Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
“Oh my god, her face! Are those cigarette burns?”
“And her head… that looks like stitches! What happened to her?”
“Aaaaaah!” Mia shrieked, clutching her head and sinking to the floor as the whispers grew louder.
05:09
But I had already seen it. Her face was unrecognizable. Her cheeks were hollow, and the delicate skin arou nd her eyes was marred by circular scars from extinguished cigarettes. A raw, pink scar, at least six inche: long, snaked across her forehead. The other women, mothers themselves, looked at her with pity.
“Her husband must be abusive. Should we call the police?”
“That’s horrible! Sister, you have to leave a man like that!”
But my eyes were cold as ice. This was all her own doing.
The surrounding pity only seemed to fuel Mia’s rage. She scrambled to her feet, screaming at the other wo men. “What do you know? My husband is a prince! You peasants can’t possibly understand! He hits me bec
ause he loves me! It’s how he shows his affection!”
Just then, a nurse called out from the nursery. “We need some help in here!”
The crowd forgot about the crazed woman in the hallway and rushed toward the infant care room. I follow-
ed, and a knot of ice formed in my stomach.
All the newborns were supposed to be in the warm–water bathing room at this time. But now, several of the
babies had red, swollen marks on their faces. In the center of the room, one baby–clearly bigger and more
robust than the others–was flailing his limbs wildly, kicking and hitting the infants around him. Even the
nurse’s face was bruised.
‘I was trying to bathe him,” the nurse explained, her voice shaking, “but he fights it so much. His strength is… unbelievable. Can you please tell me whose baby this is? Perhaps we should have him checked out by a doc-
tor.”
Mia shoved her way to the front and, without warning, swung her hand and slapped the nurse across the face. “What are you implying?” she screeched. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my son?”
The clinic’s director arrived, her expression stern. “Ma’am, we require a full health report from a pediatrician
for every child in our care. You have repeatedly failed to provide one. Given your violent reaction now, we have no choice but to refund your payment and ask you to find another facility.”
This retreat was nationally renowned, a trusted sanctuary for the wives of CEOs and politicians. The other mothers, seeing their own children had been hurt, were furious and voiced their support for the director.
I let out a cold snort. “I told you, Mia. I told you there might be a genetic problem. You just wouldn’t listen.”
As for the “prince” she was always bragging about, he was nowhere in sight. It was obvious what had happe- ned. He’d gotten bored with her, given her a check, and sent her packing. In his world, she was nothing more
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meltdowns at the lab that killed it; it was her incessant bragging about a project that hadn’t even been anno- unced yet. This time, I told everyone–neighbors, friends, even my parents–a vague cover story. The project funds arrived in our account every month like clockwork, and I was busy growing my own little empire from
home.
I ignored her provocations, putting my phone down to check on my portfolio. My lack of response clearly infuriated her. She started spamming me with photos: feasting on freshly caught seafood on a yacht; trying on tiaras in a room that looked like a museum vault; posing in front of a fleet of private jets.
“You poor thing, you’ll never see things like this in your entire life! You must be dying of jealousy!”
“That’s what you get for marrying a loser!”
I couldn’t help but smirk. Not only had I seen it, I had lived it. And while the photos were dripping with opule-
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Chapter 2
nce, they all had one thing in common: her supposed handsome, adoring billionaire husband was never ir them. Even Mia herself was always bundled up, hidden beneath loose robes and headscarves, a style sc
unlike her usual flashy attire.
I typed back a single, cutting message.
“Are the wounds still hurting? How does it feel to be beaten all the time? And ‘handsome‘? Are you sure you re talking about your husband? The paparazzi shots I’ve seen tell a very different story.”
Her frantic showing off was a clear sign of her own deep–seated insecurity. Life on the island was not the paradise she had imagined. She thought she was being kept as a pampered pet, but she was just a toy for a sadist’s amusement. When he was feeling particularly cruel, he’d invite his friends to join in. They didn’t see
her as a person.
My message hit a nerve. She sent back a furious voice memo, her voice cracking. “My husband adores me He would never hurt me! You’re just jealous because you’ll never have what I have! You’re a pathetic bitch!”
I didn’t bother replying. I was done engaging with her.
Four months before my due date, Mia was still sending her pathetic boasts, though now the pictures were just of objects, with no sign of her at all. It wasn’t hard to guess why. She was probably too bruised and batt ered to be photographed. I muted her and moved on.
A month before I was due, Julian took a leave of absence from his project to be with me. After our son was born, he looked at me with that familiar, apologetic expression, struggling for words. I knew the project was in its final, critical phase. The fact that he’d managed to get a month off was a miracle. The money he’d sent, combined with my investment earnings, was more than enough for us to afford the best postnatal retreat in
the state.
I pulled him into a tight hug and whispered in his ear, “Go. The baby and I will be here waiting for you. We’ll be cheering you on.”
But the day I checked into the retreat, I ran into a woman dressed in the flowing, traditional robes of a desert kingdom. Her body was gaunt beneath the fabric.
“What’s the matter?” a raspy voice sneered. “Forget me already after just one year?”
Mia? What was she doing here?
Before I could answer, she continued her tirade. “How can you afford a place like this? Did you finally ditch that loser husband of yours for a rich old man?”
Her voice was loud and sharp, and heads immediately turned in our direction. My own recovery had been smooth; my face was glowing with health, which only seemed to enrage her further. She couldn’t comprehe- nd how, even after she’d “won” this time, I was still doing better than her.
Her eyes filled with a vicious light, and she lunged forward to slap me.
I dodged easily and, in one swift motion, yanked the scarf from her head.
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Chapter 2
Gasps rippled through the onlookers.
“Oh my god, her face! Are those cigarette burns?”
“And her head… that looks like stitches! What happened to her?”
“Aaaaaah!” Mia shrieked, clutching her head and sinking to the floor as the whispers grew louder.
05:09
But I had already seen it. Her face was unrecognizable. Her cheeks were hollow, and the delicate skin arou nd her eyes was marred by circular scars from extinguished cigarettes. A raw, pink scar, at least six inche: long, snaked across her forehead. The other women, mothers themselves, looked at her with pity.
“Her husband must be abusive. Should we call the police?”
“That’s horrible! Sister, you have to leave a man like that!”
But my eyes were cold as ice. This was all her own doing.
The surrounding pity only seemed to fuel Mia’s rage. She scrambled to her feet, screaming at the other wo men. “What do you know? My husband is a prince! You peasants can’t possibly understand! He hits me bec
ause he loves me! It’s how he shows his affection!”
Just then, a nurse called out from the nursery. “We need some help in here!”
The crowd forgot about the crazed woman in the hallway and rushed toward the infant care room. I follow-
ed, and a knot of ice formed in my stomach.
All the newborns were supposed to be in the warm–water bathing room at this time. But now, several of the
babies had red, swollen marks on their faces. In the center of the room, one baby–clearly bigger and more
robust than the others–was flailing his limbs wildly, kicking and hitting the infants around him. Even the
nurse’s face was bruised.
‘I was trying to bathe him,” the nurse explained, her voice shaking, “but he fights it so much. His strength is… unbelievable. Can you please tell me whose baby this is? Perhaps we should have him checked out by a doc-
tor.”
Mia shoved her way to the front and, without warning, swung her hand and slapped the nurse across the face. “What are you implying?” she screeched. “Are you saying there’s something wrong with my son?”
The clinic’s director arrived, her expression stern. “Ma’am, we require a full health report from a pediatrician
for every child in our care. You have repeatedly failed to provide one. Given your violent reaction now, we have no choice but to refund your payment and ask you to find another facility.”
This retreat was nationally renowned, a trusted sanctuary for the wives of CEOs and politicians. The other mothers, seeing their own children had been hurt, were furious and voiced their support for the director.
I let out a cold snort. “I told you, Mia. I told you there might be a genetic problem. You just wouldn’t listen.”
As for the “prince” she was always bragging about, he was nowhere in sight. It was obvious what had happe- ned. He’d gotten bored with her, given her a check, and sent her packing. In his world, she was nothing more
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Chapter 2
than a disposable toy. They had forbidden an abortion because of their beliefs, not because they wanted a child with “defective” foreign blood as an heir. Mia had been so blinded by the dream of wealth that she nev
er stopped to consider the reality.
In my last life, I had fought him at every turn, never submitting. That resistance had intrigued him, made him keep me around longer. It was the only reason he’d agreed to let me fly home to “visit a friend.” I’d planned t give Mia a pile of cash and beg her to help me escape. Instead, she murdered me to vent her own pathetic
jealousy.
This time, all I wanted was to watch her reap what she had sown.
The retreat’s reputation was everything. They stood their ground. Either Mia produced a clean bill of health
for her child, or she had to leave.
But Mia, trapped by her own pride and unwilling to lose face in front of me, refused to back down. Even as her eyes darted around nervously, she puffed out her chest. “On what grounds? My son is perfectly healthy!‘ she shrieked. “Do you have any idea who his father is? He’s a prince! You cross me, and I’ll have this entire
place shut down, you hear me?”
A few of the other women chuckled darkly. The ones who had pitied her moments before now looked at her with disgust.
“A foreign prince has no power here. If you’re so high and mighty, why didn’t you stay in your palace to recov
er? Why come back here?”
“I’ve seen so many of those ‘fake princess‘ scams online. Honey, have you been watching too many videos? Are you delusional?”
Mia was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
A few minutes later, the police arrived. I’d slipped out and called them during the commotion. Mia had distu
-bed the peace and her son had physically harmed other children. The officers took her and her son away.
As they led her to the squad car, I gave her a bright, cheerful wave and mouthed the words:
‘I hope you can still be a princess during your fifteen days in jail!”
Mia glared back at me, her eyes burning with a murderous hatred. But she was powerless, and could only be
shoved, defeated, into the back of the police car.
never saw Mia again after that. I blocked her on everything.
Three years passed. Julian’s projects were a resounding success. The government even held a special telev- sed ceremony to honor him and his team, awarding him a medal of distinction.
That night, he came home and handed me a bank card. I linked it to my account and checked the balance. I
had to count the zeroes three times to be sure.
Ten million dollars.
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Chapter 2
I looked up at him, speechless. He just stood there, beaming like a proud little boy waiting for praise.
05.09
“My work has gotten a lot of attention,” he explained. “A few private tech billionaires have hired me as a con-
sultant. This is just the down payment. There’s more to come.”
I always knew he was brilliant, that he had a limitless future. I just hadn’t realized how limitless. The brute on
the island would never have given me money; he just dressed me up like a doll to show off. This was differe-
- nt. This was ours.
Our son, Leo, was now three years old. With our finances more than secure, we enrolled him in the best priv- ate preschool in the city. Julian was now able to do most of his consulting work from home, giving him plen- ty of time to spend with me and our son. Life was, in a word, perfect.
But I couldn’t shake a persistent feeling of unease. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I’d wake up with a start,
the image of Mia’s crazed face from my past life burning in my mind.
My fears were validated on Leo’s first day of school. As I went to pick him up, I saw her. Mia. She was there, waiting for her own son. She looked… better. The scars on her face had been repaired. When she saw me, she actually smiled and walked over. The moment she saw Julian standing beside me, her smile turned pre- datory, and she sidled up to him.
“I saw the news reports, Julian. So impressive. Lana always did have good taste.” Her voice was a sacchari-
ne, cooing sound that made my skin crawl.
Julian didn’t even glance at her. He simply scooped Leo into one arm, took my hand with the other, and wal-
ked away, leaving Mia standing alone in the schoolyard.
When we got home, the feeling of wrongness was stronger than ever. I searched Mia’s name online. She had
reinvented herself as a “mommy blogger,” sharing saccharine snippets of her life with her “little prince.” She
still claimed his father was a billionaire and that he would one day return to claim his inheritance. In her
early videos, her son was constantly throwing tantrums and breaking things, which, perversely, had gained
her a lot of followers. But in her more recent posts, he was strangely calm and obedient. Her bio even inclu-
ded a bizarre offer to “help discipline” other people’s unruly children, free of charge.
That wasn’t Mia That wasn’t her at all.
A cold dread crept up my spine. I started digging deeper, searching for any related keywords. I found a
forum post from another mother, tagging Mia and thanking her profusely. “You’re a miracle worker! My son came back so quiet and calm!”
But when I checked the poster’s profile, her IP address was located in a notorious hub for human trafficking
in Eastern Europe. You wouldn’t notice it unless you clicked through.
Just then, Julian walked over, a confused look on his face. He handed me his phone. “This woman, Mia, kee-
ps sending me friend requests. I decline them, and she just sends another one. It’s very strange.”
I looked at the messages she’d sent him, full of suggestive, flirty language. Using his phone, I typed back a
reply in my own voice.
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Chapter 2
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“Mind your own business and stay away from other people’s husbands. You made your choice, remember?”
I compiled all the information I had found into a file. I didn’t have enough concrete evidence to go to the police, but I warned Leo to stay far away from Mia and her son.
A week later, Julian and I went to pick Leo up from school.
He was gone.
A text message from an unknown number pinged on my phone.
The address was an abandoned factory on the outskirts of town.
Mia.
A white–hot rage burned through me, so intense I started to shake. Murdering me in our last life wasn’t enou- gh. Now she had to come after my son. But fear for my child overrode everything. I told Julian to go straight to the police, grabbed a pair of sharp scissors from the kitchen drawer, and drove to the factory.
She was there, her hair a tangled mess, her eyes wild and unhinged. The scars on her face seemed to have reappeared, raw and angry, as if she’d been clawing at herself.
“Why?” she shrieked, her voice echoing in the cavernous space. “Why is my son a monster? Just like his wor-
thless, piece–of–shit father! Why do you still get to have a better life than me?”
Hearing her, I dropped the pretense. “Mia,” I said, my voice calm and steady. “Which time was it that you didn
‘t choose first? Haven’t you figured it out yet? Everything that has happened to you is your own damn fault.”
I took a step closer. “In our last life, you were the one who ruined Julian’s career. You were the one who mur-
dered me. In this life, you were the one who chose first. If your life is a mess, the only person you have to
blame is yourself.”
My words seemed to shatter her. She pulled a knife from her bag and held it to the throat of my son, who
was tied to a chair.
“So you remember, too,” she hissed, a horrifying smile spreading across her face. “Then why didn’t you warn me? Why did you let me choose him? It’s all your fault! I’ve lost everything. I have nothing left to live for. But at least I’ll have your son to keep me company in hell!”
As she drew her arm back, I threw the scissors with all my might. They spun through the air and struck her wrist, causing her to cry out and drop the knife. I lunged, tackling her to the ground, and we wrestled in the
dirt.
The wail of sirens grew louder outside. The sound seemed to give Mia a surge of adrenaline–fueled strength. She fought with the desperation of someone trying to take me down with her. But then the factory doors burst open and Julian rushed in, tackling Mia and pinning her to the ground.
Her mind had completely snapped. “Julian! Darling!” she screamed, clawing at him. “It’s me! Our son! That’s
our son, Julian! Don’t leave me!”
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Chapter 2
The police swarmed in and took a struggling, raving Mia into custody. I sent Julian to the hospital with Lec while I went to the station to give my statement. I handed them the file I had compiled, explaining my suspi cions about her “mommy blogger” persona and the trafficking ring.
With a kidnapping charge and a history of erratic behavior, the police launched a full–scale investigation. They followed the breadcrumbs and uncovered the horrifying truth. A search of Mia’s computer revealed dozens of videos. The trafficking ring had seen the followers she’d attracted with her stories of luxury and rebranded her as a trusted childcare guru. Parents, lured in by her online persona, would send their “problem children to her. She would then sedate them and help the ring harvest their organs, which were sold on the dark web. The children, if they survived, were returned to their parents with failing, older organs transplantec into them, leaving them weak, sick, and “docile.”
And the reason Mia’s own son had suddenly calmed down? She had been letting him torture and kill smal animals to redirect his violent urges.
With a mother so monstrous and a nature so dangerous, he was deemed a threat to society. He was sent to a juvenile correctional facility, where he would likely spend the rest of his life.
As for Mia, she was charged with multiple counts of kidnapping, child abuse, and murder. She was sentenc ed to life in prison without the possibility of parole.
Even with a second chance, she had engineered her own destruction.
And me? I spent my days watching our investments grow, blessed with a husband who was as kind and han dsome as he was brilliant.
At another of Julian’s award ceremonies, I saw a news ticker at the bottom of the screen. It scrolled past a story about him and landed on the next headline: RECLUSIVE BILLIONAIRE KILLED BY NEW GIRLFRIEND IN APPARENT SELF–DEFENSE.
It seems karma really does have a way of balancing the scales.
Leo and I walked onto the stage to give Julian a bouquet of flowers. The cameras flashed as we posed for a photo, a happy family. Me, with my genius husband on one arm, and my son–who had just tested into a gift ed program three years ahead of his grade level–on the other.
This time, my life was, truly and completely, happy.
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