The night I woke up back inside my mother's womb, Grant Harrington was choking her, his voice a low, vicious snarl. “Whose bastard is this?” Beside him, Delilah Stone—his untouched, golden-girl ideal—stood with a hand resting softly on her own swollen belly, her voice a fragile whisper. “Grant, please, don’t blame Jules…” In the last life, he believed Delilah’s fake paternity test. He drove my mother to suicide the day after I was born and snatched my custody. He let his illegitimate son, the one Delilah bore, terrorize and bully me. On my eighteenth birthday, that boy drugged me, took humiliating photos, and threw me off a high-rise. I died a horrible death. This time, I’d spent a century's worth of accrued merit to grant my bastard father a "Clairvoyance of Paternity." Seven days from now, the grotesque new sight would activate. It would let him see the biological father of every child he looked at. … 1 Grant snatched his hands away. My mother slammed hard onto the floor. She clutched her stomach, her face bone-white, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. Delilah walked over, looking down at my mother with an expression of feigned pity. “Grant, even if Jules won’t admit it, the solution is simple. An amniocentesis will reveal the truth.” “No… no penetration…” My mother struggled to sit up, her voice a desperate shake. “It’s too dangerous, the baby might…” “A bastard? It’s better off flushed down the drain!” Grant cut her off, his eyes arctic cold. My mother tried to plead again, but I timed it perfectly, yanking hard on the umbilical cord. Her body instantly seized up, and she began to dry-heave, violently. Grant wrinkled his nose in disgust and motioned impatiently to the housekeeper. “Get her upstairs and out of my sight. Now.” The door shut behind them, and my mother collapsed onto the edge of the bed, her shoulders heaving with silent, agonizing sobs. Suddenly, a tiny, high-pitched voice broke the silence. “Mama.” My mother stiffened, sitting bolt upright. She instinctively shielded her belly. “Who?! Who said that?” “It’s me! Your little baby inside!” I kicked my leg, letting her feel my presence. “Baby? You… how can you…?” She was incoherent, her hands tightening on her abdomen. Then, she broke down, tears gushing out. “I’m so sorry, my baby. Your mother is useless. I can’t protect you… If anything happens to you because of that test, I won’t live, either…” “Don’t be scared, Mama. Just do exactly as I tell you, and you only need to hold on for seven days.” “Seven days?” “Yes. After seven days, Grant Harrington will get a special… ability. He’ll see exactly who’s carrying a bastard, and who’s not.” I wriggled inside her womb. “Trust me, Mama. Grant’s retribution is coming. He might even end up on his knees begging you.” My mother stopped crying, biting down on her lower lip until she tasted blood. She pressed her hands tightly against her belly. “Okay.” Her voice was raw and hoarse. “Mama will do everything you say. I’ll hold on for these seven days.” The next morning, my mother found Grant. “I agree to the amniocentesis.” 2 Delilah, perched comfortably on Grant’s lap, quickly suppressed the upturn of her mouth, instantly reverting to her look of gentle compassion. Grant’s eyebrows locked tight. He stared at my mother. “You’ve thought this through? If it is a bastard, waiting another week isn’t going to change that. It won’t become my child.” He leaned forward, his voice dangerously low. “When the results come back—and if it proves you right? Ha. I’ll have it printed on flyers. I’ll make sure everyone sees exactly what garbage you, Jules Kingston, have been carrying.” Delilah gently set down her teacup, her tone soft. “Grant, don’t talk like that. How could Jules betray you? I’m sure she’s innocent.” She turned to my mother, her face full of sympathy and encouragement. “Jules, don’t worry. Grant has a sharp tongue, but I’m sure he’ll find the most reputable expert to give you and the baby the fairest result.” She stood up and approached my mother, reaching out to take her hand. It was then that Delilah let out a sharp cry of pain. She clutched her stomach, swayed, and looked moments from collapsing. “Delilah!” Grant launched himself across the room, shoving my mother hard out of the way. My mother stumbled backward. The sheer force of his push sent her reeling, and her hip bone slammed into the sharp corner of the dining room table. She gasped, doubling over in pain, her face draining of color. Grant didn't spare her a glance. He swept the moaning Delilah into his arms, his face etched with panic. “To the hospital, now!” He carried Delilah straight out the door. My mother gripped the table’s edge, slowly straightening up. She bit her lip until it was raw, determined not to make a sound. That evening, the bedroom door was kicked open. Grant burst in, radiating cold fury, his eyes bloodshot. He stormed straight to the bed, grabbed my mother’s arm, and brutally yanked her onto the floor! She was still on the carpet when Grant, frenzied, flipped the entire mattress. Beneath it, a cloth effigy—a handmade voodoo doll—was revealed, covered in sharp pins. Scrawled on its chest were Delilah’s name and birth date. Grant’s breathing turned ragged. He spun around and glared at my mother, his face a mask of pure hatred. “It wasn’t me…” My mother saw the object and quickly shook her head. “You bitch!” Grant roared, raising his hand and smashing a blow across my mother’s face! She reeled from the impact, blood instantly blooming at the corner of her mouth. She clutched her rapidly swelling cheek, tears streaming, her voice trembling. “It’s really not me… I don’t know where that thing came from…” “Still lying?!” Grant leaned down, seizing her hair and forcing her to look up at his twisted face. “No wonder Delilah suddenly had stomach pains this afternoon! You’re pulling low-class tricks! You tried to kill her and my son, didn’t you?!” “I didn’t…” My mother’s scalp was screaming. Tears blurred her vision. Grant pointed a shaking finger at her face, his words spitting with venom. “Jules Kingston, you listen to me. If Delilah and that baby suffer any harm, I will make sure you, and your entire family, pay the price!” Hearing her family was implicated, my mother’s eyes widened in panic. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her face, she lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his trousers. “Grant! Please, no! Don’t involve my father! I swear, I didn’t do this! You have to investigate…” Grant’s face was nothing but revulsion. He kicked out violently at her stomach. “Get off me!” My mother curled into a ball, groaning in pain. Grant threw the effigy down beside her, then stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls rattled. The moment Grant was gone, my mother’s sobs ceased. She moved to the corner of the room, reaching up to the vase, and flipped the switch on the miniature spy camera hidden inside. Then, from the folds of her nightgown, she pulled out several custom-made, thick padding cushions. My mother gently touched her belly. “Baby, four more days.” The next morning, there was a commotion downstairs. The bedroom door was thrust open, and Delilah swept her eyes across the room, finally resting them on my mother. She raised her chin and ordered the staff behind her. “What are you waiting for? Throw everything in this room—everything that belongs to her—out into the hall!” The housekeepers rushed in, roughly grabbing my mother’s clothes and belongings and tossing them onto the carpet outside the door. Delilah, holding her side, slowly walked closer, meeting my mother’s gaze. “This master suite is mine now.” 3 My mother was relocated to the tiny storage room. Grant stood in the doorway, his silhouette blocking the meager light. “Your father’s private jet lost contact over the Atlantic. Three days of searching, and nothing. Kingston Corp. is headless. The stock is tanking, and the old board members are in chaos.” He took a step closer. “Jules, I’ve had my eye on your father’s new materials company for a long time. Your old man was too stubborn to let go.” My mother shot her head up, her face draining of color. Her lips trembled. “You… what are you planning?” “Strike while the patient’s dying.” Grant pulled his mouth into a cruel half-smile. “The time for a hostile takeover is now. The resistance is minimal, the cost negligible. In a few days, that company will be a Harrington asset.” “Grant Harrington!” My mother struggled to her feet and lunged, grabbing his arm. “That’s my father’s life’s work! You can’t do this! For the sake of our years together, for the sake of the baby in my…” “The sake of what?” Grant flung her hand off. My mother stumbled back. “The identity of the thing in your belly is still questionable. You want to talk about ‘sake’ with me, Jules?” Delilah’s sweet voice suddenly chirped from the hallway. “Grant! My stomach is hurting so badly…” Delilah leaned against the doorframe, tears welling instantly. Grant looked back at my mother, his eyes full of nothing but frigid disdain. “You curse! If Delilah or the baby suffers the slightest complication, ten of your lives won’t be enough to repay it!” Delilah nestled into his arms, breathing softly, but her eyes flickered toward my mother, a flash of victory in their depths. Grant tightened his embrace. “Jules, starting today, you will serve Delilah. You will do whatever she asks. When her mood is light, when her stomach no longer hurts, that’s when I’ll consider going easy on your father’s affairs.” My mother stood frozen, swaying slightly. The light in her eyes extinguished, leaving behind only the dead gray of utter desolation. “All right.” She heard her voice—dry and cracked. Delilah’s mouth, almost against her will, curved into a triumphant smile. The orders began immediately. In the dead of winter, Delilah had the staff bring a huge basin of steaming hot water, then poured in enough cold water to make it painful. She pointed to a mountain of baby clothes. “Hand-wash them. The machine doesn’t clean them thoroughly enough, and it’s bad for the baby’s skin.” My mother rolled up her sleeves and plunged her hands in. Her skin instantly flushed red, then turned an agonizing blue-white. She grit her teeth, scrubbing one item after another. Delilah sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping hot tea, watching leisurely. A few days later, Delilah “heard” that a historic St. Jude’s Chapel on the ridge outside the city was the most miraculous for blessing an unborn child. “Jules, why don’t you make the pilgrimage for me? It has to be sincere. A kneeling walk, all the way from the base to the chapel doors. Only then will the blessing work.” My mother glanced at the miniature spy camera hidden in her clothes. Slowly, she answered, “I will.” The mountain wasn't Everest, but for a pregnant woman, every step was torturous. My mother, dressed in heavy clothes, struggled to bend, kneel, rest her forehead on the frozen ground, and then brace herself up to take three small steps forward, repeating the agonizing process. Her forehead was soon streaked with dirt. Her knees ached and bruised even through the thick fabric. Several hikers stopped, staring, whispering. Someone even filmed it and posted it online. That evening, my mother dragged her exhausted body back. Before she could sit, a teacup flew past her head. She didn't manage to duck. A sharp pain bloomed above her eyebrow. She clutched her bleeding temple and looked at Grant, who had just walked in. Grant frowned, glancing at the shattered porcelain on the floor and the cut on my mother’s head. “What happened here?” “She hurt herself! She wasn’t careful!” Delilah rushed to Grant, crying theatrically. “I just asked her if it was cold on the mountain. She stood up too fast and hit the corner of the table… and she glared at me! Grant, I’m scared. Does she hate me? Does she hate our baby?” Grant held Delilah close, comforting her. When he looked at my mother, only ice remained. “Clumsy fool. You’ve upset Delilah. Go clean that wound up, and stop standing there, you’re an eyesore.” My mother lowered her gaze, saying nothing. She silently turned to look for the first aid kit. It was then her phone rang. The voice on the other end was heavy and urgent. My mother's face grew paler and paler. She hung up and turned to Grant. “My father… the authorities have virtually ruled out a rescue. My uncle needs me to return to the estate… for the wake.” Delilah lifted her head from Grant’s chest, her eyes darting quickly. She spoke in a delicate whisper. “Grant, going back to her family now… but Jules still hasn’t taken the paternity test.” Grant’s face darkened at once. “Jules, you are not going anywhere! You wait for the test in three days! Going home now? What, do you think your bastard will suddenly become legitimate if you leave?” “That is my father!” My mother’s voice trembled. “And?” Grant was utterly indifferent. “You step outside that door, and you don’t come back. I’ve already secured the arrangement with the Kingston board; your father’s company will be mine soon enough. What could you possibly change by going back?” My mother covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently, tears leaking through her fingers. Delilah watched her completely shatter, then plucked a grape from the nearby fruit bowl. After carefully peeling the skin, she held it out in front of my mother's head. “Catch, now. Don’t want you staining the rug.” My mother’s body froze. The crying stopped instantly. A few seconds later, she opened her palm. At the exact same moment, a text message arrived on her phone. “Jules, are you sure Dad’s ‘death’ will flush out the corporate traitor? And will anyone really want to buy that failing company we set up?” Inside the womb, I stretched out a tiny limb. Of course they will. 4 With three days left, and my mother’s “excellent performance,” Delilah was feeling entirely secure and began acting as the future Lady Harrington, arranging everything for her new role. My mother, in turn, began offering “caring” suggestions. “I heard there’s an auction tonight for a Ming Dynasty scroll. It would look perfect in the future master suite.” “The new penthouse development on the East Side has an incredible view. It’s worthy of your status.” “The latest limited-edition sports car has just arrived. It would suit you perfectly.” Delilah was giddy with flattery, spending money hand over fist. My mother pressed her advantage. “Delilah, once I sign the divorce papers, you’ll be the legal Mrs. Harrington. Everything of Grant’s belongs to you and your future young master, doesn’t it? What’s a little spending now?” Delilah wholeheartedly agreed, signing credit card slips and wire transfers without a second thought. What she didn’t know was that the scroll was a masterful forgery, the penthouse developer would file for bankruptcy next week, and the dealership was about to implode due to a liquidity crisis. My goal was to drain every last drop of her available cash. Eight hours remained. During the day, my mother went for the amniocentesis. By evening, Grant returned to the mansion, his face dark with rage. He held the paternity report—the one Delilah had arranged long ago—in a death grip, and kicked open my mother’s door. The bang was deafening. As my mother sat up in bed, the report was hurled, hitting her face. Grant violently dragged her from the bed onto the floor, his eyes blazing with fury. “What excuse do you have now?! Whose bastard is in your belly?!” He was choking her, and my mother’s breath came in ragged gasps. Her face turned bluish-green. Just then, I distinctly heard a low, electronic chime. Grant’s body went rigid. His gaze was still locked on my mother’s face, but deep in his eyes, something was shifting. His eyes seemed to flicker with a grotesque, digital overlay—a stream of bizarre data. He stared at my mother's abdomen. The rage on his face dissolved instantly, replaced by a profound, bewildering astonishment. He slowly released his grip, then sprinted into the bathroom as if possessed, staring wildly at the space above his own head in the mirror. Then he burst out, grabbing the frightened, trembling old butler in the hall. “What is your father’s full name?! Tell me!” “Benson… Wallace,” the butler stammered out. Grant released him and seized the terrified nanny. “Your father’s name! Hurry!” “Ed… Felix…” Grant staggered back two steps, hitting the wall. His chest heaved, his eyes glazed with confusion and shock. A noise. Delilah, sleepy-eyed, walked out, asking softly, “Grant, what is it? Why are you so angry?” She glanced at the paternity report on the floor, a sliver of a triumphant smile on her lips. Grant suddenly spun around, his gaze falling squarely on Delilah’s heavily pregnant belly. A muscle in his face twitched violently. His pupils constricted. Above Delilah's abdomen, a line of stark, bright text floated into his vision: [PATERNITY CONFIRMED: BIOLOGICAL FATHER – DOMINIC PRICE.] Dominic Price. His business rival. His father’s illegitimate son. His own “dear” half-brother.
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