Chapter 1
After 99 failed blind dates, Mia and I vowed to have kids alone.
She picked an MIT genius donor; I chose European aristocracy.
After birth, her donor–now infertile–demanded marriage to secure an heir. She agreed,
At my prenatal visits, Mia would sneer, arm around her husband: “Poor Lana, cursed to be alone. My Juliar
just got a national tech lead–his future’s limitless.”
She didn’t know my baby’s father was a billionaire who’d soon take me to his private island, adorning me ir jewels until I nearly sank.
When I posted a yacht photo, her desperate texts poured in: “His project got canceled! I can’t afford baby
formula!”
She begged for friendship, asked me to be godmother.
Then she met me with a chainsaw, screaming: “Why should you have more? Just for picking a better donor?”
I woke back at the fertility clinic–decision day.
“Lana, what’s so great about marriage anyway? Let’s do this on our own! We can be the powerful heroines of
our own lives!”
Mia shook my arm, her voice filled with a manic excitement. The sterile, familiar smell of the clinic hit me,
and a wave of dizziness confirmed it. I was reborn.
After a long string of dates with losers and creeps, Mia and I had decided to come to this exclusive clinic to
choose premium donors for IVF.
Mia’s sharp voice grated in my ear. “Lana, look! This one’s from an MIT genius. The kid would be brilliant! You
should choose this one.”
Then, without missing a beat, she pointed to the profile next to it–the one described as having a complex European aristocratic lineage. “You know me,” she said, a little too quickly. “I’m all about looks. I’ve always dreamed of a baby with those classic features. You won’t fight me for him, will you, Lana?”
In that instant, I knew. She was reborn, too. And she was making a beeline for the billionaire’s genes she tho ught would be her ticket to paradise.
She put on a show of looking out for me. “This MIT profile is a sure thing, Lana. You’d be crazy to pass it up.”
It was the complete opposite of what she’d said in our last life. I looked at her, watching the predatory gleam in her eyes, and slowly nodded.
The moment I agreed, her face lit up, and she blurted out, “Don’t you regret it!”
Regret what?
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She was so desperate for me to choose the brilliant Dr. Julian Vance because she wanted the billionaire fo
herself. She wanted the life of obscene wealth and power.
In our first life, she’d claimed she wanted a child prodigy and snatched up Julian’s profile first. When he wa: later diagnosed with infertility, he tracked her down and proposed. At their wedding, I’d dragged my heavily pregnant body there to give them a gift, only to be stopped at the door.
Mia had stood there, proud as a peacock, her eyes raking over me with contempt before she let out a tinklin
laugh. “Having a baby on your own? You’re living in a fairytale, Lana. I, on the other hand, am about to secure my future. My husband was just chosen by the government to lead a top–secret project! And you? What d you have? Some fancy ‘aristocratic‘ lineage? For all you know, that just means he’s some inbred nobody from
a country you’ve never heard of.”
But a month after her wedding, a gold–leafed invitation arrived at my apartment, delivered by a towering white–gloved butler. “My lady,” he said in a crisp, formal tone, “our patron is aware that you are carrying his child. He requests your presence on his estate to be wed.”
That’s when I found out. My donor was a reclusive, unbelievably wealthy billionaire.
And right after I left for his private island, Mia’s social media became a constant stream of complaints. Vag ue posts about some “homewrecking Ph.D. student” trying to seduce her husband. She’d post pictures from outside his lab, trying to look like a devoted wife standing guard. Then came the videos of her screaming at the young woman, who, seeing Mia was pregnant, never fought back. Mia crowed about it, taking the woman
s restraint as an admission of guilt.
I heard through mutual friends that her constant, baseless jealousy and public scenes got the project shut down. Julian’s career was derailed. But Mia felt no remorse. It was his fault for being weak, for not being man enough to keep his project and his team in line. They fought constantly.
Soon, Julian’s reputation was so tarnished by Mia’s drama that no one would work with him. He was unemp- loyed, and the bills piled up. Raising a child costs money, and Mia, who had only married him for a life of luxury, refused to contribute a dime. The fighting escalated from shouting matches to him just not coming home for days at a time.
Meanwhile, my feed was filled with pictures of royal galas, super–yachts, and the diamond on my finger that was the size of a robin’s egg.
So, this time around, she didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the billionaire’s profile and pushed Julian’s onto me.
I feigned innocence, playing the part of her naive friend. “But Mia, this profile is so vague. ‘Complex European heritage‘… what if the genes are bad?”
Mia, who had already signed the paperwork, cut me off, her voice hard. “That’s not your problem anymore. My son is going to be the heir to a dynasty. You, on the other hand, will probably be struggling to afford diap- ers.”
A cold smile touched my lips, one she couldn’t see.
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A brilliant MIT scientist and a future genius son versus an abusive monster and his equally monstrous child. Only a fool wouldn’t know who to choose.
I wondered if Mia would still be smiling when she was locked in a cage with a lion.
Because in my last life, I was indeed taken to a private, palatial estate. But the man waiting for me was a brute. He threw me into a room and assaulted me. The slightest resistance was met with a rain of fists and kicks, leaving my body a canvas of bruises. The long, concealing robes worn by the women on the island hid the evidence from the outside world, but I couldn’t even sit without wincing in pain.
He had XYY Syndrome, a genetic condition that made him prone to explosive, uncontrollable rage. The price less, beautiful, and heavy ornaments that filled our rooms were often hurled at my head. I bled so much I often hovered on the edge of death, only to be brought back by their advanced medical team, trapped in a cycle of torture and recovery. He forced himself on me even when I was heavily pregnant. There was no one to turn to; everyone on the island looked at me as if I were a slave.
And the child? The “aristocratic heir“?
I’d seen the prenatal report before I ever left the country. He didn’t just have XYY Syndrome; he had a rare mosaic variant. He was born to be a menace to society. They wouldn’t let me terminate the pregnancy. Even in my womb, he would kick my thinning uterine wall with such force that I couldn’t sleep for nights on end.
The memory sent a shiver down my spine.
With the procedure confirmed for a few days later, Mia let out a sigh of relief. She caressed the signed cons- ent form, her eyes gleaming with schadenfreude. “An MIT genius just sounds good on paper. Watch out, Lana. You’ll probably end up with a useless deadbeat, and your kid will be an idiot, too.”
I remained placid in the face of her taunts, offering a serene smile. “They say when you mix that many blood- lines, you’re bound to get some… mental instability. You be careful, Mia.”
Mia always had to be first, always had to win. She thought a second chance meant she could rewrite her destiny. She never understood the truth: it’s not about the choice you make, but who you are.
My words hit their mark. Her face flushed with anger, and she stomped her foot, a trembling finger pointed at me. “You just wait! We’ll see whose kid has the garbage genes!”
Two weeks after our procedures, just like in the last life, Julian Vance was diagnosed with infertility. He trac-
ked me down using the clinic’s records.
He stood at my door dressed in a well–tailored suit, his brow sharp and intelligent, a pleasant, clean scent of
cedarwood clinging to him. His voice was as clear and calming as a mountain spring. “Ms. Lana?”
I was momentarily stunned, and in that brief silence, the tips of his ears turned a faint pink. He spoke again,
a little flustered. “This is going to sound incredibly sudden, but… would you consider marrying me?” He rush-
ed to add, “I wouldn’t interfere with your life, of course…”
“Okay,” I said, cutting him off. “I will. Do you want to go to the courthouse now?”
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My straightforward acceptance seemed to shock him into silence. He just stared at me, completely at a loss.
Just then, Mia’s cackling laughter erupted from my phone. I’d been on a call with her. She knew Julian was coming today and couldn’t wait to watch me walk into the same trap she’d fallen into last time.
“Hahaha, Lana, you’re that desperate to get married? I guess with a face like yours, you have to take what you can get before it’s too late!” Her voice was shrill with mockery. “When you two get married, I’ll be sure to send you a huge gift. God knows you won’t have many good days left to enjoy it!”
Hearing the cruel voice on the other end of the line, Julian frowned instinctively and murmured, almost to himself, “I won’t let you suffer…”
Mia’s voice cut him off, her words growing even more venomous. “What kind of future can two broke losers have together? You probably won’t even be able to feed the kid. You’ll just fight all day and live on welfare!”
I ended the call and gave Julian a small, steady smile. “I know we won’t end up like that,” I said, my voice firm with a certainty that surprised even me. “Never.”
We picked a date and, with our families‘ blessings, we were officially married. The wedding was set for two weeks later. Julian was with me for every step–choosing the dress, booking the venue, tasting the cakes. He never missed a thing. Looking at this kind, attentive man, I felt nothing but profound relief. A gentle, respect- ful husband was infinitely better than an abusive monster.
Mia spent those two weeks bombarding me with texts, all mocking me for marrying a “failure.”
But the poverty of her last life was her own doing. If that project had gone smoothly, Julian would have bec-
ome one of the youngest and most respected experts in his field worldwide. His salary would have easily
been in the seven figures. But Mia’s pathological possessiveness had destroyed his future. She stormed into
his lab, caused scenes, and alienated all the senior researchers who had once championed him.
Remembering this, I turned to Julian with a gentle smile. “If you have project work to do, you know I can
handle all of this on my own.”
A flicker of deep gratitude crossed his face. He suddenly dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring box. The diamond wasn’t huge, but the stone was a stunning shade of sky blue, my favorite color. It was like a piece of a perfect, cloudless day, something that made you happy just by looking at it.
“I know my proposal was… abrupt,” he said, his voice soft. “So I wanted to do this properly.” He looked up at me, his eyes full of sincere emotion. “Lana, will you marry me?”
I smiled and nodded, holding out my hand for him to slide the ring onto my finger. It couldn’t compare to the gaudy boulder I’d worn on the island, but this small, perfect ring filled my heart with a warmth that spread through my entire body. On the island, the jewelry was just a tool for a tyrant to flaunt his wealth. Every jewel represented a scar, a slap followed by a hollow apology. He had even, for his own amusement, locked me in a pen with a lioness when I was eight months pregnant, dousing me in a scent irresistible to big cats.
So go ahead, Mia. Reject this kind of genuine, unconditional love. Go seek out your suffering. The memory of
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the chainsaw’s teeth tearing through my flesh still felt lodged in my bones. Thinking of her twisted, furious face, all I could do was wish her luck.
I hadn’t even started sending out wedding invitations when Mia showed up at my door. “I’m your best friend! Shouldn’t I be the first one to get an invitation?” she demanded. “I want to see what your pathetic little wedd. ing looks like. You probably won’t get to see mine, but I can guarantee you it’ll be a thousand times better than yours! What future does a broke academic have? You’re so shortsighted, Lana. You have a lifetime of misery ahead of you.”
I calmly handed her an invitation, my voice light and cheerful. “I truly hope you enjoy your new life, Mia!”
After the proposal, Julian dove back into his work, and I focused on the wedding preparations. He was busy but he texted me every day, letting me know what he was up to. He said the project was making huge progr. ess and would be officially launching soon.
“Lana, thank you for being so understanding,” he texted. “I was worried you’d be angry that I can’t be there
more.”
“Just don’t miss the actual wedding!” I typed back, smiling.
I took the initial project funding he’d received and invested it into a few different funds.
On the day of the wedding, Mia showed up dressed more extravagantly than I, the bride. She wore a couture gown that shimmered like a fairy’s wing, carried the latest designer handbag, and had a diamond tiara nestl-
ed in her hair. Anyone would have thought it was her coronation.
She shoved past the ushers, her nose in the air. “Don’t you dare touch me! My presence here is a gift. It elev- ates this whole shabby affair!”
Julian strode forward, his face grim, and signaled the security. “Please escort this person out. We only want guests here who genuinely wish my wife and me well.”
Mia’s face went from smug to livid. The man who was her husband in another life was now yelling at her for another woman. The jealousy was a toxic, visible thing.
“You think you’ve won the lottery? After all our years as friends, you think I don’t know her?” she shrieked, pointing at me. “She’s a social climber! She’ll kiss up to you now, but the second you’re a nobody again, she’ll kick you to the curb and cheat on you without a second thought!”
SLAP.
The sound echoed in the quiet hall. I took a deep breath, looking at Mia’s stunned, hand–printed cheek. “You are not my friend anymore,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “No friend would say things like that, especially not on my wedding day. Take the bitterness you feel from going to your own appointments alone and aim it where it belongs: at the father of your ‘aristocratic‘ child.”
Stunned silent for a moment, she finally recovered, letting out a wild, hysterical laugh as she lunged at me. Julian immediately stepped in front of me, his body a shield, his eyes daring her to take another step.
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“You are not welcome at our wedding,” he said, his voice cold as ice.
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Seeing she was completely alone, with no one to back her up, Mia trembled with rage. “Fine! Burn the bridge But don’t come crying to me when you’re broke and miserable!” she screamed. “The life I’m about to have is
one you could never even dream of. You have fun with your useless professor! You just wait and see!”
With that, she spun on her stiletto heels and stormed away.
The wedding continued without a hitch. Under the loving gaze of our parents, Julian and I shared a kiss.
Three days later, Mia posted a picture of a golden invitation on her Instagram, making sure to tag me.
The caption read: Just showing some backstabbing ghosts what a real invitation looks like.
I turned off my phone and leaned my head on Julian’s shoulder, focusing on the movie we were watching. Mia’s dream life was finally beginning. I just hoped she survived the first day.
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