Amanda POV:

Hospital discharge day. Benjamin wasn' t there. My mentor, Professor Davies, drove me back to my apartment. As I hobbled out of the car, my arm throbbing, I saw the message on my phone. From Benjamin:

So sorry, Amanda. Jenna had a terrible scare at her apartment last night. Someone trying to break in. She' s really shaken up. I couldn' t leave her alone. I' ll bring you dinner tonight. What do you want? Don' t worry, I' ll make it up to you.

A terrible scare. Of course. Always Jenna. Always something that needed his immediate, undivided attention. I stared at the message, a bitter laugh bubbling up in my throat. He was still trying to play the part of the caring boyfriend, even as he prioritized someone else entirely.

I texted back: Don't bother. I'm fine. I knew it wouldn't stop him.

Later that evening, I heard a knock. I opened the door to see Benjamin standing there, a large insulated bag in his hand, a sheepish smile on his face.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "I know you said not to bother, but I figured you' d need a good meal after all this. I made your favorite – chicken noodle soup, just like your mom used to make. And some fresh bread." He held up the bag.

My stomach churned. The smell of chicken noodle soup, usually so comforting, now made me want to gag. My body remembered the pain, the shock, the trauma. And the last thing I wanted was a reminder of the 'comfort' Benjamin used to offer.

"Thanks, but I' m not hungry," I said, my voice flat.

He frowned, his smile faltering. "Nonsense, you have to eat. You' re still so pale. Come on, let me set it up." He tried to push past me, but I blocked the doorway.

"Benjamin, I told you I' m not hungry."

"What' s wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "I made it specially for you." He opened the bag, and the aroma wafted out. It wasn't chicken noodle soup. It was a rich, creamy seafood bisque. My heart sank. I was highly allergic to shellfish. An allergic reaction could send me back to the hospital. He knew this. He always knew.

My eyes widened in disbelief. "You… you made seafood bisque?"

He froze, looking at the steaming container, then back at me, his face slowly draining of color. "Seafood… oh my God. No. This isn' t… this was for Jenna."

The words hit me harder than any physical blow. He had mixed up our meals. He had brought me, the girl he supposedly still cared about, a meal that could kill me, because he was so preoccupied with Jenna.

His phone began to ring, a frantic, insistent buzz. He glanced at the caller ID, his eyes wide. "It' s Jenna!" he gasped, fumbling to answer. "Jenna? Are you okay? I' m so sorry! I grabbed the wrong bag! Is your stomach still upset? Did you eat any of it?"

I heard Jenna' s whiny voice on the other end, faint but audible. "Benjamin! Where are you? I' m starving! And my stomach feels awful! You promised me chicken noodle soup, not… not this fishy stuff!" Her voice was laced with a sickly sweetness, a manipulative feigned vulnerability.

Benjamin' s face was a study in panic. "I' m so sorry, sweetheart! I' m still at Amanda' s. I' ll be right there! Don' t eat anything else! I' ll get you the right soup, I promise!" He ended the call, his eyes darting to me, filled with a desperate apology. "Amanda, I–"

"Don' t," I cut him off, my voice cold as ice. "Just… don' t. Get out, Benjamin."

He opened his mouth to protest, but I didn' t give him a chance. I stepped back, my eyes blazing, and pointed to the door. "Go take care of your 'sweetheart,' Benjamin. And don' t ever come back."

He stood there, frozen for a moment, the bag of bisque still in his hand, his eyes wide and pleading. But I simply closed the door in his face. The click of the lock was a final, definitive sound.

I walked straight to my laptop, my hand still throbbing, and opened the email from the Paris school. With my left hand, I filled out the necessary paperwork, confirmed my acceptance, signed the forms. The professor' s words rang in my ears: They believe in your talent, Amanda. It was a stark contrast to Benjamin' s dismissal of my work, his trivialization of Jenna' s plagiarism.

A few days later, Professor Davies called. "Amanda, just wanted to let you know, everything' s finalized for Paris. Your flight is booked. Your accommodation confirmed."

"Thank you, Professor," I said, a genuine smile touching my lips for the first time in weeks.

As I walked through the university hallways later that afternoon, heading to the registrar' s office to finalize my withdrawal, I overheard two other professors talking.

"Did you see Jenna Christian' s latest design? Absolutely stunning. That phoenix motif, so original. She really is a talent."

"Indeed. Benjamin Kane is quite taken with her work too, I hear. He' s been very supportive."

I walked past them, my head held high, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. Let them praise her. Let them believe her lies. My future was waiting.

I stepped out of the office, relieved. The air was crisp, the sky a brilliant blue. A delivery truck was parked at the curb, and a man in a uniform was looking at his clipboard.

"Amanda Stevens?" he called out.

"That' s me," I said, walking towards him.

"Package for you. Just need you to sign here." He gestured to his electronic pad.

I reached for the pen, but before I could take it, a hand clapped over my mouth. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, dragging me backward. I struggled, my heart seizing with terror, but a sweet, cloying scent enveloped me, and the world began to spin. The delivery man, I realized, was not a delivery man at all. His eyes were cold, devoid of expression.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. The last thing I saw before blackness consumed me was the back of a dark van, its doors swinging open. And then, nothing.

Amanda POV:

My head pounded, a relentless drum against my skull. My eyes fluttered open to reveal a dimly lit room, stark and unfamiliar. The air was stale, smelling faintly of cheap perfume and cleaning chemicals. My wrists and ankles were bound, not tightly enough to cut off circulation, but enough to prevent any meaningful movement. I was lying on a cot, a thin, scratchy blanket covering me.

Panic clawed at my throat. I tried to scream, but my voice was hoarse, a mere croak. I thrashed, pulling against the restraints, but they held fast. Where am I? What happened?

The door creaked open, and a figure emerged from the shadows. A tall, impeccably dressed woman with sharp features and an even sharper smile. Her eyes glittered with a predatory amusement.

"Awake, finally?" she purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Welcome, Amanda Stevens. Or should I say, Ms. Gold Digger?"

My blood ran cold. "Who are you? What do you want?"

She chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. She held up a tablet, turning it so I could see the screen. It displayed a contract, filled with legal jargon, but one line stood out in bold, underlined red: "Penalty for Breach of Contract: Immediate Seizure and Forced Compliance."

"You signed a contract with my agency, Ms. Stevens," she said, her smile widening into a sneer. "A binding agreement to become our exclusive influencer. You' ve been in breach for weeks. Ignoring our calls, failing to attend scheduled shoots. We had to take… drastic measures."

"That' s a lie!" I gasped, my mind reeling. "I never signed anything with an influencer agency!"

She scrolled down, zooming in on a signature. My signature. Scrawled in a familiar, elegant script. My heart hammered against my ribs. It was undeniably mine. But how?

"Oh, but you did," she said, her voice laced with mock pity. "Or at least, your signature did. We have it all perfectly legal. See? It' s all here. Your image rights, your social media presence, your entire brand. All ours. Now, you will comply. Or face the consequences."

"This is a mistake!" I pleaded, fresh panic rising. "I' m a fashion designer, not an influencer! I have a scholarship to Paris! I' m leaving the country!"

She laughed, a chilling, dismissive sound. "Paris? Darling, you' re not going anywhere. Not until you' ve fulfilled your contractual obligations." She snapped her fingers, and another woman, equally cold-eyed, entered the room. "Take her to the styling room. She needs a complete makeover. We have a shoot in two hours."

The second woman started to untie my restraints, her movements rough. I struggled, tears welling in my eyes. "No! You can' t do this! This is kidnapping!"

"Kidnapping?" The agency head raised an perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "It' s a legally binding contract, darling. You just forgot you signed it. Or perhaps, someone else signed it for you." She gave me a knowing look. "It happens all the time in this business. Girls desperate for a break."

My mind raced. Someone else signed it for me. Who? Who would do this? And then, a chilling thought pricked at my mind. The "future self" on the rooftop. Her fate, Jenna' s! The fall, the injury, the stalker! It was all meant for Jenna!

This, too, was meant for Jenna. This influencer contract. Jenna, the scholarship student, always striving for recognition, for status. Jenna, who plagiarized my phoenix design. Jenna, who was Benjamin' s "soulmate."

The truth hit me like a physical blow. Jenna had signed this contract, possibly in my name, or a similar name, to launch her own career. And when Benjamin' s affections had shifted, when he had started protecting her, the "karma" had shifted too. Not just the stalker and the fall, but this too. I was living Jenna' s nightmare.

A wave of terror washed over me, colder than any Parisian winter. Jenna. She was doing this. She had orchestrated it all. She wanted my life, and now she was getting me to live her worst parts.

The second woman grabbed my arm, yanking me off the cot. My injured arm flared with pain. "Hey! Be gentle with the merchandise!" the agency head snapped, though her eyes held no real concern.

They dragged me into a brightly lit room filled with racks of revealing, garish clothes, and a vanity table overflowing with heavy makeup. It was everything I hated about the superficial world of fast fashion and social media.

"Take this off," the stylist commanded, shoving a skimpy, sequined top at me. "We need to get you ready."

"No!" I cried, resisting. "I won' t wear this! I won' t do any of this!"

The agency head walked in, her face devoid of patience. "Listen, sweetie. You play along, or we make your life a living hell. We know where your family lives. We know where you go to school. And we know some rather embarrassing details about your recent breakup with a certain wealthy heir." She smiled, a cruel, knowing curve of her lips. "Benjamin Kane wouldn' t lift a finger for you now, would he? Especially not after you rejected him and ran off to Paris."

My heart sank. Benjamin. He wouldn' t. He was too caught up in Jenna, too convinced I was a gold digger. My last shred of hope, that he might realize his mistake, dissolved into dust.

But then, a flicker of defiance ignited within me. He wouldn' t help me. But I could help myself. I had to.

"Fine," I said, my voice shaking, but firm. "But I need to use the restroom first."

The agency head narrowed her eyes, then shrugged. "Make it quick. And don' t try anything funny. This place is locked down."

They escorted me to a small, cramped bathroom. As soon as the door clicked shut, I fumbled for my phone, which I had secretly slipped into my pocket before being taken. My hands trembled as I unlocked it. Who could I call? My parents? They' d panic. Professor Davies? Benjamin?

Benjamin. My fingers hovered over his contact. He wouldn' t help. He hadn' t helped before. But he was the only one who truly knew the extent of Jenna' s manipulations, even if he didn' t realize it yet. He was the key. He had to know.

I dialed his number. It rang once, twice, then connected.

"Amanda? Is that really you? Where are you? Are you okay? I' ve been trying to––" His voice was frantic, filled with a sudden, desperate concern.

"Benjamin," I choked out, tears streaming down my face. "I… I' ve been kidnapped. It' s Jenna. She signed me up for some influencer agency. They think I' m her. My arm… it hurts. Please, Benjamin, you have to help me!" The words tumbled out, raw and panicked.

Before he could respond, a saccharine voice cut in from his end. "Benjamin, darling? Who are you talking to? Is everything alright?" It was Jenna.

My blood ran cold. She was with him. At this very moment.

"Jenna? What are you doing there?" Benjamin' s voice was filled with confusion.

Then, Jenna' s voice, clear and sickeningly sweet, came through the phone, now directed at me. "Oh, Amanda. Still causing trouble, are we? Don' t worry, Benjamin, she' s just… confused. She tends to get a little dramatic when she doesn' t get her way."

My heart shattered all over again. He was going to believe her. He always did.

"Benjamin, don' t listen to her! She' s lying! She set this up! She' s trying to ruin my life!" I screamed into the phone, my voice cracking.

But Jenna' s voice, calm and steady, overrode mine. "Benjamin, tell her to stop. She' s just jealous. She always has been. She probably just wants to make you feel guilty. Don' t fall for it."

I heard Benjamin' s conflicted sigh. "Amanda, I… I don' t know what to believe. Jenna says you' re fine. She says you just ran off because you were angry. Is this true?"

The receiver was snatched from my hand. The agency head stood over me, her face a mask of fury. "What did I tell you about trying anything funny?!" she snarled, ripping the phone away. With a savage twist, she snapped it in half.

My last link to the outside world, to any hope of rescue, was gone. And Benjamin, the man I had loved for seven years, believed her. He believed Jenna.