I woke up and found myself convicted of a hit-and-run killing. On the day I was sent to prison, my fiancé Brandon suddenly confessed to me: “Actually, it was your sister Freya who did the hit-and-run. I fabricated the evidence to make you take the fall for her.” Seeing me frozen in shock, he said it like it was nothing: “I’ve been seeing her behind your back for a while now. She’s pregnant with my child.” “Your whole family knows.” My body went stiff. My mind went completely blank. He continued: “Don’t worry. When you get out, my child with her will be your child too.” Except I never made it out. I was beaten to death in prison. After I died, my soul drifted to Brandon and Freya’s wedding. Without meaning to, I possessed Freya’s body. The officiant was holding the microphone, asking the bride if she took this man to be her husband. I controlled Freya’s body, ran a hand over her slightly swollen belly, and smiled with her face — smug and satisfied: “I absolutely do!” “After all, I’ve been sleeping around with multiple men. Not only did I pick up an STD, I’m also carrying some random guy’s baby.” “So after I ran someone over drunk driving, I deliberately let Caitlin take the fall and go to prison, then stole her fiancé.” “If I don’t marry Brandon, where else am I going to find a loaded idiot willing to take me in?” I turned to Brandon, whose face had gone a sickly shade of green. I patted his cheek and smiled with cold contempt: “Baby, don’t worry. The child might not be yours, but I’m still yours, aren’t I?” ⋯⋯
The moment those words left my mouth, the entire banquet hall froze like someone had hit pause. The silence was so complete you could hear a pin drop. This was a union between the Western Brown family and the Andre family. Every guest here was somebody. The bride had just detonated a scandal with her own lips. The media in the room descended like sharks smelling blood, cameras surging toward me from every direction. After a brief silence, the room erupted into furious whispers. Brandon’s brow twisted. He shoved the reporters back, seized my hand in an iron grip, and dropped his voice: “Freya, what exactly did you just mean by that?” “Wasn’t it Caitlin who had the STD and got knocked up by some other guy?” I looked at this man I’d loved for five years and felt a sharp, gutting pain move through me. Three months ago, Freya had used one AI-generated fake photo to make Brandon completely convinced that I was sleeping around behind his back — that I had an STD, that the baby I was carrying belonged to some unknown man. I had begged him to believe me. The photo was fake. It was Freya who had the STD. But he shoved me to the ground, loomed over me, and screamed: “Freya is pure and kind. Why would she ever frame you?” “You’ve always resented her for taking your place as the Brown family’s daughter. You just can’t stand her!” I hit the floor. The pain in my lower abdomen was so severe I broke into a cold sweat all over my body. I curled into myself and begged him to take me to the hospital. To save our baby. He stared at the pool of blood spreading beneath me, his voice soft and brutal at the same time: “Caitlin, as long as that bastard in your belly is gone and you get your STD treated, I’ll still marry you.” I crawled through the blood to reach the table, grabbed my phone, and called 911. By the time I got to the hospital, the baby was already gone. He had killed our child with his own hands. I dragged my broken body home, only to find Brandon and Freya tangled together in my bed. When I fell apart and confronted them, Brandon sneered: “You’ve been with so many men. You were carrying some stranger’s kid.” “I’m just fooling around with one person. If anything, you’re getting the better end of the deal.”
My thoughts snapped back to the present. I looked at Brandon through Freya’s eyes and gave him the worst smile I could manage: “You idiot. I was obviously lying to you!” “Those photos of Caitlin were AI fakes I made myself. I’m the one carrying some random guy’s baby!” “I made you kill your own child with your own hands, and then handed you someone else’s kid to raise without any of the pain.” “If you think about it, you’re actually getting a pretty good deal!” Brandon’s face cycled from pale to dark. The veins at his temples bulged. His eyes took on something terrifying. At that moment, Freya’s soul started fighting to reclaim her body. She screamed inside my head like something unhinged: “Caitlin! You disgusting piece of trash! Get out of my body right now!” Since this was my first time possessing someone, my hold on her soul was unstable. The world spun violently and I was forced out. Freya, freshly back in control of her own body, burst into tears — the kind that looked beautiful and heartbreaking. She grabbed Brandon’s arm and rushed to explain: “Brandon, none of those words were mine!” “It was Caitlin — that awful woman — she died but she still…” She caught herself mid-sentence, seemed to remember something, and quickly changed her story: “She’s taking revenge on me. I don’t know what kind of dark trick she used to take over my body and make me say those things.” She took Brandon’s hand and pressed it against her small round belly: “She’s jealous that I’m carrying your child. She’s trying to tear us apart on purpose!” The mention of the baby smoothed out Brandon’s furrowed brow immediately: “I knew it. You’re too good and too sweet for any of that. Of course it’s my child. It has to be Caitlin stirring things up!” Seeing Brandon buy the story, Freya let out a deep, quiet breath of relief. Her brother John, sitting in his wheelchair, clenched his fist and spat: “Even locked up, she’s still scheming against people. And here we were, spending a fortune to make sure the guards treated her well — practically turning her prison sentence into a vacation. She doesn’t know how good she had it!” “I want nothing to do with a sister this vicious!” “She should have died in that prison!” I floated there above them, feeling nothing but a dark, hollow absurdity. They had conspired together to put me behind bars with fabricated evidence. And yet they expected me to bow down in gratitude to the very people who destroyed my life. It had only been a few days after my miscarriage when Freya, drunk behind the wheel, ran someone over — then deliberately reversed and ran over the body again before fleeing the scene. When it all came to light, she cried and sobbed and said it wasn’t her fault. The victim had stepped in front of her on purpose, trying to extort money from her. She was scared. She couldn’t go to prison. And just like that, without a second thought, the whole family pointed their finger at me. My parents wrapped their arms around Freya and acted like it was the most natural thing in the world: “Freya was raised to be pampered. She couldn’t survive prison.” “Caitlin, your sister has spent over twenty years being devoted to this family in your place. You owe her everything.” “Going to prison for her is the least you can do to repay that debt.” My brother John hated me for what he believed I’d done — hiring someone to break both his legs, leaving him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. He wanted me to suffer, so he supported sending me to prison without hesitation. And Brandon — he used the gentlest voice to say the cruelest things: “Caitlin, you’re already damaged. A little more damage doesn’t matter. I won’t think less of you for it.” “But if Freya goes to prison, her whole life is ruined.” Even now, even dead, there was still a gaping hole where my heart should have been. The hatred was so overwhelming it launched me straight back into Freya. I shoved her soul out and took back control of her body. I wiped away the tears Freya had just been crying, drew back my foot, and kicked hard enough to nearly send John’s wheelchair toppling. I laughed through the tears still clinging to my face: “You are so irreparably stupid!” “Use that tiny little brain of yours and think! Caitlin had no grudge against you. She had no money. Why would she ever hire someone to break your legs?”
“Obviously it was me. I hired them to break your legs and pin it on Caitlin. I needed you to hate her — really hate her — so I could drive a wedge between you two, steal the shares that were rightfully hers, and force her to take my fall.” I looked a lot like John. He’d run into me by chance one day, started to suspect something, had DNA testing done in secret, and then brought me back into the Brown family. When I first came home, both he and my parents wanted to make up for the twenty-two years of family I’d missed. They were planning to announce my identity as the true Brown family daughter at the company’s anniversary celebration half a month away. And to transfer my rightful shares into my name. But just a few days later, John was dragged into an alley and had both his legs broken. He’d be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Based on the fake evidence the attackers had deliberately planted, he didn’t even look into it. He decided I was responsible and hated me for it with everything he had. My parents, nudged along by Freya’s manipulation, grew colder toward me with every passing day. John stared at the sister he’d cherished and spoiled for twenty-two years. His lips trembled: “Freya… is that true?” Now that I was in Freya’s body, I had full access to her memories. That’s how I knew all these details. I laughed coldly: “The guy who led the attack was named Jason. His number is… but you don’t have to take my word for it. Look it up yourself.” John’s face drained white, then darkened. He barked at his assistant over the phone, demanding they investigate immediately. He made it clear — if Freya really was behind what happened to him, he would not let it go. I clapped Freya’s hands together with exaggerated delight: “Good! Please, don’t let me off the hook!” “Send me to prison. Have me torn apart. Make it count — for your real sister.” He grabbed my wrist hard: “What are you saying? What do you mean, torn apart? What do you mean, make it count?” In order to put me behind bars and cover for Freya, they had falsified dashcam footage, altered surveillance recordings, and bribed everyone involved. They’d successfully gotten me convicted and thrown in prison. But then they’d also spent a small fortune bribing the guards and other inmates to look after me — to ease their own guilt, and so they could tell themselves I was fine and ought to be grateful. What they hadn’t counted on was Freya. Using the Brown family name, she had issued her own orders, overriding all of that — commanding those same people to beat me, humiliate me, and work me until I died. I was laughing so hard my eyes burned with tears: “Of course I was the one who paid them off. I had them beat Caitlin every single day until she was dead.” “Now no one can ever take the Brown family name away from me again.” John’s brow furrowed. He seemed to be weighing whether to believe it. Brandon shoved through the crowd and grabbed my arm: “What the hell are you saying? How could Caitlin be dead?” “Didn’t you say just yesterday that Caitlin complained about the food in there and asked you to get three million from me?” The situation was spinning out of control. Freya went frantic inside me — cursing me, clawing at the edges of her own mind, trying to force me out of her body. No one else could see the two souls fighting for control. From the outside, Freya just looked like she was losing her mind — one moment sobbing: “John, please don’t believe any of this! How could I ever want to hurt you?” “It was Caitlin — she used some kind of witchcraft on me and made me say those things!” “Brandon! I’m carrying your child! This is all Caitlin’s doing, she’s trying to destroy me…” And the next second, slapping herself hard across the face, calling herself worthless — saying she had stolen someone else’s life and deserved every terrible thing coming to her. She even pulled out her phone to call the police and turn herself in. Mrs. Brown rushed forward, knocked the phone out of my hand, pressed her palm over my mouth, and pulled me into her arms.
She turned to the guests with an embarrassed smile and explained that ever since I had come home, I’d been unable to accept Freya as an adopted daughter and had been bullying her relentlessly. Freya’s breakdown today, she said, was clearly my fault. I seized the moment and wrestled back control, shoved her to the floor, and turned to Mr. Brown with a cold, flat stare: “Dad. When exactly are you planning to finish moving the company assets? When are you going to get rid of this old woman so you can bring my real mom home and finally have the family you actually want?” Mrs. Brown hadn’t expected the daughter she’d adored to push her to the ground. It took her a long moment to process it. She pressed a hand to her chest and stared at me, her lips moving: “Freya… what did you just…” Freya was fighting me with everything she had. I bore down and held her back, took control of her hands, and cast the contents of her phone onto the big screen at the front of the hall. Mrs. Brown stared at the image on that screen — Mr. Brown with his arm around another woman, the three of them posed like a perfect little family — and the blood drained from her face. “Honestly, you’ve only got yourself to blame for being so easy to use. If you weren’t loaded, why would my dad have stayed with you this long?” “The one my dad has always loved is my mother, Laura.” “To give me a better life, my dad deliberately switched me and Caitlin at birth. He had her abandoned out in the woods.” I let myself laugh until I nearly doubled over: “The precious daughter you’ve been raising and spoiling for twenty-two years is your husband’s illegitimate child. She’s his mistress’s daughter.” “And you — you went and sent your own biological daughter to prison. For her.” “You killed your own flesh and blood with your own hands.” Every word landed like a hammer blow directly to her chest. She turned to look at Mr. Brown, whose face had gone the color of ash. She murmured to herself, barely audible: “That can’t be real… none of this is real…” She pulled herself up from the floor and latched onto my wrist with both hands: “Freya, tell me. Tell me right now that everything you just said was a lie.” “It was Caitlin, wasn’t it? That vicious girl did something to you, made you say all of that!” No one answered her. Because the answer was staring everyone in the face — Freya looked almost identical to the woman Mr. Brown had his arm around in that photo. I didn’t bother engaging with any of them. I just kept casting more files from Freya’s phone onto the big screen. Photos of her with various men. A hospital report confirming her STD diagnosis. A message thread showing her ordering the guards to have me beaten to death. And then — Brandon’s recent medical report confirming a diagnosis of low sperm count. One bombshell after another. The media in the room were ecstatic, cameras clicking and flashing in a relentless barrage. Brandon snapped at the staff to kill the screen, then grabbed my wrist: “Freya, Caitlin did something to you, right? She’s the one behind all of this?” John and Mrs. Brown both chimed in — saying I had always been vicious, that all of this so-called evidence was obviously something I had fabricated. I looked at the three of them, cold and still. Even with everything laid out in front of them, they still chose to believe in Freya. Still chose to call me the villain. It was almost funny. I controlled Freya’s body and laughed until the tears nearly came. I pointed at them and screamed: “Caitlin is already dead!” “You people killed her. Every single one of you.” Mrs. Brown fired back immediately: “She’s just spiteful. She resents her own family, so she’s been pulling strings behind the scenes, setting all of this up to humiliate us!” John added: “Exactly. We made sure she was well taken care of in there. Prison was practically a vacation for her—” He stopped himself. He’d said too much. Every guest in that room was sharp enough to know when something didn’t add up. The next moment, a hesitant voice rose from somewhere in the crowd: “I heard there was a bullying death at that prison last week. That wasn’t… Caitlin Brown, was it? Is she actually dead? Does that mean all of this is real?”
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