After rebirth, my first act was to secretly keep six stunning male companions—relentlessly pursuing intimacy for 999 days behind my elite husband’s back. Why? In my past life, my powerful husband had low fertility. He married me—a famously fertile woman—just to breed an heir. I prayed desperately, but my womb stayed empty. Meanwhile, my "infertile" best friend Serena Hayes married an old tycoon and birthed twins, then triplets in two years. Obsessed with her "blessed womb," my husband had an affair with her. When I found out, they killed me. In death, I learned the truth: Serena was part of a child-swapping system. Every baby I conceived was transferred to her womb. Her barrenness? Cursed onto me. Now, reborn on my wedding day, I smiled coldly. If Serena wanted endless babies… I’d make sure she got them. 1 “Given your background, marrying into the Sterling family is already quite a leap. I expect you to remember your duty: produce a son, and quickly, one capable of inheriting our legacy.” “Consider this a two-year trial marriage. If you successfully conceive within that period, then, and only then, will we formalize our union at City Hall.” The frigid voice pierced my ears, jolting me back to the present. I looked up to see Brandon Sterling, eyes cold and imperious, gazing down at me. A moment ago, I was trapped, engulfed in the inferno of a burning car, clawing desperately for escape. Yet, in the blink of an eye, I had been reborn. Reborn into this very day: the day my wealthy, privileged husband brought me into his elite world. Seeing me frozen, silent, my best friend, Serena Hayes, clad in her bridesmaid’s gown, quickly prodded me. “Skylar,” Serena chirped, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness, “for someone from your meager background to marry into a prominent family, it’s a blessing you’ve accumulated over a thousand lifetimes! What are you hesitating for?” “Unless,” she added, her tone laced with faux concern, “you’re worried you won’t conceive, and the Sterling family will send you packing during this trial period?” Her mocking voice grated on my ears. I lifted my gaze to meet hers, and saw the barely veiled schadenfreude, the cunning gleam in her eyes, impossible to hide. How absurd! In my past life, I was so utterly consumed by the joy of marrying into wealth—the means to finally afford Grandma’s life-saving surgery—that I never once suspected her, never once saw the viper cloaked as a friend. My family possessed a centuries-old, uncanny legacy of fertility. From my great-great-grandmother onward, the women in my lineage were famed for their prolific pregnancies: multiple births, twins, and triplets were exceptionally common. By my mother’s generation, she had birthed a remarkable seven children—six sons, and I, the sole daughter. Word of my family’s legendary fertility reached Brandon Sterling, a scion of wealth who had just received a devastating diagnosis of low sperm count. He immediately launched a relentless pursuit of me. I, drawn by his persistent charm, and with Grandma’s life hanging by the thread of a hefty hospital bill, joyfully accepted Brandon’s proposal, believing it a fortunate turn of fate. But then, on our wedding day, Brandon’s demeanor abruptly shifted. He presented the cold, calculated demand of a trial marriage. For Grandma’s sake, I swallowed my pride, accepting his humiliating terms. For two grueling years, I relentlessly pursued conception. I endured countless ovulation stimulant injections, swallowing bottle after bottle of folic acid supplements and bitter herbal concoctions. Yet, as the two years vanished, my womb remained stubbornly, agonizingly silent. Brandon, convinced I had swindled him, turned to physical abuse, his frustration manifesting in violent outbursts. It was then that my best friend, Serena Hayes—the very woman once diagnosed with irreversible infertility—after marrying an elderly septuagenarian, inexplicably birthed twins, then triplets, in rapid succession. Serena’s newfound reputation for miraculous fertility and abundant offspring quickly snared Brandon’s attention. They began a sordid affair behind my back, culminating in her conception of an illegitimate child, his child. When I uncovered their treachery, Brandon wasted no time, instantly casting me out of his lavish mansion, severing the vital monthly payments that kept Grandma alive. I pleaded desperately, begging him to consider my two years of futile devotion, to lend me the money that could still save Grandma. But Serena, fearing Brandon might waver, acted with ruthless cruelty: she dispatched men to run me over, leaving me to die a brutal, lonely death. It was only in death that the chilling truth unraveled: Serena Hayes had been bound to a sinister "child-swapping" system. Any life that stirred within my womb, any child I managed to conceive, would be instantly, agonizingly, transferred to her belly. And her barrenness, once her own cruel fate, had been insidiously, irreversibly, thrust upon me. Ultimately, Serena, her womb now miraculously fertile with my stolen children, usurped my place, marrying into the Sterling family and wielding their power to crush my entire family. With chilling malice, she deliberately brought gruesome evidence of my demise to the hospital, parading it before Grandma, triggering a fatal heart attack that left her dying with unseeing, tormented eyes. My six brothers and my parents, seeking justice for me, met brutal, consecutive deaths, one after another. Recalling the litany of horrors from my past life, a primal rage surged through me, a burning desire to tear Serena Hayes limb from limb, to devour her alive. But I knew, with a cold, calculating certainty, that this was not yet the moment to confront Serena head-on. I smiled, a thin, knowing twist of my lips, and instantly agreed to Brandon Sterling's trial marriage stipulation. “No problem, darling,” I purred, a false sweetness in my voice. “I assure you, I’ll deliver a magnificent heir for the Sterling family within two years.” 2 Brandon eyed me, a flicker of doubt in his gaze. “You really agree?” I nodded, a confident tilt to my chin. “Don’t worry, darling. I have every confidence.” Seeing me so agreeable, so brimming with confidence about conception, Brandon’s tone softened perceptibly. “Skylar, rest assured,” he said, a possessive warmth entering his voice, “if you can give me a son within two years, I’ll take you straight to City Hall and make it official.” With that, Brandon grandly slipped a dazzling, pigeon-egg-sized diamond ring onto my finger. As the officiant’s prompts echoed through the hall, he closed his eyes and leaned in, his lips seeking mine. Meanwhile, Serena Hayes, standing beside me as my bridesmaid, wore not a hint of blessing on her face—only a raw, barely contained, almost manic envy. I subtly cast a sidelong glance at Serena, fuming in the corner, her jaw clenched. A cold, knowing smirk played on my lips, hidden from view. Just as expected, Serena could no longer contain the restless fervor within her. In a few quick strides, she darted forward, her smile saccharine, and deftly separated Brandon and me. She deliberately, yet with feigned innocence, brushed her ample chest against Brandon, practically throwing herself into his arms, her voice a sickly sweet whine. “Oh, Mr. Sterling,” she cooed, her voice cloyingly playful, “why so eager? We haven’t even had the reception fun yet! You can’t just go kissing our bride willy-nilly!” Serena, emboldened by her perceived beauty, brazenly began to overtly seduce him right there in front of me. Alas, Brandon, a seasoned playboy scion, had seen his share of women, countless types. His obsession was singularly focused on procreation. He’d long heard rumors of Serena’s numerous abortions leading to infertility. He held her in utter contempt, utterly uninterested. Brandon forcibly shoved Serena away from him, a harsh, dismissive push. A flicker of wounded surprise crossed Serena’s eyes, quickly masked by resentment. She didn’t blame Brandon. Instead, her venom was instantly, solely, directed at me. Serena, feigning innocent curiosity, turned to me. “Skylar,” she began, a hint of patronizing skepticism in her tone, “is your family’s famous fertility truly so miraculous? Or are you just exaggerating? What if you can’t get pregnant? You’ll be sent back, you know.” Brandon, hearing her insinuation, cast a suspicious glance my way. Serena, too, stared at me, her lips curling into a triumphant, mocking smirk. I didn't waver, not a single tremor. I simply continued to nod, calmly, confidently. “My family’s legendary fertility has been passed down for five generations,” I stated, my voice unwavering, “and it has never, ever, failed.” “Rest assured,” I added, a chilling sincerity in my tone, “I will absolutely not disappoint you. I’ll deliver a son, and soon!” As I spoke, I deliberately produced a small bag from my purse, right there in front of them. It was filled with pre-prepared ovulation stimulants and fertility-boosting medications. At this sight, Serena’s eyes immediately gleamed with an almost manic avarice. Brandon, equally impatient, eagerly seized my hand, declaring instantly. “Skylar, let’s skip the rest of the wedding formalities,” he urged, his voice thick with anticipation. “Let’s head straight to the bridal suite now! We’ll surely conceive a son tonight!” Serena, too, laughed, a brittle, strained sound, and pulled my hand, practically shoving me towards the bridal suite. “Skylar, hurry, go make babies with Mr. Sterling!” she chirped, a false cheer in her voice. “I’m just dying to hold your child soon!” Watching their undisguised eagerness to exploit me, I let out a silent, chilling scoff. In my past life, Brandon Sterling had pursued me with relentless determination, brought me into his home, all solely to use me as a breeding machine. Even though he knew excessive ovulation stimulant injections were detrimental to health, he still forced me to endure them daily, utterly indifferent to my agonizing pain, the torment that left me feeling like death, even the permanent damage to my ovaries. And Serena Hayes, not only did she exploit that cursed system to snatch everything from me, she orchestrated the gruesome deaths of my entire family. They were a monstrous duo: he, a predatory tiger ravening for my essence; she, a malevolent demon, aiding his cruel feast. Together, they relentlessly drained me of every last drop of my worth, then pushed me to my brutal demise. Reborn into this life, I would ensure they both paid the ultimate, agonizing price for their sins! 3 On our wedding night, Serena, without hesitation, injected me with an overdose of ovulation stimulants. And Brandon, utterly disregarding the agonizing, plummeting ache in my lower abdomen from the excessive dosage, took me ruthlessly, repeatedly, well over a dozen times. Both of them, consumed with feverish anticipation for my womb to blossom with life, showered me with countless traditional herbal concoctions, insisting I "nourish" my body for conception. In my past life, ignorant of Brandon’s critically low sperm count, I truly believed he genuinely desired a child, truly loved the idea of a family. And so, no matter how bitter those medicines tasted, I obediently swallowed every drop. But this time, I poured every last drop of those vile potions directly into a potted plant. Then, I pulled out my phone and summoned six virile, handsome male escorts. In my previous life, I toiled endlessly at home, enduring daily injections and bitter medicines, while Brandon’s parade of outside flings and fleeting lovers never ceased. He spent his days ensnared in a web of various women, only returning to our bed at night, solely for the purpose of procreation. Fortunately, he was quite generous with money, never skimping on funds, utterly indifferent to anything else beyond his singular goal. Thus, in this life, my discreet dalliances with six male escorts remained utterly undetected by him. By day, I lost myself in unbridled passion with the energetic escorts, their bodies intertwined with mine. By night, I offered Brandon only a perfunctory, disinterested physical presence. And I never forgot to needle Serena Hayes with subtle jabs, messaging her, hinting—both overtly and covertly—that I felt I was very likely already pregnant. Sure enough, no sooner had I dropped that tantalizing hint to Serena than she, on the very next day, abruptly married a wealthy, septuagenarian gentleman.
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