THE HEIRESS VOW - Chapter 188

Chapter 188: The Abyss Beckons
The world was tearing apart beneath them. The ground cracked like glass shattering under the weight of a thousand unspoken words. Ava’s hand, trembling with the weight of her choices, reached for him—desperation seeping into her every movement. But just as their fingers grazed, the abyss opened, swallowing the world whole, separating them once more.

“No!” Her voice broke, a fragile whisper drowned by the void’s deafening silence.

The male lead’s face twisted in anguish, his mouth moving, shouting something—anything—but no sound escaped. The shadows rose, devouring him in an instant, leaving Ava alone. Again. Always alone. Alone in this endless, suffocating darkness that clung to her skin like a shroud.

You are always alone.

The darkness was not merely around her; it was inside her, coiling, whispering, reminding her of every failure, every missed opportunity. She tried to move, to scream, but the weight of her guilt pinned her to the spot. Her chest tightened, breath strangled by the overwhelming emptiness pressing down from every direction.

Suddenly, a familiar voice slithered through the shadows, a voice she both knew and dreaded. “You think you can escape me?” The words dripped with venom, wrapping around her like a noose.

Ava froze, her pulse quickening. She recognized that voice—it was her own. But not the Ava she had fought to become. This was her, twisted, broken, poisoned by doubt, by failure, by the endless string of losses that had defined her life.

The air grew colder, and the shadows coalesced, taking form. Before her stood a figure, distorted and cruel—herself, but not. This version of Ava was warped by every dark thought, every cruel whisper she had ever harbored against herself. The other Ava’s eyes gleamed with malice, her lips curled into a mocking sneer.

“You’ve failed everyone,” the twisted version taunted, circling her like a predator. “You failed to save her… and now, you’ve failed him.”

Ava’s heart clenched. The child’s face flashed before her eyes—pale, terrified, her small hands reaching out for a salvation that never came. And then, the male lead’s face, twisted with disappointment, fading into the void because she wasn’t fast enough. She wasn’t strong enough.

“You could never protect anyone.” The twisted Ava’s voice was sharp, relentless. “What makes you think you’ll be able to now?”

Ava’s hands shook, her body paralyzed by the weight of the accusations. The words struck like blows, each one sinking deeper, pulling her further into the abyss. She had failed. She had always failed. The memory of the child’s lifeless eyes haunted her, the male lead’s fading figure torturing her.

The twisted version of herself laughed, a low, cruel sound that echoed through the darkness. “You are weak, Ava. You’ve always been weak.”

“No,” Ava whispered, her voice barely audible. But the word felt hollow, weak—just like her. She could feel the truth in the twisted Ava’s words, could feel the cold, brutal reality of her failures.

“You couldn’t save her,” the other Ava hissed, her eyes gleaming with vicious delight. “And now you’re going to let him die too, aren’t you?”

The accusation hit like a punch to the gut. Ava’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind spun, the images flashing through her head—blood, tears, the sound of a life slipping away in her arms. The cold, accusing words echoed in her mind, a never-ending cycle of blame and guilt.

The twisted Ava’s grin widened, feeding off her despair. “You know you can’t fight this. You know you’ll fail. You always do.”

Ava’s knees buckled, her body sinking into the suffocating darkness. She wanted to deny it, wanted to scream that she was stronger, better. But the truth clung to her like the void itself. Every failure, every loss was carved into her soul. She was trapped in a cage of her own making, bound by the weight of her mistakes.

“I tried…” Ava’s voice trembled, her words fragile and broken. “I tried to save them.”

“But you didn’t,” the twisted version spat back, her voice sharp as glass. “And you never will.”

Ava could feel herself unraveling, the edges of her resolve fraying. The darkness pressed in, thickening, twisting, suffocating her with its relentless grip. She was sinking, deeper and deeper, into the abyss of her own making.

“You are nothing but a failure.” The other Ava stepped closer, her eyes filled with cold, merciless judgment. “A failure who will never be enough. You couldn’t save the child, you couldn’t save him, and now—” She leaned in, her voice a low, venomous whisper, “you will never save yourself.”

Ava gasped, her body trembling as the words tore through her. They were true, weren’t they? She had failed everyone she had ever tried to protect. She had let the people she loved slip through her fingers, one by one, leaving her alone, empty, and broken.

“Stop,” Ava’s voice cracked, the word more a plea than a command. She tried to move, to pull away from the twisted reflection of herself, but the shadows tightened around her, holding her in place. She could feel the weight of her guilt, her self-loathing, crushing her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

The twisted Ava smiled, cruel and cold, feeding off her suffering. “You deserve this,” she whispered. “This is who you are—weak, broken, alone.”

“No.” The word slipped out, almost involuntarily, but it was there—a spark. A flicker of resistance, of something deeper, stronger.

The twisted Ava’s eyes narrowed, her smile fading. “You think you can fight me?” Her voice was sharp, mocking. “You think you can win?”

Ava’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms as the flicker inside her grew. The darkness swirled around her, thick and suffocating, but somewhere deep within her, something was stirring. A memory, a promise, a voice. His voice.

“You are not alone, Ava.”

The words echoed through her mind, clear and steady, cutting through the storm of self-doubt. She could still hear him—hear the male lead’s unwavering conviction, his belief in her, even when she had none in herself.

The twisted Ava snarled, her form flickering, as if disturbed by the sudden shift in Ava’s resolve. “Don’t be a fool,” she spat. “He’s gone. You’re alone. You’ve always been alone.”

But Ava’s breath steadied, her heart slowing as she remembered. Remembered the warmth of his touch, the strength in his eyes, the promise that he had made to her. You are not alone.

“No,” Ava said again, and this time, her voice was stronger. She could feel the ground beneath her feet, solidifying, the darkness receding ever so slightly. “I’m not alone.”

The twisted version of herself let out a furious shriek, her form distorting, twisting in anger. “You think you can escape me?” she hissed, her eyes blazing with fury. “You think you can outrun your own failures?”

Ava’s grip tightened, her resolve hardening. The darkness still clawed at her, still whispered in her ear, but she wasn’t sinking anymore. She was standing. She was fighting.

“I may have failed before,” Ava said, her voice steady, though the weight of her past still pressed against her. “But I’m not done yet.”

The twisted Ava lunged, her face twisted in rage, but Ava didn’t flinch. She stood her ground, her heart pounding in her chest, her mind clear. This wasn’t just about her failures anymore. This was about what she was going to do next.

“You can’t defeat me!” the twisted Ava screamed, her voice a cacophony of rage and despair.

But Ava didn’t waver. She raised her sword, the blade gleaming in the dim light of the abyss. “You’re not me,” she said, her voice calm, resolute. “You’re just the part of me that I need to leave behind.”

For a moment, the abyss went still, the shadows pausing, waiting, as if the entire void held its breath. The twisted Ava snarled, her form flickering, her power waning as Ava’s resolve grew.

Ava took a deep breath, her hand steady as she raised the sword. “Goodbye.”

And with one swift, decisive motion, she brought the blade down.

The twisted Ava screamed, her form shattering, the darkness exploding in all directions, the void itself seeming to recoil from the light of Ava’s strike. The shadows dissolved, disintegrating into nothingness, leaving Ava standing alone in the silence.

For a moment, there was nothing but stillness. The abyss was empty, quiet, peaceful.

But then she heard it—his voice, faint but growing stronger, calling out to her from the distance.

“Ava!”

She turned, her heart racing. He was still out there, still searching for her, still fighting to reach her.

The abyss hadn’t won yet.

Not by a long shot.

And as Ava started forward, her steps sure and steady, she knew one thing for certain—she wasn’t going to stop fighting. Not now. Not ever.