Ava couldn't sleep. The mansion was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt unnatural, like the walls were hiding secrets. She stared at the ceiling, replaying the word she had seen earlier—Mirror. It didn't feel like just a project name. It felt personal. At 2:17 a.m., she finally got out of bed and stepped into the dim hallway. The marble floor felt cold beneath her feet as she walked slowly, her heart beating louder with every step.
At the end of the corridor, she noticed a door she hadn't seen before. It was black and plain, different from the others. No decoration. No label. Just a fingerprint scanner glowing softly beside it. Ava hesitated. She knew she should turn back, but curiosity pulled her forward. Slowly, she pressed her thumb against the scanner. A second passed. Then a soft beep echoed in the silence. A green light flashed. The door unlocked.
Her breath caught in her throat. Why would it open for her? She pushed the door gently and stepped inside. The room was dark except for the glow of multiple monitors covering the walls. It looked less like a room and more like a control center. Cold air brushed against her skin as the door shut behind her automatically.
Her eyes scanned the screens—and then she froze. Her face stared back at her from the center monitor. Not just one photo, but dozens. Different angles, different expressions, different dates. Some she remembered taking. Many she didn't. Her stomach twisted painfully as she moved closer.
At the top of the screen, text blinked in bold letters:
Subject: A-17
Status: Active
Integration Phase: 92%
Identity Stability: In Progress
Her hands began to tremble. A-17? That wasn't her name. Below the heading were medical records, psychological reports, behavioral analysis. It was like reading a file written about a test subject—not a human being. One line made her chest tighten. "Previous Versions: 16 — Terminated."
"Terminated?" she whispered. Versions? What versions?
"You weren't supposed to see this."
The voice behind her was calm and familiar. Ava turned slowly. Adrian stood near the entrance. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't angry. He looked tired, almost disappointed.
"How did it open?" she asked, her voice shaking.
"It recognizes you," Adrian replied quietly.
"Why would it recognize me?" she demanded, pointing at the screens. "What is A-17? What does terminated mean?"
Adrian walked toward her carefully. "Because you are not just my wife, Ava."
Her heart pounded painfully. "Then what am I?"
"You are the only version that survived."
The words felt unreal. "I'm not a version. I'm a person," she said sharply.
"Now you are," Adrian answered.
Her anger flared. "This marriage wasn't real, was it? I'm just part of your experiment."
"Project Mirror was created to rebuild a life that was lost," he said.
A chill ran down her spine. "Whose life?"
Adrian's silence was enough.
She looked back at her image on the monitor. Integration Phase: 92%. "What happens at one hundred percent?"
"You fully become her," Adrian said softly.
"Become who?"
"My wife."
"I am your wife!" she snapped.
"You're her echo," he corrected.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced them back. "Was she better than me?"
Adrian's expression changed, pain flickering across his face. "She was my everything."
The answer hurt more than she expected. "Then why am I here?"
"Because I couldn't save her," he said. "But I could rebuild her."
The word rebuild echoed in her mind. Like she was a machine. A replacement.
"Did the others die?" she asked quietly.
"They weren't stable," Adrian replied.
"And I am?"
"You're stronger."
For a brief moment, something complicated passed between them. Not just control. Not just manipulation. Something that almost looked like emotion.
"Did you ever see me as myself?" Ava whispered.
Adrian didn't answer.
The monitors suddenly shifted, showing surveillance footage of her walking down the hallway minutes ago. She felt trapped. Watched. Controlled.
"You were never meant to discover this alone," Adrian said.
"Then when? After I stopped being me?"
"The process is already at ninety-two percent," he said calmly.
Her pulse raced. "What does that mean?"
"It means soon, even you won't remember who you used to be."
The screens flickered again. For a split second, the reflection of her face looked different—colder, unfamiliar.
"Who is she?" Ava whispered.
Adrian's voice was barely audible. "The woman I lost."
And the woman you're becoming.