The day they shoved me back into my own body, I became a ghost in my own life. For five years, a "player" had worn my skin, using my life as her game. When her mission was complete, the System, in its infinite and brutal efficiency, recalled me. I ran to them—my mother, my father, my brother—my heart a raw, hopeful thing, ready to be held. Instead, they locked me in the basement. They beat me with belts and fists, starving me, all to coax their "real" daughter, their perfect sister, back from whatever phantom limb she’d become. By the tenth day, I was fading. A husk of a girl, whispering through cracked lips, begging them to save me. My brother, Michael, simply kicked me in the ribs. “When Chloe comes back,” he said, his voice flat and cold, “then you get to live.” In the final moments, as the darkness at the edge of my vision began to close in, my fiancé, Ethan, appeared like an apparition. He descended into my personal hell and reached out his hand. Gratitude washed over me, so pure and desperate it was its own kind of pain. I followed him out of that house, a shadow with no name, and I stayed by his side. I bore him a child. And now, from the sterile chill of the delivery room, I could hear their voices through the door. His, and my parents’. “When the baby is born,” Ethan said, his tone clipped and strategic, “I’ll have someone take care of it. You two can use the chaos to destroy her reputation completely.” “Once the world despises her,” my father’s voice added, a low rumble, “once her despair value hits one hundred percent, Chloe can finally come back to us.” I lay there, silent for a long time. Then, a slow, hollow smile stretched across my face. I closed my eyes and made a deal with the Mainframe. I would help them get exactly what they wanted. -- 1 “Ethan, that’s your son. Your own flesh and blood. Are you really sure?” My mother's voice, laced with a flicker of something that might have been doubt, drifted through the door. For a foolish second, a spark of hope ignited in my chest. “Does she deserve to be the mother of my child?” Ethan’s voice was sharp, cutting. “If she hadn’t stolen Chloe’s body, she wouldn’t have had the chance in the first place.” The strength drained out of me, leaving my mind a silent, white expanse. She had stolen my body. For five years. Their mournful sighs were a discordant symphony of grief. “I wonder how Chloe has been all this time,” my mother murmured. “Is she suffering in someone else’s body, being bullied?” “That bitch, Ava,” my father spat. “It was never hers to keep. She should have just let go.” “Patience,” Ethan counseled. “We’re almost at the end. The plan is nearly complete.” Tears traced silent paths down my temples and into my hair. To earn my way back, I had worked without rest, managing the lives and missions of dozens of hosts for the Benevolence System. I’d depleted my energy to the point of near-dissipation countless times, believing I was facing my final death. The thought of my family was the only thing that pulled me through, the anchor that let me survive each crisis. And then, finally, Chloe—the player—had vacated my body. The moment I saw my family again, the pent-up grief of five years spilled over. But before the first sob could even escape, my brother’s hands were around my throat. His eyes were bloodshot, manic. “Give her back,” he choked out. “Bring Chloe back.” He shook me, my head snapping back and forth. “Who the hell are you? What gives you the right to take her body? You’re nothing, you bitch, why are you trying to replace her?” My parents stood by, their faces hard as stone, endorsing his rage. They dragged me to the basement and the beatings began, a ritualistic punishment designed to exorcise my soul from my own skin. Ethan appeared in the darkest hour of that despair. He reached for me, and to get me out, he let my parents rain blows upon his own back, his body shielding mine. He emerged from that house bruised and bleeding for me. I remember him kneeling before me, the picture of a wounded savior, taking my hand. He’d said, “Ava, from now on, wherever I am is your home.” He’d said, “Ava, don’t worry. We’ll have a son, and he and I will protect you together. No one will ever hurt you again.” It was all just a scene. A beautifully staged lie. “We have a Code Blue! PPH! Get blood packs, now!” A nurse’s shout snapped me back to the present. A searing pain tore through my abdomen. Through the fog, I heard Ethan’s voice, a masterpiece of anguish. “Doctor, please, you have to save my wife and child! Please! I can’t live without them!” The sound of something solid hitting the floor, over and over—his head, I realized. He was putting on the performance of a lifetime. Such devotion. I felt a chill spread through my veins, deep and absolute. “Doctor,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Could you do something for me?” 2 “I’m so sorry. The baby didn’t make it. The good news is, the mother is stable.” When the doctor’s words finally registered, I let the darkness of exhaustion pull me under. In the haze between sleep and waking, I heard their whispers. “Useless. Can’t even manage to deliver a baby.” “Well, it saves us the trouble. Less blood on our hands this way.” “Proceed with the plan.” … When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. On the television mounted to the wall, my fiancé was smiling for the cameras at a press conference. “Today is my fiancée’s birthday,” he said, his expression a perfect blend of charm and sorrow. “Although I can’t be with her, I will be donating one hundred million dollars to charities in the rural mountain regions in her name, to pray for her recovery and well-being.” The old me would have been moved to tears. CRASH. The door slammed against the wall, jolting me fully awake. A large, drunk man stumbled into the room, reeking of cheap whiskey. “Hey, baby,” he slurred, lurching toward my bed. “I’m here. Come give your man a little sugar.” My body, weak and ravaged from childbirth, was useless. The man was a mountain, and the pressure of his presence was suffocating. I couldn’t fight back. “Who are you?” I gasped. “Get away from me!” His response was a fist to my forehead. My head snapped back against the pillow, stars exploding behind my eyes. He lunged again. “Bastard!” A curse, a thud, and the man was on the floor. I flinched, shrinking back against the headboard as my family and Ethan stormed into the room. My mother was on me first. Her hand cracked across my cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. “Have you no shame?” she screamed. “We thought having a child might settle you down, make you decent, but it seems…” “You can’t polish a turd,” my father finished, his voice dripping with disgust. “Mom, Dad, don’t be so quick to blame Ava,” Ethan said, his voice a placating balm. “Let’s hear what this man has to say…” I didn’t speak. A bitter, soundless laugh formed in my throat. A trap set just for me. Why bother struggling? “It was her! The bitch seduced me!” the man on the floor wailed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You have to believe me! We… we even have a child together!” He was getting into it now, a true actor. “To be with me, Ava killed her own baby… she killed our baby herself!” One sentence, and the verdict was delivered. Even though I’d been expecting it, a cold dread seeped into my bones. I held my composure as the doorway filled with onlookers, their phones held up to record the drama. “That’s the fiancée of Ethan Hayes, right? He’s out there doing charity work in her name, and she’s in here being a total piece of trash.” “The devoted heir and the slutty mistress. What a cliché. Poor Mr. Hayes.” “Hey, did you hear? The rumor is she actually stole her sister’s fiancé to get with him in the first place…” The whispers grew into a chorus of filth. I remained still, my face a mask of calm. “Ethan,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Are you really going to see this through?” A flicker of something—doubt? guilt?—crossed his face before he clenched his jaw. His eyes turned red, and he lunged toward me. He slammed his fist into the wall just beside my head. The plaster cracked. “Ava!” he cried, his voice trembling with manufactured pain. “Defend yourself! Just say something, deny it, and I’ll believe you—I swear I will!” The man on the floor scrambled. “No! You have to believe me! I have proof!” He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick stack of papers. “Look! Photos of us together!” he shouted, scattering them across the floor. “And this! She got an amnio, even with the risks! Here’s the paternity test!” The papers were snatched up by the crowd. A wave of gasps and murmurs filled the room. I felt strangely peaceful. “You degenerate!” my father roared, charging at me. His cane came down hard across my back. A coppery taste filled my mouth as I choked back a spray of blood. I raised a hand, and my voice, when it came, was a thunderclap in the charged silence. “Enough!” 3 Every eye in the room swiveled to me. “Whatever you say I did,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion, “I’ll admit to it.” Ethan clutched his chest as if he’d been shot, his voice weak. “Ava… why?” He looked utterly heartbroken, a man betrayed to his very core. I let out a soft sigh. Without touching a single thing in the room, I slid off the bed and walked toward the door. “Stop!” The command was a chorus of voices. The crowd of onlookers, now my self-appointed jury, blocked my path. “Ava,” Ethan pleaded, dropping to one knee. He held up a ring. “Just admit you were wrong. Tell the world you’ll have nothing more to do with this man, and we can go back to how things were. Please.” I glanced at the ring. It was a cheap, tinny band, the kind you’d find in a gumball machine. A real laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips this time. “Get out of my way.” I pushed through the crowd and walked away, the sounds of their curses and disgust trailing behind me like a bridal train. Ethan’s theatrical sobs were the last thing I heard. The video of the “cheating scandal” was already trending online. The entire internet was calling for my head. I went back to the house I had shared with Ethan. When I gathered all my belongings, they barely filled a small carry-on suitcase. Clink. A crystal picture frame, perched on the highest shelf of a closet, fell to the floor. It was a photo we’d taken on our third day together, one I had insisted on. In the picture, my smile was radiant. Beside me, Ethan gazed at me with an expression of pure adoration. He had said then, “Being with you is the greatest honor of my life.” My eyes, now hollow, stared at the photo. Through the glass, I could see faint writing on the back of the print. To my wife, Chloe: In memory of a time that should have been. The handwriting was unmistakably his. The words “my wife” were blurred, as if stained by tears. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I took the photo and every other thing that had ever belonged to me and set them on fire in the backyard fireplace. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows, and as they consumed my past, I felt a strange sense of release. My body had carried me this far, but it had nothing left to give. Before I could even make it out the front door, the world went black. I don’t know how long I was out. The faint, muffled voices of Ethan and my parents slowly pulled me back to consciousness. “Should we add more fuel to the fire? I feel like it’s still missing something,” Ethan said, a note of worry in his tone. My parents chuckled. “Being a slut isn't enough to make everyone truly hate her,” my mother said. “But a heartless, exploitative capitalist? That, they will despise.” My head throbbed. When I came to, I was tied to a bed. They were taking no chances. I struggled slightly, and the creak of the bed frame alerted them. They came into the room, their faces falling in disappointment when they saw my eyes were open. The mask of sorrow was gone, replaced by unconcealed loathing. “Ava, I thought you just didn’t love me,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with righteous condemnation. “But now I see. You’re not just unloving. You’re evil.” He tossed a phone onto the bed in front of me, thoughtfully untying one of my hands so I could use it. The screen was filled with headlines about me. My "dark history." Charity Foundation Exposed: Founder Ava Walker Embezzles Millions in Donations. Hayes Corp Insider: Walker Docked Employee Salaries, Fired Staff with Crippling Severance Penalties. The Devil Wears Red: Walker Allegedly Crippled a Designer to Use Blood to Dye a Gown. One accusation after another, each painting a portrait of a monster. “If you want to condemn someone, you can always find a reason,” I murmured. “But fine. You want a villain?” I looked them in the eye. “I’ll give you one.” With my free hand, I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand. I smiled as the blade plunged, straight and true, into my own heart.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "384415", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel