The heat hit me first. It wasn't a gentle warmth; it was a hungry, roaring wave of destruction. Orange flames swallowed the canvases, turning my painted faces into black ash. David's mother stood like a statue of ice, watching my history burn to the ground.
"You have no idea what you are," she said, her voice cutting through the crackle of fire. "You are not a person, Zoya. You are a project. An obsession that David refused to bury."
The scarred man grabbed my arm with a grip like iron. "Don't listen to her! Move now!" He tossed a small canister toward the guards. A thick, white cloud exploded, filling the room instantly.
Gunshots echoed through the haze. I dropped to the floor, my lungs stinging from the smoke. David's mother screamed orders, but her voice grew distant. The man dragged me through a narrow side exit and into a cold, dark alley.
We ran until we reached a battered black car hidden under a bridge. He shoved me inside and slammed the door. As the engine roared to life, I stared at my hands. They were stained with soot and charcoal.
"Who is David to me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "She said he is my creator. What does that mean?"
The driver didn't look at me. He wove through the late-night traffic of London at high speed. "David is a genius, and geniuses are usually broken. He didn't just find you. He designed the life you think you lived. Your parents, your home, your memories—it was all a script."
"But the blood types," I whispered, holding onto a small spark of hope. "We aren't related. He isn't my brother."
"No," the man replied grimly. "But in his head, he is your god. And gods don't like it when their creations start asking questions."
He handed me a leather folder. Inside were hospital records and photos of a laboratory that looked like a mansion. My breath hitched when I saw a picture of myself as a child. I wasn't playing; I was hooked up to a heavy machine.
"We are heading to Cornwall," he stated. "There is a cottage on the coast. David kept the original files there. If you want to know about Eleanor and why you have her face, that is where the answers are."
We drove into the darkness for hours. I leaned my head against the cold glass. I thought about David—the hunger in his eyes, his possessiveness, and that strange tenderness. If he wasn't my brother, what did he want? Was I just a doll to him?
The city lights faded into jagged cliffs and the sound of crashing waves. By dawn, we reached the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic. The cottage sat alone, covered in dead ivy and salt-crusted windows. The man handed me a heavy iron key.
"Go inside," he said. "I will watch the road. If the Watchers followed us, I will buy you time."
I walked toward the house, my heart hammering. The air was freezing. I turned the key and the door groaned open, revealing a dusty, dark hallway. The furniture inside was hidden under white sheets, looking like ghosts.
In the study, I found a desk with a laptop and an old tape recorder. I pressed 'Play'.
A voice filled the room. It was David, but he sounded younger and frantic.
"Day 7,300. The transcription is finished. She looks exactly like Eleanor. She breathes like her. But she doesn't remember the fire. I have hidden the truth in the basement, but my mother is closing in. If Zoya ever finds out she was never meant to be born, the cycle will break. I love her... but I am terrified of what she will become when she wakes up."
I froze. A shadow moved across the floor. I turned, expecting the driver.
Instead, a woman stood in the doorway. She wore a tattered white dress. Her hair was matted and long. She looked exactly like me, but older—worn down by years of misery. She wasn't a painting. She was real.
"You are finally here," she whispered. Her voice sounded like dry leaves. "I have waited twenty years for you to come and kill me."
I stepped back, hitting the desk. "Who... who are you?"
The woman smiled tragically. She pointed to a scar on her neck—the exact spot where I had a small birthmark.
"I am the masterpiece David failed to finish," she said. "And you? Tonight, he is going to use you to replace me forever."
Suddenly, the door behind her slammed shut. A loud click echoed as the lock turned from the outside. On the laptop screen, a video started playing. It was a live feed.
It showed David tied to a chair in a room made of glass. Standing over him with a sharp scalpel was my father.
[To be continued in Chapter 9...]