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Years ago, I, Ava, the adopted daughter, stumbled upon an old screenplay that labeled me the villainess. It foretold my role: a sacrifice for my 'perfect' sister, Chloe. Desperate to rewrite my fate, I poured kindness into the lives around me, subtly guiding studio executive Ethan Crawford to success and saving Marcus Vance from a life on the streets. My hope was to earn loyalty, to shield myself from the script' s cruel prophecy. But on the set of Ethan' s latest film, that hope shattered. A controlled explosion went wrong. While Chloe emerged with a mere scratch, a piece of debris slammed into my side. Agony stole my breath. No one noticed. My adoptive mother accused me of distracting Chloe, and Ethan, seeing only Chloe' s 'trauma,' dismissed my cries for help as 'drama.' He ordered Marcus to take me to an isolated, decaying guesthouse, to keep me out of the press. Marcus, the man I saved, left me there alone, choosing to 'check on Chloe at the hospital' instead. I bled out, helpless and forgotten, the script' s narrative unfolding flawlessly. Every act of kindness, every sacrifice I made, was twisted against me, cementing Chloe' s manipulative victimhood. How could those I helped so devotedly believe such cruel lies? Was my destiny truly sealed by a cursed story? My death, however, was just the beginning. My spirit lingered, an unseen witness. I watched Marcus, desperate to conceal what he'd done, chillingly preserve my body in ice. But the truth, cold and silent, would soon shatter the carefully constructed illusions of everyone involved, dragging the Ashworth family, and the Hollywood elite, into a scandal far more devastating than any screenplay could predict.