The second I came to, I grabbed the box cutter off the shelf and pressed it to the convenience store cashier’s throat. Amid the chaos of screams, I calmly told the clerk to call the cops and insisted they handcuff me, demanding a mandatory 24-hour hold. Everyone thought I’d snapped or was having some kind of psychotic episode. Only I knew I was trembling with sheer relief. In my past life, on this exact night, my scheming stepsister Tiffany—the fake heiress—pushed my adoptive mom down the stairs, killing her instantly from brain death. I was asleep in my room when the police hauled me out. They showed me security footage, claiming I’d murdered my mother. I was totally helpless, begging my adoptive dad and brother to uncover the truth. But they just lashed out, calling me an ungrateful snake they’d raised for eighteen years, always plotting to steal their family’s money. Internet trolls doxxed me, cornered me in an alley, and beat me to death. “Oh my God, Chloe’s totally lost it!” “Officer! Arrest me! I’m a dangerous criminal!” “I told you that girl had a dark streak since she was a kid. Now she’s finally gone off the deep end!” The convenience store entrance was packed with people—some filming on their phones, others just gawking and pointing. The reason was simple: I’d just barged into the convenience store, held a box cutter to an innocent clerk’s neck, yet all I forced him to give me was a soda. Then I turned to the arriving cops, sticking out my hands and practically begging to be cuffed and hauled away. The clerk’s legs shook with terror. The more scared he got, the more relieved I felt. Two officers pinned me to the ground, then stuffed me into a squad car with sirens blaring down the street. At the station, they wanted my statement, trying to figure out if it was a real robbery or just a stunt. I sat in the interrogation chair, acting completely uncooperative. “I did try to rob the place. I want to go to jail, and you have to hold me for 24 hours!” Officer Davis frowned, jotting down notes. “I’ve seen plenty of thrill-seekers like you. A night in lockup should straighten you out!” “Not just detention—we’re calling your family. Let them see the mess you’ve made!” The second he mentioned family, I shook my head frantically. “No family! I’m an adult. I’ll take the rap myself!” “And you have to put me in a cell with cameras and bars! No less than 24 hours!” Officer Davis probably thought I was nuts, but with the weapon threat, he followed procedure and booked me. The second the station’s iron gates clanged shut, I wanted to dance for joy. Last time around, on this exact night, my “sweet” stepsister Tiffany pushed my adoptive mom down the stairs during a fight over a necklace. Mom hit the back of her head, bleeding badly, and died instantly. I was in my room, listening to an English podcast with headphones, when the cops kicked down my door. Tiffany was sobbing dramatically, putting on a show of grief, pointing at me and claiming I’d pushed her. She even showed them the hallway security footage. The monitor clearly showed me in my pajamas, with a crazy look on my face, shoving my adoptive mother down. I was confused, but I knew it couldn’t be real. I’d been in my room studying—never even left. How could I have pushed her? But my adoptive dad Richard and brother looked devastated, pointing and yelling, “We raised you for 18 years, and you’re just an ungrateful snake…” I wondered if I was dreaming. How could the family who’d always loved me turn on me like this? Internet trolls were furious, doxxed my address, and jumped me on my way home. Sticks hit me, bricks smashed my head, and blood poured into my eyes. “This monster who killed her own mom doesn’t deserve to live!” When I woke up again, the hard cot in lockup felt like a five-star hotel bed.
I ate and slept fine in detention, even helped the woman in the next cell with her divorce case. Life was weirdly comfortable. A little over twelve hours later, the female guard said someone was there to see me and told me to get ready. I did the math—Tiffany must’ve pushed Mom by now. I straightened my jail uniform, cuffed, and was led to the visiting room. Before I could even sit down, Richard and Tiffany burst in with a lawyer, reporters, and crying relatives. The second Richard saw me, he tried to lunge through the glass to attack me. “You monster! You killed your mother! And now you’re hiding here like nothing happened!” Tiffany sobbed, “Chloe, just confess! Mom’s gone, but if you admit what you did, Dad and your brother might forgive you!” An influencer in the crowd was live-streaming: “Folks, the mom-killer’s been found! Hiding right here at the station! This monster deserves the death penalty!” I was shocked. I’d hidden in the station, and they were still trying to frame me. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Richard’s lawyer pulled out a document. The lawyer declared self-righteously, “Chloe, for the heinous murder of your adoptive mother, Richard is filing to strip you of inheritance rights and demands maximum punishment!” Cops tried to keep order, but the family had brought cameras and mics—total chaos. I tried to explain, but no one would listen. Cameras flashed nonstop, everyone screaming for my blood, demanding I pay for Mom’s death. A hysterical relative threw a water bottle that hit my forehead, leaving a red mark. The station lobby was a circus—other inmates pressed against the bars, watching the show. Soon, the Captain emerged with a larger group of officers. “What’s going on here? This isn’t your living room! Quiet!” Richard pointed furiously, jaw tight. “We’re pressing charges! This animal killed someone at home last night and hid here!” I immediately spotted Officer Davis, the one who’d taken my statement, standing behind the Captain. “Officer Davis! My dad’s nuts—they’re saying I killed someone! You have to help me!” Officer Davis frowned and stepped up. “Sir, the suspect Chloe has been in custody since last night. How could she have gone home to commit murder?” Richard’s face turned red with rage. He shoved his phone at Officer Davis. “I’ve seen plenty like her—ungrateful brats doing evil and faking alibis!” “I have security footage! The cameras clearly show it was her!” The live stream comments exploded: [Alibi won’t matter—video evidence is solid!] [Lock her up for life!] [She deserves the death penalty!] I was livid and confused. I’d turned myself in—how could they still pin this on me? “I don’t get it! How could security footage show me?” Richard yelled, “You pushed your mother down the stairs! You’re the best actor I’ve ever seen!” Unlike last time, I stayed calm. “I pushed Mom? When? I have no clue what you’re talking about!” Tiffany tried to grab my hand, but a correctional officer blocked her. Tiffany sobbed harder, “Chloe, don’t lie! I saw you last night in your pajamas, pushing Mom!” The captain’s expression turned grim. “Ma’am, you need evidence. Our entire station was on duty. Are you saying we couldn’t keep one prisoner from escaping, murdering someone, and returning?”
Officer Davis, who’d processed me, looked equally angry. “Sir, you can’t call us incompetent just to frame someone!” “Good thing our station’s covered in cameras. Look—isn’t this Chloe?” On the big screen, there I was in my jail uniform, cross-legged on the cot, explaining legal stuff to the woman next door. The timestamp in the corner matched exactly when Tiffany claimed Mom was killed. Richard’s video showed me in pink pajamas, looking crazy, shoving Mom at the top of the stairs. Side by side, the two videos couldn’t have been more different. One me was talking law in a cell; the other was murdering someone at home. It was nuts, but it proved I couldn’t be in two places at once. The crowd went silent, everyone staring at each other confused. The live stream comments were equally confused: [Same person in two places?] [Twins? One in jail, one killing?] [If not twins, this is straight-up supernatural!] [But even twins don’t match exactly—look at that birthmark behind the ear!] Reading the comments, cops started wondering if I had a twin.
Officer Davis asked Richard, “When you adopted Chloe, did the orphanage mention a twin?” Richard snapped, “I only adopted one brat like her!” “I’m her father! I know her best. She must’ve used some trick, but she’s the killer!” “Officer, lock her up! Make her pay for my wife’s death!” Officer Davis frowned. “Is that how a father talks? Even if she’s adopted, she’s still human. You can’t just throw her life away.” Richard sized up Officer Davis, then scoffed. “Oh, I get it! No wonder she snuck out—she’s sleeping with you!” “You helped her escape to kill my wife!” Officer Davis was a straight-arrow guy. Richard’s accusation made his face burn with anger. The captain slammed his hand on the table. “Richard, watch your mouth! This is a police station—we won’t stand for false accusations!” Richard shrugged. “A murderer’s a murderer. Locked up or not, she did it!” Cops were getting suspicious. Richard didn’t act like a grieving husband—more like a guilty man trying to pin blame. They sent someone to check Tiffany’s relationship with Mom. Richard exploded. “What are you doing? There’s nothing to investigate!” “I’m the victim’s husband! Don’t I get to know who killed my wife?” Everyone there was confused. Richard kept ranting, trying to rile up the reporters. But the reporters could tell something was off and decided to wait for police updates. I was waiting too. Soon a forensics tech rushed in: “We found something in the Wu family’s video! After enhancement, the ‘Chloe’ pushing her has a faint neck seam.” All eyes turned to me in shock. Everyone gasped, trying to process what that meant. The room turned hostile. Tiffany glared at me. “Chloe, did you get someone to wear a realistic mask to frame me?” Richard’s eyes blazed. “I knew it! You manipulative witch!” Just then, a helicopter roared overhead. I panicked. “Julian, cut the drama! They’re gonna kill me!”
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