Chapter 3

The days that followed were a torturous exercise in self-control. I had to pretend to be the old Ava, grateful and unsuspecting, while the ghost of my stolen future haunted my every move.

In my mind, I saw flashes of what came after my fall in the previous life. I saw Chloe, graciously accepting the Atherton scholarship in my place, a tearful speech about her "poor, troubled friend." I saw her at a gallery opening, charming and sophisticated, with Liam, the handsome art patron, by her side.

I remembered a conversation from that other timeline, a drunken confession Chloe had made to another friend, thinking I was out of earshot.

"The locket is amazing," she' d slurred, laughing. "It takes all the messy parts out of the equation. You get the baby, the connection to the father, without any of the biological hassle. Ava was just the perfect incubator. So trusting."

The memory fueled the fire in my gut. It wasn't just envy. It was a cold, calculated plan to use my body and destroy my life for her own gain. The rage was so potent it almost choked me. I had to channel it, turn it from a consuming fire into a focused beam.

An opportunity presented itself a few days later. A group of us were studying in the library, and a girl from our painting class, Sarah, noticed the locket.

"Wow, Ava, that' s so unique," she said, leaning in for a closer look. "Is it vintage?"

"It was a gift from Chloe," I said, loud enough for Chloe to hear from across the table.

Chloe preened, enjoying the attention. "It' s an old family piece. It' s supposed to bring good luck and inspiration."

"I' d kill for something like that," Sarah said wistfully. "I' ve been so blocked lately."

An idea, sharp and clear, cut through my anger. It was a long shot, but it was the only shot I had.

That afternoon, I slipped out of the dorm and went to a small craft shop downtown. I spent hours sifting through bins of cheap jewelry components. I found it in a dusty corner: a locket, almost identical in size and shape to the cursed one. The design was simpler, a cheap floral pattern instead of the intricate vines, but in the dim light of our dorm room, it would pass a casual inspection. I also bought a small set of jeweler' s tools and a bottle of black acrylic paint.

Back in the room, I waited until Chloe was in the shower. My hands shook as I worked. I carefully pried open the clasp of the cursed locket and removed it from its chain. My skin crawled at the touch of it, a cold, dead weight in my hand. I wrapped it in a piece of black cloth and hid it in the very back of my art supply box, buried under old tubes of paint and charcoal sticks.

Then, I took the cheap replica. I used the tools to scuff its surface, to give it the appearance of age. I mixed the black paint with a little water and carefully painted it into the grooves of the floral pattern, wiping away the excess to mimic the tarnish of old silver. It wasn't a perfect match, but it was close. Frighteningly close. I attached it to the original chain and clasped it around my neck.

I went to the campus clinic the next morning for a blood test, telling the nurse I' d been feeling fatigued. I needed a baseline. I needed proof that I was healthy, that my body was my own. When the results came back two days later, they were completely normal. No hormonal anomalies, no strange markers. Just a healthy, non-pregnant 21-year-old. I almost cried with relief. The curse hadn't had enough time to take root.

That evening, as we were getting ready to go out, Chloe' s eyes fell on the locket around my neck.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the cheap metal. "Is it working?" she asked, a predatory gleam in her eye. "Are you feeling more inspired?"

My heart pounded, but I kept my face neutral. "I think so. I actually feel a lot better."

She smiled, a slow, satisfied smile that sent a chill down my spine. She was looking at the fake, convinced her plan was in motion. She had no idea she was staring at her own downfall.

"Good," she said, turning back to her mirror. "Just keep it on. Don't ever take it off."

Oh, I wouldn't, I thought. But it wouldn't be me wearing the real one when the time came.