Gameover

Gameover
Marco

“No, I’m Ashlyn. Can’t you see that?” Ashley snapped at me, her voice filled with fake anger and pain as she stared directly into my eyes. I didn’t respond because I didn’t need to.

I already knew the truth. And no matter what she said, no matter how many lies she tried to twist into reality, it wouldn’t change what I knew deep inside. I’ve seen her games before; I know how she lies, manipulates, and pretends to be the victim just to get her way.

And this? This was just another performance.

She could cry, scream, act wounded, all she wanted. But her eyes, they no longer held any trace of remorse or desire to change. And in that moment, I realized something: I no longer saw hope in her.

Not a flicker.

There was no light left in her. Just shadows, dark and heavy, feeding on envy, anger, and desperation for attention and love she believed was stolen from her.

And yet… in the middle of it all, a sharp pang of emotion struck me.

But not for her.

It was for Ashlyn.

Even without words, I could feel the heaviness pressing on her chest. I could see the tremble in her fingers and imagine how many deep breaths she must’ve taken before stepping into their old house, before facing her twin sister, the same woman who had deceived and betrayed her more times than she deserved.

I knew her.

I knew her heart, the kind of heart that tried to stay strong even when it was breaking. The kind of heart that still found reasons to forgive even when there was nothing left to gain.

That’s why I understood.

Ashlyn didn’t come here to reconcile.

Not to forget.

Not even to forgive.

She came to try.

To try and remind Ashley that she mattered. That no matter how cruel or vicious her actions had been, someone still cared. Someone, her own sister, still dared to reach out and offer light.

Ashlyn just wanted to show her a way out.

A chance to choose something better.

But Ashley... she didn’t take it.

Her heart and mind were locked in place, buried deep under years of resentment and bitterness. She couldn’t see the hand that was reaching out to her. She couldn’t feel the sincerity radiating from her sister’s pain.

She was blind.

Blind to the truth. Blind to the kindness being offered to her.

And most of all, blind to the love she once received, completely and freely, from the very person she now sought to destroy.

I closed my eyes, swallowing the sting that rose in my chest.

I may not have heard the exact words exchanged between them, but I didn’t need to. I could feel it. I could feel the weight that Ashlyn now carried, and it tore at me.

Whatever happened between those four walls, one thing was certain:

I prayed she wouldn’t come out of it completely broken.

I hoped there was still strength left in her heart.

That she wouldn’t blame herself for the failure of this encounter or the mess unfolding before us now.

Because truth be told, she had given everything.

She hoped.

She loved.

She sacrificed.

And she clung to goodness even when she stood alone in it.

And right now, she was all I cared about.

Ashlyn. Only Ashlyn.

If there was anything, anything I could do to take away her pain, I would’ve done it a long time ago.

Then, out of nowhere, a low voice cut through the silence.

“You know what?” said Ismael, the man who had been standing stiffly by the wall, his tone laced with mockery.

My head snapped in his direction. Even Ashley turned abruptly toward him, her expression clearly unsettled. But I felt something else.

Something was off.

I caught a flicker of movement behind the SUV, shadows. My heart skipped a beat… but I immediately exhaled in relief.

They were here.

But there was no time to relax.

Ismael stepped forward slightly. In his hand was a gleaming knife, the same one he had revealed earlier. It caught the faint light and reflected it like a promise of danger. He grinned, a chilling, soulless grin.

“What are you doing here, Ismael?” I asked calmly but firmly, keeping my voice steady. I didn’t want to cause alarm. Not yet. Most especially not to Ashlyn, still unconscious in my arms, unaware of the chaos building around us.

Ashley glanced at him. “Not now,” she whispered urgently, her voice sharp.

“Too late,” Ismael replied coldly. “I’m here. I’m taking her. I am going to take my Ashlyn.”

My grip on Ashlyn tightened. Her weight was becoming heavier in my arms, but I wouldn’t let go. I was the only thing standing between her and this twisted man.

Heavy or not, I wasn’t giving her up.

Not to him.

Not to anyone.

“I know you’re not Ashlyn,” I said flatly, turning to Ashley. “This—” I gestured to the unconscious woman in my arms, “—is the real Ashlyn. You’re the impostor.”

“You don’t know anything, Marco!” Ashley screamed, stepping back, her voice trembling. “You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” I growled. “You and Ismael, you’re working together. You wanted to take Ashlyn’s place. You wanted to be with me while she…” I looked at Ismael with disgust. “...while he takes her away, uses her, abuses her.”

Ashley took another step back. Her hands were shaking. “That… That wasn’t the plan.”

“But that’s the truth,” I snapped.

Ismael chuckled darkly. “You know, Marco… if you hadn’t shown up, everything would’ve gone smoothly. But no, you just had to interfere.”

He started walking toward me.

The knife rose slowly in his hand.

I could fight, but not with Ashlyn in my arms.

I had to get her out of here.

I began retreating, one step… two… three, while Ismael advanced.

My eyes searched desperately for Sandro’s team.

Where the hell were they?

“Put her down,” Ismael commanded. “You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“I’m not letting go of her,” I snapped. “And you’re not taking her.”

“You don’t even know who she really is!” Ashley cried out, her voice breaking. “You don’t know what kind of woman she is—”

“I know her better than you ever will,” I cut her off. “And no matter what you do, Ashley, you’ll never replace her.”

“You son of a—!” Ismael roared, lunging forward.

But just as he made his move, a thunderous voice tore through the tension.

“DON’T MOVE! POLICE!”

In seconds, Sandro’s men emerged from the shadows, guns drawn and aimed at Ismael from all directions.

Ismael froze, his hand tightening around the blade.

“Game over,” I muttered through clenched teeth.