They Chose the Impostor Over Me - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading They Chose the Impostor Over Me, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of They Chose the Impostor Over Me.
At first, she kept making excuses, claiming she just didn't want to burden her parents and brother anymore—that's why she chose to disappear quietly.
Then the police laid out the evidence.
Her bank withdrawals from a year ago. The extra million in the suspect's account.
And the videos.
Dozens of them, recorded over the past year, played right there on the screen.
My parents and brother lost it.
In those videos, I was tied beneath a table while a group of men took turns breaking me.
I sobbed, begged—they just laughed, whipped me, pissed on my face.
If I tried to run? A shock from their batons sent me convulsing on the floor, losing control of my own body.
The videos showed my slow unraveling—from defiance to submission, from resistance to obedience.
By the end, I was less than human. A dog at their feet, barking when commanded, licking their shoes for scraps.
A single cough from them sent me scrambling, stripping off my clothes in numb terror before curling into a corner, watching them feast.
If they were feeling generous, they'd toss me a chicken bone.
If not? I ate from the slop bucket.
They even gave me a name: Puppy.
"Puppy, you want a drumstick?"
With a sick, practiced smile, I'd kneel, shaking my head in fear.
The sight was so vile I gagged—but with nothing in my stomach, all I threw up was bile.
Then, one day, I found a phone on a passed-out drunk.
I called my brother, crying for help.
He laughed. Hung up.
The man woke up, dragged me by the hair, and beat me senseless.
Now, in that police station, my mother sobbed into my father's chest. My brother clawed at his own hair, howling, "She was begging me! I hung up on her! It's my fault!"
He slammed his fists into his own face, then lunged at the suspect, eyes wild. "I'll kill you for what you did to her!"
Cops hauled him back. The suspect, pale and shaking, pointed at Renata. "She made us do it!"
Renata trembled, unable to meet their stares.
My father roared that he'd disown her, make sure she rotted in prison.
Reagan's voice was a razor. "Prison's too good for her."
With the suspect's intel, police tracked the others down.
Cornered, with every exit watched, they dragged me to an abandoned factory.
When my family and the cops arrived, I was tied to a pillar, my wounds reopened, blood soaking through my dress.
"Let her go!" Reagan charged forward—
The gang leader pressed a knife to my throat.
"Back off! Get us a private jet and seven million—or I slit her open right now!"
They'd seen me leap into the river earlier. Knew if I died, they'd never escape.
So they fished me out—not to save me, but to use me one last time.
By then, my wounds were festering. Fever burned through me.
Through the haze, I saw my mother on her knees, screaming for my life.
My father barking orders into his phone—money, a plane, now.
My brother pleading with the cops: "Don't move. Just let them go."
Then the police laid out the evidence.
Her bank withdrawals from a year ago. The extra million in the suspect's account.
And the videos.
Dozens of them, recorded over the past year, played right there on the screen.
My parents and brother lost it.
In those videos, I was tied beneath a table while a group of men took turns breaking me.
I sobbed, begged—they just laughed, whipped me, pissed on my face.
If I tried to run? A shock from their batons sent me convulsing on the floor, losing control of my own body.
The videos showed my slow unraveling—from defiance to submission, from resistance to obedience.
By the end, I was less than human. A dog at their feet, barking when commanded, licking their shoes for scraps.
A single cough from them sent me scrambling, stripping off my clothes in numb terror before curling into a corner, watching them feast.
If they were feeling generous, they'd toss me a chicken bone.
If not? I ate from the slop bucket.
They even gave me a name: Puppy.
"Puppy, you want a drumstick?"
With a sick, practiced smile, I'd kneel, shaking my head in fear.
The sight was so vile I gagged—but with nothing in my stomach, all I threw up was bile.
Then, one day, I found a phone on a passed-out drunk.
I called my brother, crying for help.
He laughed. Hung up.
The man woke up, dragged me by the hair, and beat me senseless.
Now, in that police station, my mother sobbed into my father's chest. My brother clawed at his own hair, howling, "She was begging me! I hung up on her! It's my fault!"
He slammed his fists into his own face, then lunged at the suspect, eyes wild. "I'll kill you for what you did to her!"
Cops hauled him back. The suspect, pale and shaking, pointed at Renata. "She made us do it!"
Renata trembled, unable to meet their stares.
My father roared that he'd disown her, make sure she rotted in prison.
Reagan's voice was a razor. "Prison's too good for her."
With the suspect's intel, police tracked the others down.
Cornered, with every exit watched, they dragged me to an abandoned factory.
When my family and the cops arrived, I was tied to a pillar, my wounds reopened, blood soaking through my dress.
"Let her go!" Reagan charged forward—
The gang leader pressed a knife to my throat.
"Back off! Get us a private jet and seven million—or I slit her open right now!"
They'd seen me leap into the river earlier. Knew if I died, they'd never escape.
So they fished me out—not to save me, but to use me one last time.
By then, my wounds were festering. Fever burned through me.
Through the haze, I saw my mother on her knees, screaming for my life.
My father barking orders into his phone—money, a plane, now.
My brother pleading with the cops: "Don't move. Just let them go."
End of They Chose the Impostor Over Me Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to They Chose the Impostor Over Me book page.