Not Their Ava: A Twisted Heir

My life began as a cold calculation: I was the Hamiltons' lab-grown spare, destined for my sick sister Clara.

I ran at five, a worn silver locket clutched tight, but freedom turned into a nightmare with traffickers and an abusive woman who called me "Trash."

My only true friend, the real Ava Hamilton, died in my arms during our first desperate escape attempt.

"Make them pay," she whispered, her last breath a promise that tattooed itself onto my soul.

Years later, a sleek black car arrived in the dusty desert.