understand you met with a man last night, claiming to be a doctor from the cosmetic clinic you booked.”

Lina’s brows furrowed.

“Yes… Dr. Selim. Why? What’s going on?”

The officer exchanged a glance with his partner before continuing.

“During your meeting, one of the hotel staff recognized him from a security bulletin. He’s not licensed to practice medicine anymore. His license was revoked two years ago.”

The words barely sank in before the next sentence hit harder.

“He was arrested in 2023 for illegally extracting spinal fluid from patients during surgeries and selling it to private biomedical firms.”

Lina stared, her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and throat.

“That… that can’t be right. The clinic—”

“Doesn’t employ him anymore,”

The officer interrupted gently.

“He’s been impersonating their surgeons and targeting foreign patients in hotel meeting areas. He often disappears before the procedure date, after collecting deposits—or worse, he operates in unlicensed facilities.”

Her stomach twisted violently. She remembered his steady gaze, the precise way he’d explained the risks—except, looking back, he’d never mentioned the clinic’s name aloud. Not once. Apparently, the hotel staff member had tried to call the police the moment he recognized the man, but by the time officers arrived, Dr. Selim had already left the premises.

“You’re lucky we got here before your surgery,”

The manager said gravely. The officers escorted Lina to the station to take her official statement. She described every detail she could remember—the suit, the accent, the way his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table when he spoke. She even replayed in her mind how he’d avoided small talk, sticking strictly to medical explanations.

For the next two days, Lina remained in the hotel under police advice, her appointment, of course, canceled. Every knock at the door made her tense. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured his smile and wondered how close she’d come to waking up on a surgical table in some hidden basement, unaware of what was being taken from her.

On the third day, the police arranged for her to fly back home, ticket and transportation covered. She left Istanbul feeling hollow—not just because her long-planned transformation had evaporated overnight, but because the trust she’d placed in all her careful research had shattered.

When she finally walked into her apartment, suitcase dragging behind her, she took a long look in her mirror. She didn’t see the imperfections she’d obsessed over. She saw someone who had almost lost far more than she’d ever hoped to gain.