I’m the contracted bride of the billionaire

The vision blended with a hyper-practical, instinctual force, with every pixel settling into high-detail verisimilitude. Philip’s highlights turned into a grotesque mockery of twisted retaliation. Repulsion and disgust surged like acid reflux in Amelia’s constricted throat as she recoiled at the vile look.

That twisted replica was the complete opposite of everything she loved and admired about herself. Every nuance, from the flaring nostrils to the sneer of pure contempt smeared across his sensual lips, resounded with toxic hatred. It was as if the brain parasite had entered the deepest recesses of her anxieties and released them in the most obscene way imaginable. “Philip?” The name seemed minimal above a strained scrape tinged with growing insanity. “What is this…?” The face-wearing beast tossed its head back, laughing mockingly, raising every hair on Amelia’s nape. “Did you really accept a glorious example such as myself might at any point feel everything except repugnance for a wrecked, unhealthy husk like you?” Every word pierced Amelia’s synaptic scene like neurotoxins releasing their lethal cargo, each syllable trickling with a deliberate toxin.Property © 2024 N0(v)elDrama.Org.

The bent simulacrum remained closer through the multicolored frenzy as the mocking chuckles subsided, until its breath came down in hot, debilitating waves on Amelia’s face. It mumbled in an unusual parody of Philip’s rich baritone, “Did you sincerely imagine this fantasy having some similarity to a storybook finishing?” “Amelia, I had to be forced into accepting you as my lady. a terrible duty that I have had to bear with growing disgust as I wait for the day to come when I can finally discard you like garbage. Amelia felt every sentence pierce her mind like a new evisceration, distorting her perception. She saw the substance’s malicious insults as a brain virus preying on her most vulnerable vulnerabilities, on some deep, covert level. It had conjured up an awful concoction of her subconscious anxieties and contorted its model to amplify those quiet, unsaid fears.

Besides, when the dummy clamped down on her jaw with an unwavering grip and pulled their faces close together, that detached rationality withered. Amelia was able to perceive every tiny flaw and crease in the polished surface, every strand of meticulously sculpted hair, and even detect the faint scent of pine and cedar emanating from the apparition’s flesh. “Examine these eyes and inform me that you do not see the bare reality devouring there,” the evil Philip said in a caustic tone that turned Amelia’s blood to sludge.

“That you’ve never noticed the trace of disgust simmering behind my facade while playing the role of your loving soulmate.” The words of the simulacrum were accompanied by a glyph-bound crown of malefic forces. Like strong bores, ionized torrents of instinctual intensity seemed to emanate from the mocking apertures and pierce Amelia. She felt her awareness shatter under the entity’s telepathic onslaught, spiraling toward a self-destructive lunacy where up turned into down and every stable anchor vanished into quicksand. With a raspy voice reminiscent of rusted blades, she said, “You’re not him…” “This is obviously false devised by that awful presence tunneled inside my head!” But even as the defiant words flowed ahead, Amelia’s confidence withered away like withered flowers. How could she be so sure that this was nothing more than a travesty of Philip, regardless of how obscene it was? In the final measure, she had the heartbreaking conclusion that her deepest neuroses and psychoses remained incomprehensible ciphers, even to herself. Maybe this sneering monster represented the raw reality that was leaking through the surface of sanitized appropriateness.

That despite his enticing proverbs and opulent declarations of devotion, Philip harbored unfathomable reserves of disgust toward her. “Examine my eyes and confirm you have never seen these mirrored fragments of pure hatred,” the doppelganger growled, forcefully separating her jaw. Amelia tried to pull her gaze away, but some unseen force had her enthralled in the warped simulacrum’s seductive captivity. Moreover, that is the moment when the main rupture revealed a tiny fissure in her identity that flowed outward with steadily increasing speed. Amelia felt, rather unexpectedly, that the dissident dividing, splitting her awareness into polar vectors down the center. All the while, her sense of self split and multiplied, giving rise to two distinct identities within her dwindling thoughts. She groveled like a singed grovel on one level, keening in anguish and abandoning as she pinballed into the fetal position. Her feeble close to home lattices were besieged by every one of the simulacrum’s poisonous scoffs and sneering taunts, like corrosive flattening brain tissue. On a another level, though, a piece of Amelia’s identity stayed firm like oxidized adamantium; it was steely and impregnable to any trick that the mental anguish was trying to pull.

Her being had been split into two hostile halves by the dissociative bifurcation; one half consumed the wound with the reactivity of a primitive sensitive spot, while the other half remained a neutral island amidst the slicing clairvoyant storms. Amelia alternated between her two personae, bringing one to the fore and the other fading into the background murmur of an impartial onlooker. The cycling would move every few seconds, upsetting her sense of self in between enthralling circumstances. When her emotional mind took over, Amelia found herself caught in a deep hellscape where every sound, sight, and sensation was repeated with such heartbreaking perfection. Her deepest fears turned into razor-sharp claws, tearing apart her serenity and exposing her mind to the mocking simulation.

The duplicate of the rebuke sneered, overshadowing her in all its extraordinary wonder. “Take a gander at you.” You truly make me sick! “A trembling hill of wailing delicacy, tears running down your thin veil of repugnance like harsh swill! What conceivable delusion could ever compel me to permanently contaminate my lineage by chaining myself to such a putrefying wound?” Amelia saw another flash as the terrible words tore through her core: the noticing self was regaining strength once more. She was suddenly looking at the simulacrum and its chaperon bends as if through the objective focal point of a television feed. She saw its shivering polymorphic emphases and thumping crown for what they truly amounted to: a replicated mind infection released by the censure wetware bonded into her brain tissues. In any event, the bits of wisdom were fleeting. She felt herself plunging back into the submerged twisting, where every molecule of innate repulsiveness sounded like mortar shrapnel, in the blink of an eye. Amelia twisted into a more compact group, pressing her face against her legs and squeezing her eyelids shut. If she closed her eyes to the sounds and dreams, maybe the horrible dream would disperse like smoke in the wind. “Don’t even think about giving tuning me a shot, worm.” Her modest, mystical defenses were destroyed by the mocking tones, which were accompanied by an eerie heartbeat that lit her synapses. “For the sake of fundamental truths,” I replied, “you will gaze upon your inadequacies and absorb every razored syllable!” Amelia’s guardians were subjected to an intolerable assault as the Philip-ghost unleashed its torrent of unbridled malignance. “I have never loved you, Amelia-never to the point where I had to put up with your cloying presence. The only thing that has tarnished my family’s legacy is you.

An invasion that I am obligated to extricate solemnly.” “You lack any redeemable qualities and are weak, immature, and immature. All I’ve wanted is the opportunity to kill you near the rest of the wreckage that ruins my life.” “This irrational deed will eventually make a decision. You will be ground into insensibility like the pitiful aberration you are once my legacy is established.” The terrible torment seemed to go on forever, a warped time warping all Amelia’s mind could comprehend, gnawing away at its most fundamental neural layers with each new sentence. Just as she was about to completely unravel psychically, she felt the miasmic tendrils of the simulacrum pierce the sanctums of her consciousness. Even the distortion of the external environment and virtual world vanished into multihued entropy out of nowhere. Amelia plunged down fragmented tunnels of her own dissociating impulses and memories, carried along by a rip current of her dissolving personality that threatened to split her irrevocably across endless fractal recursions. At the nadir of the vortex, Amelia saw the corrupted Philip-simulacrum approaching as she fell through the synaptic peculiarity. Its fanged maw gaped fiercely as it anticipated the ultimate mutilation of her identity, and its outstretched claws of lambent energy clutched the broken remnants of her disintegrating identity. In a shocking admission, Amelia realized that the neurological decoherence wasn’t usually a replication of her suffering but rather the outcome of her mind truly undergoing a mitosis into two separate, equal personalities created from the same framework. While its frayed partner would remain as a callous shell, a vivified meat-manikin to be grabbed and puppeted by the insult consciousness, one component was destined to endure as the inborn persona. Amelia woke up with a distressing cry that tore at her brain, screaming for help and piercing through bright walls to where she could feel Philip’s anchoring presence. “Aid me! It’s challenging to… unmake… myself.”