Chapter 2

"Amazing?" my mother repeated, her voice laced with suspicion. "You think it' s a good idea?"

"Of course," I said, walking over to my easel and picking up a brush. I ran my thumb over the stiff bristles. "Chloe deserves a wonderful trip. She' s been working so hard... you know, being pregnant."

The sarcasm was so thick I could taste it, but it flew right over my mother' s head. All she heard was agreement.

"Well, yes. Exactly," she said, her tone shifting back to its usual self-assuredness. "We were thinking of heading out to the coast. Ethan has a lovely beach house we could use. He' s so generous."

"That sounds perfect," I said. "When do we leave?"

Another pause. I could practically hear the gears turning in her head. My sudden compliance was an anomaly, a disruption in the family dynamic they had so carefully constructed. I was supposed to be the difficult one, the one who had to be convinced or bullied into submission.

"Well, we' re still working out the details," she said slowly. "We' ll be over tonight to discuss it. Around seven."

"I' ll be here," I said, then hung up before she could say anything else.

The silence of my studio felt different now. It wasn't lonely. It was strategic. For the rest of the day, I didn' t paint. I sat on the floor, surrounded by my canvases, and I planned. I went over every detail of my first life' s final days, every complaint from Chloe, every greedy decision from my parents. It was all a blueprint now, a guide to their destruction.

At exactly seven o' clock, a knock sounded at my door. I opened it to find them all there, a united front of entitlement. My father, Richard, stood with his arms crossed, looking around my studio with disdain. My mother, Sarah, had her purse clutched in her hands like a weapon. And between them, waddling slightly, was Chloe. She was the picture of martyred pregnancy, one hand on her massive belly, the other on the small of her back.

"Ava," my mother said, stepping inside without an invitation. "This place is a fire hazard."

"It' s where I work," I said simply, closing the door behind them.

Chloe immediately sank onto the only real chair in the room, a worn-out armchair near the window. "Ugh, it smells like chemicals in here. It can' t be good for the baby."

"Sorry," I said, my voice sweet. "I' ll open a window."

They looked at me, a flicker of confusion in their eyes. They had come armed for a fight, and my easy capitulation was disarming them.

"So," my father said, getting straight to the point. "Your mother tells me you' re on board with this trip."

"I am," I confirmed. "I think it' s a brilliant idea. A chance for us all to be together."

Chloe scoffed. "Right. Like you want to be around us."

I turned to her, my expression one of pure, unadulterated sincerity. "I do, Chloe. I' ve been thinking a lot lately, and I realize I haven' t been a very good sister. I want to be there for you, for this special time."

The lie was so bald-faced, so contrary to our entire history, that it left them speechless for a moment. They exchanged uncertain glances. This wasn' t the sullen, resentful Ava they knew how to handle.

"I' d love to come with you," I said, pressing my advantage. "I want to be part of it all. I can help with the driving, carry your bags, whatever you need."

This was too much for Chloe. The mask of the fragile pregnant woman slipped, revealing the spoiled brat underneath.

She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. "You? Come with us? Don' t be ridiculous, Ava."

"Why is that ridiculous?" I asked, keeping my tone light.

"First of all, you can' t afford it," she said, gesturing around my studio. "This whole trip is five-star. We' re not staying in cheap motels because you' re tagging along."

"And second," my mother chimed in, finding her footing again, "you' d just be a downer. You always are. We want this to be a happy, positive experience for Chloe."

My father nodded in agreement. "This is a family trip, Ava. For our family."

The implication hung in the air: I wasn't really part of it. I was an accessory, and a defective one at that.

They stood there, a smug little trio, having put me back in my place. They expected me to argue, to get angry, to retreat into bitter silence. They had thrown their best insults, their most practiced dismissals. In my first life, this was the point where I would have fought back, telling them how cruel and unfair they were.

This time, I just smiled. It was a small, tight smile that didn't reach my eyes.

Inside, a cold, hard certainty settled in my chest. This was perfect. Their contempt, their absolute refusal to see me as anything but a burden, was the fuel I needed. They were so predictable, so wrapped up in their own petty cruelty that they couldn't see the trap being laid.

"I understand," I said, my voice soft.

They thought they had won. They thought they had crushed my pathetic attempt to join their exclusive little club. But as they turned to leave, satisfied with another victory over me, I felt a surge of power.

They had just rejected my offer of help. Soon, I would make them an offer they couldn't refuse. And they would beg me to come along. They would beg me to drive them straight to their doom.