This series will be divided into multiple parts, the next parts are coming soon, stay tuned and subscribed to get alerted when new stories are released.
- The insider (part 1)
- The insider (part 2)
- The insider (part 3)
- The insider (part 4)
- The insider (part 5)
- The insider (part 6)
- The insider (part 7)
- The insider (part 8)
- The insider (part 9)
Marta Delgado stood in the small, cluttered kitchen of her two-bedroom apartment, the morning light filtering weakly through the heavy haze that permanently hung in the air. At forty-one, she was a single mother of two boys — eight-year-old Lucas and six-year-old Mateo — and until a month ago, she had been one of the most vocal anti-smoking advocates in the entire National Lung Health Association. Now, the apartment reeked of tobacco and stale smoke. The once-white walls had taken on a faint yellowish tint. Ashtrays overflowed on every available surface: the kitchen counter, the coffee table, the nightstands, even the edge of the bathtub. Empty Vogue packs littered the floor like fallen leaves.
She had a cigarette dangling from her lips almost constantly now.
Marta lit a fresh Vogue from the glowing end of the one she had just finished, inhaling deeply and greedily as she stirred the oatmeal for the boys. Her cheeks hollowed dramatically with each pull. She held the smoke in her lungs for long seconds, eyes half-closed in quiet pleasure, before exhaling a thick stream through her nose while she worked. The nicotine rush hit her bloodstream and she let out a soft, satisfied hum. This was her third cigarette of the morning, and it wasn’t even 7:30 a.m.
She had changed completely.
A month ago, the idea of smoking had disgusted her. She had lectured parents at school meetings about the dangers of secondhand smoke, proudly told her boys that “cigarettes are for people who don’t love themselves enough,” and kept her home meticulously smoke-free. Now, that same woman chain-smoked nearly two and a half packs a day. She woke up craving a cigarette, smoked while making breakfast, while helping the boys get dressed, while driving them to school. She kept a pack in her handbag, another in the car, and a third in her desk at work. The soft, wet cough that had started a few days ago no longer bothered her — it was simply part of the ritual now.
The experiment had broken something deep inside her — or perhaps awakened it.
At first, she had participated only out of loyalty to Angela. One cigarette a day, she told herself. Just for science. But on day three, after her fourth involuntary drag, something shifted. The nicotine rush wasn’t just tolerable — it felt good. By day seven she was exceeding the schedule. By day twelve she had stopped pretending she was doing it for research. Smoking had become the highlight of her day. The deep inhales, the warm fullness in her lungs, the pleasant head-rush that made the stress of single motherhood melt away — she craved it constantly. She now understood why people fought so hard to keep smoking. It wasn’t weakness. It was pleasure. Pure, simple, undeniable pleasure.
“Mommy, you’re smoking again,” Lucas said sleepily as he walked into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.
Marta turned, cigarette still dangling from her lips, and smiled at her son through the haze. “Yes, sweetheart. Mommy smokes now. It helps me feel better. You’ll get used to it.”
She took another long drag, cheeks hollowing, and exhaled away from him as best she could. The boys had stopped complaining after the first week. They were adapting faster than she expected. The apartment was now a smoker’s home, and Marta no longer felt guilty about it.
After dropping the boys off at school, she drove to the association building with a fresh cigarette between her lips. She no longer hid it. She parked in her usual spot, lit another Vogue the moment she stepped out of the car, and walked inside with the cigarette dangling casually from her mouth, smoke trailing behind her like a banner. Several colleagues nodded at her in passing, many with their own cigarettes lit. The culture had shifted dramatically in just thirty days.
Marta spent the morning at her desk, chain-smoking steadily while she worked on the recruitment files for the next phase of the experiment. She had a cigarette in her mouth almost nonstop — lighting a new one the moment the previous one burned down. Her once-pristine desk now had a dedicated ashtray, a lighter, and an open pack of Vogue. Yellow stains had permanently settled on her fingers and nails. Her voice had taken on a permanent husky edge that she secretly found sexy.
By 11:30 a.m. she was close to finishing her first pack of the day.
At 3:30 p.m., she left the office and drove to her sons’ school to pick them up. She parked in the usual spot and immediately lit another Vogue, letting it dangle from her lips as she waited. The other mothers standing nearby stared openly. Marta had once been one of them — the health-conscious single mom who brought organic snacks and lectured about clean air. Now she sat in her car with a cigarette hanging from her mouth, smoke pouring from the cracked window, completely unashamed.
She noticed a group of three non-smoking mothers chatting near the gate — women she had known for years through school events. Perfect.
Marta stepped out of the car, cigarette still dangling, and walked over to them with confident strides. The women’s eyes widened when they saw her.
“Marta?” one of them, Laura, said in disbelief. “Are you… smoking?”
Marta took a long, luxurious drag, cheeks hollowing, and exhaled a thick plume to the side. “Yes. I’ve been part of an important experiment at work. It’s been eye-opening.” She smiled warmly. “Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you three — and a couple of others. We’re starting a new phase of the program. We’re looking for non-smokers willing to participate in a carefully monitored study on how smoking affects people. It’s completely safe, low-nicotine test cigarettes, and we provide full support.”
The three women looked horrified.
“You want us to smoke?” another one, Claire, asked, eyes wide. “Marta, you used to be so against this!”
“I know,” Marta replied calmly, taking another deep drag and holding the smoke before exhaling. “I was wrong. I didn’t understand. Now I do. This program has changed my life. I feel calmer, more focused, more… alive. The cigarettes we’re using are specially formulated. Very low risk for short-term use. And you’ll be monitored the entire time.”
After some heavy resistance, she managed to convince five women in total — Laura, Claire, two others named Sophia and Elena, and a quiet woman named Rebecca. All of them were shocked to see the once fiercely anti-smoking Marta chain-smoking casually while she explained the program. She reassured them patiently, emphasizing the scientific nature, the support they would receive, and how this would help “truly understand the other side.”
The women were reluctant, but Marta’s calm confidence — and the fact that she, of all people, had embraced it — eventually won them over. They agreed to start the next day.
Marta drove home with a fresh cigarette between her lips, feeling a deep, dark satisfaction. She had recruited her first group. The corruption was spreading.
That evening, after feeding the boys and helping with homework, she sat on the small balcony of her apartment with her pack of Vogue beside her. She was ready for a chain smoking session, flooding her lungs with smoke. It left her dizzy with pleasure. She thought about the five women she had recruited and smiled around the filter.
Tomorrow, they would take their first drags.
And soon, they would be just like her.
The next morning, Marta arrived at the association early, already on her seventh cigarette of the day. She had chain-smoked heavily while getting the boys ready and during the drive. Her apartment was now a thick haze she no longer bothered to ventilate. The boys barely noticed anymore.
She spent the morning preparing the orientation room. Ashtrays, lighters, packs of the special “test” Vogues, and informational packets were laid out neatly. At 10 a.m., the five women arrived, looking nervous and uncomfortable.
Marta greeted them warmly, a cigarette dangling from her lips as she spoke.
“Welcome. Today is the beginning of something important. You will each start with one cigarette. We will guide you through the proper technique. Remember, this is science. This is empathy.”
The women watched in stunned silence as Marta demonstrated, taking a long, sensual drag and exhaling gracefully. One by one, they lit their first cigarettes under her patient guidance. Coughing and hesitation filled the room at first, but Marta encouraged them gently, sharing her own transformation story.
By the end of the session, all five had taken multiple drags. Most felt disgusted and choked on the smoke. Marta reassured them that it was a normal reaction and that she felt the same at first. The initial feeling would soon disappear to leave only pure smoking pleasure.
Marta lit another Vogue as they left, smiling with dark satisfaction.
The experiment was spreading.
And she had never been happier to be part of it.
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