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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