Chapter 1

All I wanna say is that they don't even care about us

All I wanna say is that they don't even--

Annelise switched the stereo off, hands on the wheel-- I can do this. I can do this. A few deep breaths are all it takes. She glanced towards the rear seat, catching the documents she collected earlier that day-- Files on the odd case of Ms Arianna Marshall and her clone, the questionnaires from the ORDC office, and the prescription drugs she was asked to deliver to Ms Marshall. Her ID lay on top of all the mess of unorganised files-- The name Marshall Realtors Ltd. imprinted in blue above her favourite formal shot of herself. She looked so happy and excited in that one. She was, of course. Back then, it was a dream come true-- graduating second-top in class right behind Alexie "Show-Off" Schoff, being selected as an intern at her dream company-- everything was perfect.

But dreams had a peculiar nature to them, Annelise had realised a few days into her work. They had a vibrant vigour, all-consuming-- everything appeared so kaleidoscopic and exhilarating, her feet barely touching the ground. But the reality was dull. The meetings and sessions she was promised with the figures she shook hands with in her dreams-- she barely was in the same room with any of them. Chasing down Mrs Arnold, the only lady in the Board of Directors, while she roamed the Litton Mall appealed to her as a brilliant strategy to capture the much-required attention she deserved, but she decided against herself, thinking that it would be indecent of her to do so. But decency and politeness were not taking her anywhere except more menial jobs, utterly irrelevant to her hard-earned skills and dreams. And that particular day, she was only on yet another one of her side quests. But this one could be different, Annelise believed.

Arianna Marshall was the daughter of Mr Gavin Marshall, founder of Marshall Realtors Ltd, the unannounced king of all real estate in the entire US. And that was the reason behind Annelise's newfound optimism. Not that she ever turned bitter or pessimistic-- she had committed to every side quest with such eagerness and dedication, only to realise her efforts were not worth the rewards the day after, sleep-deprived. It would be wrong to say that she worked overtime-- in fact, she worked all the time. But if this (however) brief meeting with his daughter goes well, and if I can impress Ms Marshall with my friendliness and caring, Annelise composed herself from constructing yet another tower of expectations within her mind. All the skyscrapers she had built earlier had collapsed with such relentlessness-- she wasn't sure she could handle the descent of another one just yet.

Annelise pulled herself off a full-body stretch and sorted all the documents like a pro within seconds, "Here goes nothing."

*****

Annelise had parked her car outside the front gates of the mansion that seemed to span a few hundred acres, to say the least. She assumed she could burn a bunch of calories on that walk alone. Holding the files close to her chest in her left arm, Annelise stepped out of her car. It was a 2090 Magnum Nuvei, one of the last breeds of hybrid engines and manual driving. Everyone on the streets had an auto-drive these days. All the accidents caused were blamed on the manual ones because machines, as they said, were incapable of error. But she had no plans to let her forever travel companion be taken to scraps. She patted the hood of Nuvei twice-- it always made her feel less lonely to have a friend in the form of a non-living car.

Annelise assumed the gates would be automatic-- or electric-- or the ones that needed face recognition-- or fingerprints, or whatever else. But to her surprise, it was only an old-fashioned entrance, sheer black and engraved with myriads of details she couldn't quite comprehend. Art was never her speciality, although she did admire the intrinsic rather than the minimalist. Pushing it aside with all her might while ensuring her grip over all the documents, Annelise commenced her eternal walk to the front door. The creepy fitness band, who addressed her by her name even though she never told it what it was, better record how many calories I am about to lose.

The grounds were wet and intermittently slippery from the rains earlier that day. Annelise gradually realised the pattern in which the marshy regions came into being. She only had to be careful after every ten feet of the tiled area. The games of observation and trying not to embarrass herself kept her occupied and fun till halfway through, only for the rain to pour down again and force her into a messy run. I wonder whether there will ever come a day when I run out of my boundless luck, Annelise hissed, only to put on her best behaviour and pretty smiles two steps after. By the time she reached the doors, Annelise was soaked in water-- her recently straightened hair a pile of hay over her disappointed face. Shivering, she pressed the doorbell once, and then again, and again, and again.

*****

Arianna Marshall. Annelise sat on the stairs to the front porch, safe from the storm, but pondering how long she would have to stay until the rains subsided or the rich brat finally opened the doors. No. No. Arianna Marshall, daughter of Mr Gavin Marshall, excellent businessman and real estate monarch. You impress her. You impress him.

A few minutes in, Annelise thought of her arch-enemy, Show-Off, and her days at the uni. Ah, how much she hated him. He had the perfect punch-worthy smile. The sheer amount of times she held herself back-- he had all reasons to be thankful to her. It came as a shock when she was not top-of-class. Sure, Show-Off had his skills, but she was always one step ahead of him. For a few months, Annelise accused SocialMania, the ingenious app that absolutely dissipated Instagram and Snapchat from the face of the Earth, of her very close academic defeat.

She had never wanted to punch him that hard before. In fact, if she had the chance, Plutark magazine would have featured its first imperfect model on the cover page-- Annelise couldn't help but laugh, imagining how Show-Off would look with a broken jaw and a bleeding nose.

But being the first to discover SocialMania, being the quintessential sensation in her whole uni, her 1.1 million never-seen-before follower base-- all of those took her mind off everything else for quite a while-- enough for Alexie Show-Off to replace her from being the ultimate academic weapon. And where did that take me?

Annelise surfed through the top personal pages in SocialMania. A ten-year-old girl who plays with her expensive-looking dolls online had 97 million followers, around 88 times as many as her. Annelise was sure that irksome toddler had no idea what a camera was, what marketing techniques would boost a social media page, how to build an appealing website, or-- But deep inside, Annelise knew the fault was hers. She got too carried away. No one forced her to be the next sensation. It was her choice. And-- she chose wrong.

Behind her, she heard the click of a door. Annelise jumped, attempting to look more presentable, but it was all in vain. She looked like a malnourished duck with the yellow shirt dress and the black braided belt she had worn. So she put all her faith into her unfaltering, confident, bright smile, which had rarely failed to persuade anyone she was standing against.

*****

Arianna Martin was unlike anything Annelise had imagined. She stood tall, her posture admirable, and nothing about her hinted at an alcoholic who drowned her days in despair. Dawning a knee-length, stuffy sweater and a pair of glossy sweatpants, Arianna Martin seemed to be the depiction of pure domestic bliss. A wine glass in her hand would have made her the perfect prosperous woman entrepreneur from a cheesy rom-com, which she was, except for the latter. But Arianna did look pale, and her voice lacked any command to it as against what Mrs Bandra, her previous caretaker, had informed her. Perhaps she was in withdrawal?

"Would you like anything to drink, Ms Martin?" Arianna stood near the open kitchen, eyes fixed on her. Her voice was as dry and unwelcoming as anyone could possibly be, further strengthening Annelise's suspicions that she might be under withdrawal. Her recent public actions suggested the same-- being near-paranoid when the press surrounded her last Friday, the news and rumours that surrounded her.