Chapter 1: The Body Swap Conspiracy

I’m the group’s favorite supporting girl in a blockbuster novel, and the day I became self-aware, I realized my own family was about to force the heroine to surrender her body—so I could take over, live in her skin, and snatch her future for myself. My heart hammered in my chest, my hands trembling as I tried to process the horror and guilt of what was happening. The shock hit me so hard I thought I might pass out, but I couldn’t look away from the ugly truth unfolding before me.

The air in the living room was thick with tension, heavy and suffocating, the kind that makes your skin prickle and your stomach twist. The soft hum of the air conditioner barely cut through the heat of angry stares and the chill of what felt like a family exorcism. A Yankee Candle—vanilla bean, I think—burned on the mantle, trying and failing to mask the sharp tang of fear and the old coffee lingering from the morning. The faint scent of lavender hand lotion on my mother’s hands clung to the couch cushions, but it was no match for the anxiety pressing down on us.

Suddenly, digital pop-ups flickered in my vision, like chat overlays from a livestream gone rogue, the words floating midair as if my mind had become a screen:

[Here’s the key plot: The sidekick girl’s got a crazy rare gift, but nobody notices.]

[Heck yeah! If this body swap works, the main girl gets her shot at the secret society and her epic comeback!]

[Come on, sis, let’s get this over with! Once you’re in, you can finally get even!]

...

I sneered, my lips curling as I cut off the ritual with a sharp step forward, hands clenched at my sides.

My voice came out like a knife, slicing through the murmurs and thick air. I felt a cold, electric rush—like I’d just flipped a breaker and the whole room paused. In that instant, I wasn’t just some sickly kid in a white nightgown—I was dangerous, untamed, a live wire no one wanted to touch.

What kind of filth—what kind of disgusting game is this? Does she even deserve to be switched with me? The memory of Lauren stealing my favorite red backpack in third grade flashed through my mind, stoking my resentment. Even now, I could still hear her laughing about it behind the lockers.

I refuse! Lauren Castillo—she’s messed up so much and everyone says she won’t live long anyway. Why should I let her have more time? She might look plain, but her eyes burn bright, defiant. Every time she faces down this family that’s crushed her, she glares with a fire that’s almost blinding.

Honestly, her stubborn pride, the way she stands up to everyone, the way she acts like she can will herself out of anything—it’s almost funny. Even now, cornered, she won’t back down. I almost admire her, but jealousy eats at me. In this house, with family photos lining the walls and secrets lurking behind every closed door, that kind of spirit is dangerous.

Even when she’s pushed to the edge, she stands tall, never breaking.

I nestled into my mother’s arms, watching Lauren struggle like a caged animal, my face calm and unreadable. My fingers dug into my mother’s sleeve, but my gaze never left Lauren.

My mother’s perfume—Chanel No. 5, the real deal—hung heavy in the air as she pulled me close, her hands icy cold despite the warmth of the house. Her heartbeat thundered against my cheek, betraying the panic beneath her polished exterior. She tried to shield me, lips pressed in a forced, brittle smile. I watched Lauren’s chest heave, her eyes wild with fear. For a moment, pity flickered inside me—but not enough to stop what was about to happen.

That’s right, I’m supposed to have a short life—missed prom, no sweet sixteen, never even made it to a school dance. But I can’t stand people like Lauren, so alive, like wild grass pushing through the cracks. So when the family offered her up for my body-swap, I didn’t say no.

A life that vibrant, that full of fight—it should be mine! If I can’t have it, I’ll take it by force.

From now on, those pitiful, sympathetic glances would never be directed at me again.

I pictured it: no more whispering behind closed doors, no more side glances at the dinner table, no more aunts gossiping about the poor Carter girl who’d never make it to college. I’d have that fire in my veins, not her.

"You’ve got some nerve! If it weren’t for your birth mom’s scheming, my kid wouldn’t be this sick!" My mother’s furious shout snapped me out of my thoughts.

She gripped me tight, shooting daggers at Lauren Castillo with eyes as cold as ice cubes clinking in a glass. When Lauren dared to claim I was doomed, Mom’s face twisted with disgust and rage.

Mom’s voice cracked like a whip, bouncing off the hardwood floors and echoing past the family portraits. The room went dead silent except for the tick-tock of the old grandfather clock in the corner. You could almost taste the old family grudges swirling in the air, thick as syrup.

"Be grateful your body’s still worth something to my child, or you’d never get another word out!" Mom bit back her anger, swallowing it like a bitter pill. That was the body I was about to take—she couldn’t let it be damaged.

And my own frail body needed the warmth of a soul to survive. For now, she couldn’t do anything to Lauren. She couldn’t hurt her, just had to keep her under lock and key, terrified something would go wrong.

Mom’s hands shook as she clutched my shoulders, her nails digging in. I could feel her calculating—her love for me fierce, twisted, as relentless as a Texas thunderstorm. In this family, survival was a negotiation, and Lauren was just the bargaining chip.

"Ha! Even if I die, I won’t let you win! Ivy, I’ll wait for you in hell!" Suddenly, Lauren broke free, making a wild dash for the heavy coffee table, actually ready to bash her own head in.

Lauren’s scream ripped through the room. The coffee table—solid oak, a family heirloom—loomed in her path. The adults lunged, but she was desperate, wild-eyed, and for a second, I thought she’d actually do it.

"Somebody stop her!" Chaos erupted, relatives scrambling to hold her back. Just when it looked hopeless, a cold, gray energy swept her aside like a winter gust.

Lauren hit the floor hard, coughing up blood.

People rushed over, pinning her down tight, their faces pale with panic.

The metallic taste of blood filled the air, sharp and raw. Lauren’s body shook with silent sobs, and for a heartbeat, I saw the little girl she’d been—running on the playground, hair in messy braids—before all this darkness. But the moment vanished.