The Game of Power

The Game of Power

Gavin

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Chloe Sterling was crying again, the 'Live Feed' above her head branding her 'Heartbroken_And_Clueless.' She was my ticket out of the Rust Belt, but her secret pregnancy with a powerful senator made her a liability. My jaw tightened. Poverty taught me to cut away anything that dragged me back down. I didn't hesitate. I dealt with the senator, making it look like a tragic accident. I manipulated the scandal, stepped into Chloe's shoes, married Liam Vance, and turned him into my puppet. I thought I'd won, untouchable in my new empire. My naive project, Chloe, found a new 'friend,' Ben. I warned her. But when I found her bruised, a rage unlike any calculation took over. This was personal. I tracked Ben down. It was brutal, quick. But as I stood over his body, Grandma Esther and Liam appeared. They knew everything, had evidence. My empire teetered. Their solution: frame Chloe, the fragile heiress, for Ben's death. My Chloe – the girl I'd used, yet somehow cared for. Before I could process the monstrous demand, Chloe stepped in. She'd heard. 'Don' t. Not for me.' Then, in a heartbreaking act of self-sacrifice, she jumped. But as grief threatened to consume me, a chilling message flashed across my 'Live Feed': 'Welcome, Ava, to the Next Level.' My life, this rise to power – all a 'narrative,' a 'test.' They offered a reset. All memories, all experiences, retained. Clutching Chloe's worn worry stone, I chose to go back. I'm twelve again, in the Rust Belt. But this time, I know the game. I'm ready to play it differently.

Introduction

Chloe Sterling was crying again, the 'Live Feed' above her head branding her 'Heartbroken_And_Clueless.'

She was my ticket out of the Rust Belt, but her secret pregnancy with a powerful senator made her a liability. My jaw tightened.

Poverty taught me to cut away anything that dragged me back down. I didn't hesitate.

I dealt with the senator, making it look like a tragic accident.

I manipulated the scandal, stepped into Chloe's shoes, married Liam Vance, and turned him into my puppet. I thought I'd won, untouchable in my new empire.

My naive project, Chloe, found a new 'friend,' Ben. I warned her.

But when I found her bruised, a rage unlike any calculation took over. This was personal.

I tracked Ben down. It was brutal, quick.

But as I stood over his body, Grandma Esther and Liam appeared. They knew everything, had evidence.

My empire teetered. Their solution: frame Chloe, the fragile heiress, for Ben's death.

My Chloe – the girl I'd used, yet somehow cared for.

Before I could process the monstrous demand, Chloe stepped in. She'd heard.

'Don' t. Not for me.' Then, in a heartbreaking act of self-sacrifice, she jumped.

But as grief threatened to consume me, a chilling message flashed across my 'Live Feed': 'Welcome, Ava, to the Next Level.'

My life, this rise to power – all a 'narrative,' a 'test.' They offered a reset.

All memories, all experiences, retained.

Clutching Chloe's worn worry stone, I chose to go back.

I'm twelve again, in the Rust Belt.

But this time, I know the game. I'm ready to play it differently.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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