I Was My Sisters Breeding Tool

The day the long-lost true heir showed up on the Ashton doorstep, I demanded a paternity test.

Any rational person could see that my features were a perfect blueprint of the Ashton line, while the supposed true daughter was a stranger. I was certain I would expose the imposter, but the man who loved me mostmy grandfather, Senator Harrison "Harry" Ashtonrefused without a second thought.

He studied me for a long time, and the familiar, doting look in his eyes chilled to something hard and clinical.

"The Ashton name carries a thin, fragile bloodline, Clare," he declared, his voice a low, heavy rumble. "When we raised such a vibrant, healthy granddaughter as you, I thought our luck had turned. I was wrong. You were a cuckoo in the nest."

He gripped the ivory head of his cane. "You have taken from Tori for all these years. The debt you owe her must be repaid."

The next day, IClare Ashton, the celebrated darling of the Ashton dynastybecame nothing more than a personal assistant and glorified maid to Victoria "Tori" Harrington.

My intended fianc became her intended husband.

When the delicate Tori decided she wanted a child, I was simply repurposed as an incubator.

The day of the C-section, everyone crowded around Tori, who cradled the newborn and accepted the congratulations. No one paid any mind to me, bleeding out on the operating table.

Only the doctor, clutching the laboratory report, went pale.

The results confirmed it. I was the true heir of the Ashton family.

...

The hemorrhage alarm blared in the operating room.

A blankness washed over me, a sensation of my consciousness drifting away. A strange thought surfaced: This is fine. I'm fine dying like this.

In the hallway, Senator Ashtons face was the color of slate as he listened to the doctors urgent report.

He glanced toward the surgical theatre, then gave a sharp, quiet order to his assistant.

"Seal off all information."

"No one speaks a word of what happened today. Let it rot with you."

They saved me. But when the anesthesia faded, the incision burned with a relentless, liquid fire.

The doctor couldn't meet my eyes. He kept his head bowed, his voice a low murmur as he explained the damage.

"Ms. Ashton," he said softly, "your uterus bled out during the procedure. We we had no choice but to perform a hysterectomy."

He paused, then delivered the final, crushing blow. "You will never be able to have children again."

I didnt speak. The only sounds were the loud, celebratory noises drifting from the VIP suite next door.

Tori was laughing. Many people were laughing with her. The sound sliced through the wall and hammered into my ears.

They were celebrating the birth of the Ashton familys first grandson.

Senator Ashton finally entered my room. He wore his customary, impeccably tailored cashmere coat, but the aura of statesman-like calm was gone. He looked at me as if I were a piece of inert property.

"Clare Ashton, the life you have is a gift from the Ashtons."

He stepped closer. "I have no interest in debating who the 'true' daughter is. I only know that the Ashton name cannot endure another scandal."

"I trust you understand what I mean."

I met his gaze, my silence a wall.

He quickly looked away.

The hospitals lab reports were destroyed. To the outside world, I remained the cuckoo, the hired help. The child I had borne was officially Tori Harringtons son.

My biological parentsthe couple who had swapped mecame to see me.

They looked at my face, then quickly lowered their heads.

The man I was supposed to call "Father" nervously wrung his hands, his voice trembling. "Clare, I failed you but the Senator has spoken. You must be sensible, clear-eyed. Think about the familys reputation."

The woman I was supposed to call "Mother" stood behind him, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. She said nothing.

The familys reputation.

Whose family?

Holden Becker stood at the doorway. He was Toris nominal husband and the childs father. He looked at my pale face, the still-attached blood bags by the head of the bed, and then toward the noise next door.

There was an indecipherable emotion lurking in his eyes, but I didn't care to explore it.

People came and went, but I remained mute.

I simply stared out the window.

A single, desiccated leaf hung precariously from a bare branch. A gust of wind made it tremble.

I felt like that leaf. My life was just as fragile.

The day I was discharged, a black sedan waited at the hospital entrance.

I was driven directly to a secluded Long Island estate.

"The Senator wishes for you to recover here, in quiet," the butler informed me.

"Quiet" was a euphemism for house arrest. None of the windows could be opened from the inside. Aside from a housekeeper assigned to cooking and cleaning, my only company was a handful of silent security guards.

I made one request.

"I want to see my child."

The butlers face was expressionless, like a piece of carved granite.

"That is Ms. Harringtons son, the Ashton heir," he said flatly.

He paused, then added: "He is not your concern."

For the first few days, I couldnt eat anything. My stomach felt like it was packed with stones; the smell of food made me nauseous. Every night, I dreamed of a babys frantic cry.

Holden, however, visited often.

He always brought expensive supplements, silently handing them off to the housekeeper. Then he would make polite, stilted small talk, though he was the only one speaking. I never answered him.

One afternoon, he looked at my wrists, tracing the shallow, discolored scars left by the needles from when I was used as a test subject for Tori's fragile health.

He suddenly choked up.

"I'm so sorry, Clare. I never imagined they would go this far."

He started explaining, his words tumbling out disjointedly.

The marriage alliance between the Ashton and Becker families had originally been intended for me. We had grown up knowing each other, and I hadn't been opposed to the idea of marrying him. But after Tori was brought home, I hadn't seen him again.

The next time I saw him was the day of Toris wedding, when I was pushed into the honeymoon suite. Tori's nominal husband was Holden Becker.

I had resigned myself to my fate and allowed him to do as he wished, never noticing the flicker of love he claimed to have for me.

He said he had always loved me.

But what did any of that matter now?

Among the things he brought were cans of formula, but my baby was nowhere near me.

Wherever Holden was, Tori always arrived quickly.

She followed behind two towering bodyguards and a nanny clutching a blanket-wrapped bundle. When she saw Holden and the things on the table, her face contorted instantly.

She lunged forward, and her open palm landed a stinging, sharp slap across my cheek.

"You trashy little incubator! Crawl off the operating table and try to steal my husband? You were born to be a cheap piece!"

I didn't flinch. I didn't cry.

I didn't even look at her.

I simply gazed past her at the bundle, at the tiny, exposed sliver of a face.

My silence enraged Tori further. She raised her hand for another strike.

Holden caught her wrist, stopping her. It was the first time I'd ever seen him truly furious with her.

"Tori, that is enough!"

She shrieked. "Holden Becker! You're defending her? You're defending this breeding tool? Have you forgotten Im your wife?"

Holden seemed about to say more, but the noise startled the infant, who began to cry.

The focus instantly shifted back to the child. Everyone crowded around the baby and ushered him out of the room.

Before leaving, Holden glanced back at me. His lips moved, but he said nothing.

The door shut.

I walked to the mirror.

I stared at the woman with the red, swollen cheek and the dead eyes.

That was Clare Ashton.

That was me.

I told the reflection that I had to live. I had to survive so that one day, I could openly and proudly hold my own son.

Tori soon found a new way to torment me: she used my child.

She would have the nanny bring the baby out onto the estates lawn.

I would stand at the second-floor window, watching through the cold iron bars as my son lay cradled in her arms.

So small. So soft.

And utterly beyond my reach.

She would talk loudly to the baby, ensuring her voice carried up to my window.

"Look, baby," she'd coo. "That woman up there. Shes just a tool who lent us her stomach, a jar of meat that made you."

She would then turn her back to the window, smiling in triumph, before leaving.

I made a quiet request to the housekeeper who looked after me.

I didnt want anything else.

I just wanted a photograph of the baby.

The housekeeper looked at me with a flicker of pity, didn't answer, and left.

A few days later, a photo was tucked beneath my pillow.

It was creased and crumpled, as if it had been hidden and clutched for a long time. The picture was a blurry, stolen snapshot. All I could make out was a small, plump side profile of an infant.

I tucked the photo deep into my clothing, keeping it close to my heart.

Holdens visits became increasingly secretive. He no longer used the main entrance.

Once, he climbed the perimeter wall late at night, a fresh scrape visible on his face.

He told me he had found a lead.

"I found the nurse who delivered you and Tori all those years ago," he whispered. "She quit years ago and went back home. My people are on their way to her."

He looked at me with an emotion I couldn't quite placeguilt, perhaps, or something more.

He made a solemn promise.

"Clare, just give me a little more time."

"I swear, I will get you and the baby out of this hell."

His words became my only lifeline. I started counting the days.

Then, Senator Ashton called.

The estate's only landline was in the butlers office. The butler handed the receiver to me and stood nearby, watching.

On the other end, the Senators voice was as commanding and devoid of warmth as ever.

"Stay quiet and compliant. This estate is the best end you can hope for."

"Don't forget, you owe Tori. This is your lot in life, and you will accept it."

"The Ashton family has been generous enough. Do not presume to ask for more."

Generous?

I gripped the cold receiver, my knuckles white.

I whispered into the phone.

"If one day she asks for my life, must I accept that, too?"

There was a dead silence on the line.

Then, a sharp clack as he hung up.

Holden finally got what he was after.

He visited me late one night, a suppressed excitement radiating from him. He played a recording on his phone.

It was a womans tearful confession. The nurse.

She admitted that two decades ago, a woman claiming to be a distant Ashton relative had given her a massive sum to switch the two infants shortly after birth.

Holden said he had given her more money and a plane ticket out of the country in exchange for her full testimony.

"The evidence is secure," he said. "Just hold on a little longer."

Meanwhile, Tori must have sensed the massive threat posed by Holdens cold, distant attitude.

Her eyes when she came to the estate were no longer purely envious or smug. There was a dangerous new edge.

The security staff at the estate was replaced. Among the new guards were some of the men who always shadowed Tori.

Tori brought a document to Senator Ashton.

It was a "Psychiatric Fitness Report."

The report claimed that I had suffered a mental breakdown following the trauma of childbirth and the revelation of my true identity, and that I had severe violent tendencies.

She wept, kneeling dramatically before the Senator.

"Grandpa, Im so afraid. Im scared shell hurt the baby."

"The way she looks at me it's like she wants to murder me. I cant sleep, and the baby cries all the time because of her."

Senator Ashton looked at her for a long moment before speaking.

"You have everything she had. What more do you want?"

Unlike me, Tori appeared fragile but was fearlessly ambitious.

"As long as Clare Ashton is alive, the Ashton family has a time bomb," she insisted. "We will always be vulnerable to gossip and ruin."

The air in the library hung heavy with the scent of old wood and hushed secrets. Senator Ashton closed his eyes.

After a long silence, he opened them, adjusting his silk tie.

"The peace of the House is paramount, Tori."

"Do not overstep yourself on this matter."

This wasnt a refusal. It was an endorsement.

It was my death warrant.

The next day, the housekeeper was gone. The only people left at the estate were me and the two guards. Even the butler who usually supervised me vanished.

My three daily meals were replaced by cold, packaged containers, left by the guards outside my door. My every request to walk in the yard was refused.

The internet was disconnected. I had no way to contact the outside world.

Holden came several times, but was blocked, told I was "resting and unable to receive visitors."

He finally understood something was terribly wrong. He began using the full force of the Becker family to investigate my condition.

But the Ashton sphere of influence, a tightly woven, impenetrable net, kept him out.

The nights stretched long. I lay in bed, unable to sleep.

In the small hours, I smelled it.

Gas.

I immediately tried the door. It was locked from the outside.

The windows, permanently sealed, wouldn't budge no matter how desperately I hammered the glass.

Through a small gap in the curtains, I saw a black car parked some distance away.

A shadow sat inside.

Tori Harrington held a pair of binoculars, pointed directly at my room.

She was waiting.

Waiting for me to vanish.

The temperature in the room was rising. The dark night outside was now illuminated by a pulsing orange glow.

Tori must have grown impatient. The fire arrived faster than I had anticipated.

A thick plume of smoke, heavy with the stench of gas, instantly poured under the door.

I coughed violently, my eyes streaming. I tore a bedsheet, soaked it in the bathroom sink, and pressed it tightly over my nose and mouth.

I curled up in the corner farthest from the door, feeling the heat surge toward me in waves.

The wall began to radiate warmth.

I wasnt afraid. I was only regretful that I had never truly held my son.

Just as I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, I heard a massive impact.

"CRASH!"

The estates heavy, wrought-iron gate was brutally smashed open by a speeding SUV.

A figure burst out of the car.

It was Holden Becker.

Several people followed him, immediately turning their attention to fire suppression. Holden drenched himself, then kicked the villa door off its hinges and plunged into the smoke-filled house.

He found me, huddled and barely conscious, in the corner.

He lifted me from the floor, holding me tightly, so tightly that my ribs ached.

When I was finally coherent, I was in his arms, standing on the grass outside.

The clearing beyond the estate was lit up by camera flashes.

The crowd surrounding us was a chaotic mix of Ashtons, Beckers, and countless journalists.

Holden stood directly in front of the cameras, holding my frail body.

He raised a phone and pressed a button.

The nurses tearful confession echoed clearly across the night air.

"I took the money. Im a monster, I switched the two children"

"The true Ashton daughter, the one they called Clare Ashton"

The journalists went wild. The shutters clicked in a blinding, deafening staccato.

Holden had an assistant distribute a stack of papers to the crowd. They were copies of the long-destroyed paternity test.

Everyone gasped when they saw the results.

In the black sedan, now surrounded by reporters, Tori let out a piercing scream. She desperately tried to shield her face, but it was too late. Countless microphones and lenses were pressed against her window. Everyone knew exactly who she was.

Senator Ashton arrived. His car stopped just outside the riot of people.

He stepped out and saw the irrevocable damage, saw me held in Holdens arms, and heard the constantly replaying recording.

His body swayed violently. He nearly collapsed.

Holden carried me through the crowd, step by step, toward the Senator.

His gaze was fixed, unwavering, on the old man.

"Holden, my boy. Dont overdo this. It wont look good. Ill go to your fathers office tomorrow and well talk."

The Senator coughed, attempting to regain control and calm Holden.

But Holden wasnt having it. He looked down at me gently, then back at the Senator.

"Senator Ashton."

"Before we all go home, you need to answer one question."

"Who, exactly, owes whom?"