Chapter 3

At home, our parents were ecstatic.

Mom clapped her hands, her eyes shining with avarice.

"Tiffany, darling! You look just like her! I always knew you were destined for more than this dead-end town!"

Dad puffed out his chest. "This is it, Martha! Our ticket!"

He rubbed his hands together. "We'll say we 'found' Tiffany wandering near the accident site, dazed, looking just like Anna. She takes Anna's place, and we can gently hint for a 'reward' for her safe return. Vance is a billionaire!"

They'd always favored Tiffany. Her looks, her shallow charm.

My art, my skill, was always "Chloe's morbid little hobby."

A dead-end job for a dead-end girl.

In my first life, after Tiffany killed me, they told the police I'd run away.

They helped cover it up, eager to protect their precious Tiffany.

I looked at them, their faces alight with greed.

"Vance is not a fool," I said, my voice flat. "He's incredibly intelligent. He'll see through it."

Mom's face hardened. She slapped me, hard.

"You're just jealous! What has your morbid art ever gotten you? A tiny, failing business! Tiffany is about to marry a billionaire, and you're trying to ruin it!"

Tiffany emerged from her room.

She was wearing a dress I recognized from news photos of Anna Reid.

A dress that could only have come from Anna's belongings.

It implied a much more direct, gruesome role in Anna's death than just "arranging an accident."

She sneered at me. "Some people are just born to be background characters, Chloe. You should accept your place."

Mom nodded vigorously. "Exactly! Tiffany will be famous, rich! We'll all be rich!"

Dad chimed in, "Think of the diner! We can finally renovate! Maybe even franchise!"

Their perpetual pipe dream, the failing diner.

I said nothing. Let them dream.

Their awakening would be brutal.

I watched Tiffany admire herself, twirling in Anna's stolen dress.

The resemblance was uncanny now. My work was too good.

She looked like Anna Reid.

But she was still Tiffany, rotten to the core.