Chapter 3
The confrontation with management came that evening at eight sharp. I sat across from a panel of USA Gymnastics officials in their sterile conference room, portraits of Olympic champions staring down at us from the walls—a constant reminder of what was at stake.
The head administrator, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, cleared his throat. "Gabriella, your behavior today was completely inappropriate. We're considering removing you from the Olympic program."
I leaned back in my chair, studying their faces. "Remove me?" I said, letting amusement creep into my voice. "Go ahead. But we both know this team is nothing without me."
The officials exchanged uncomfortable glances.
"You think you're irreplaceable?" another official challenged.
I stood up slowly, my movement deliberate and controlled. "I don't think—I know. Check your viewership numbers. Check your sponsorship deals. Then ask yourself if you really want to explain to the media why you benched your best shot at gold."
The head administrator's jaw tightened. "Miss Torres, we have standards of conduct—"
"Standards?" I interrupted smoothly. "Like the ones that kept certain coaching issues under wraps for years? Those standards?"
The silence that followed spoke volumes. These men knew exactly what skeletons lurked in USA Gymnastics' closets.
"I'm not the same person I was yesterday," I said, walking toward the door. "And frankly? That's your problem, not mine."
As I walked out, a cold satisfaction settled in my chest.
'They know they can't afford to lose me,' I thought, hearing the nervous shuffling behind me.
Back in my dorm room at eleven PM, I sat on the edge of my bed under the weak glow of my bedside lamp. Outside, the training camp was settling into its usual nocturnal quiet, but my mind was anything but peaceful.
I pulled out my phone and began searching—names, dates, scandals from my previous life. Madison's secrets, Ryan's dirty deals, Miguel's financial irregularities. All of it was still out there, waiting to be uncovered.
"Madison, this is just the beginning," I murmured to my reflection in the black phone screen. "You destroyed me once. Now it's my turn to destroy you."
In my previous timeline, I'd been reactive, always responding to their attacks. This time, I held all the cards.
A quick search pulled up Madison's old social media—photos of expensive clothes, designer equipment, luxury vacations. Strange for someone supposedly from a poor family.
My phone buzzed with a new result—a financial record with Miguel's name on it. A payment to a private investigator, dated two weeks before Madison first showed up at our door.
'Very interesting,' I thought, screenshot after screenshot filling my phone. 'Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes.'
Across the hall, I could hear Madison moving around, probably unable to sleep. Perfect. Fear was exactly where I wanted her.
That was just the start. A few days later, on Friday, I had to go home for what turned out to be the worst family dinner ever.
The crystal chandelier cast warm light over the Torres family dining room as I walked in at exactly seven PM. The long mahogany table was set with our finest china, family photos of champions lining the walls—images of me mid-flight, arms extended in perfect position, body twisted in impossible combinations. A silent testament to the crushing weight of the Torres legacy.
"Gabriella!" Dad called out from the head of the table. He stood there in his expensive navy suit, looking like the successful businessman he was. "Come, sit down. Tonight we celebrate you making the Olympic shortlist!"
I stopped at the doorway. Madison was sitting right next to Dad, wearing a pink dress, her hair done up nice. A flesh-colored bandage wrapped around her wrist, but it didn't stop her from giving me that fake smile I used to actually believe.
I walked to my seat three chairs down. My brother, Miguel, came in right behind me and went straight to Madison, giving her a big hug. "Hey, little sis," he said. "How's training going? Dad told me you've been helping Gabby a lot."
Little sis? The words hit like a slap. When did Madison become his sister and I become just... Gabby?
I watched Miguel ruffle Madison's hair with that same gentle smile he used to give me. When was the last time he'd hugged me like that?
Before I could sit down, Dad's voice cut through the room like a knife.
"Gabriella, I got a call from Coach Ryan today." His tone was ice cold. "You want to explain what the hell you did to Madison at training camp?"
My stomach dropped. The room suddenly felt smaller, all eyes on me.
"Dad, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" Dad's face was already turning red. "How you forced Madison to drink some disgusting concoction and then laughed when she got sick?"
Madison's eyes filled with tears right on cue. "I... I didn't want to cause trouble," she said softly. "I told Coach Ryan it was probably just a misunderstanding."
Of course you did. After you made sure he'd call Dad first.
"Misunderstanding?" Miguel stepped closer to Madison, his hand protective on her shoulder. "Gabby, what the fuck is wrong with you?"
The table went dead silent. Dad's face turned completely red now.
"Gabriella," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Apologize to Madison right now, or get out of this house."
I stared at him. "Dad, you're not even going to listen to my side?"
"Madison has never lied to this family," Dad snapped. "You, apparently, have become someone I don't recognize."
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My own father, choosing her over me without even asking what really happened.
Miguel stood behind Madison's chair, his hand still on her shoulder.
"Dad's right, Gabby," he said firmly. "Madison acts more like a Torres than you do lately."
Those words cut deep. I looked at my brother—my blood—and saw nothing but cold judgment. 'How long has he been looking at me like that?'
"Miguel, we grew up together," I said, my voice cracking. "How can you believe her over me?"
"Because she's earned our trust," Miguel replied without hesitation. "What have you done lately besides cause problems?"
Linda, Madison's mother, leaned forward with fake concern. "Perhaps you should talk to someone about these aggressive feelings, Gabriella. It's not healthy."
The room felt like it was suffocating me. Every face showed the same thing—disappointment, suspicion, complete lack of faith in me.
'So they've already chosen. They picked her over me before I even walked in.'
Something inside me snapped.
I stood up so fast my chair crashed backward. Before anyone could react, I grabbed the dining table and flipped it with everything I had.
The crash was incredible. Plates shattered, wine splashed everywhere, and the roast beef went flying into Linda's lap.
"You want her to be your daughter?" I screamed. "Fine! But you'll regret it!"
Madison pressed herself against the wall, genuinely terrified for the first time. Good.
I turned to Dad, who was staring at me like I'd lost my mind. "You think she's more Torres than me? Wait until I win that Olympic gold!"
"Gabriella, stop this right now!" Dad shouted.
"From today on, I'll prove who the real Torres is," I said, stepping through the mess of broken glass. "And you'll all eat your words."
I walked out without looking back.
When midnight came, I was in my childhood bedroom, throwing my life into two suitcases. I grabbed every trophy, every medal I'd ever won—gold-plated reminders of countless hours spent perfecting my body's movement through space, learning to bend and twist in ways that defied gravity. They were mine, not Madison's.
On my desk, I left a note: "Don't look for me. When you see me again, it'll be on TV, winning gold without the Torres name."
I shouldered my bags and looked around the room one last time. Eighteen years in this house, and for what? To be replaced by some fake orphan?
Family? What a fucking joke.
As I walked out of the Torres mansion, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I'd memorized from my previous life.
The phone rang twice.
"It's Gabriella," I said when they answered. "I need your help. I'm ready to do whatever it takes."
I walked down the driveway without looking back.
The Torres family wanted Madison? They could have her. But they'd never have me again.