For five years, I fought Natalie, Liam’s untouchable Gold Standard—his high school sweetheart, his lost flame—just to move up from the gilded cage. Mrs. Harrington’s decree was simple: the first mistress to successfully bear a child would become the next Mrs. Harrington. That night, Liam was drugged. He stumbled into my room, desperate and incoherent. My body, famously "fertile," delivered the result. Post-wedding, he was the model husband—attentive, showering me with affection, even personally tending to my entire pregnancy. Everyone called me lucky. But on the day my water broke, he bound me, surgically cut open my belly in the dark basement, and watched me bleed out. “If you hadn’t foolishly tried to treat me, I wouldn’t have been separated from the one I was meant to be with,” he spat. “The heir is born. She and I will raise him. You’ve served your purpose. Now, die.” My second life. I shoved a very pregnant Natalie into the room instead of going myself. “Go on, your fortune awaits!” I walked away, finally free. A year later, on a tourist trip up north, I found Natalie begging on the street. Her face was mutilated, her limbs broken, shivering violently. She grabbed my hand, sobbing, her voice a raw rasp: “Piss poor luck, that bastard used me as a goddamn broodmare! Said his heart’s delight was infertile, stole the kid right after he was born, and dumped me without a cent!” Then she died, right there on the frozen sidewalk. I woke up a third time, back on the night Liam was drugged. I looked at the sixteen other women in the mansion, the sixteen other golden cages. Natalie and I exchanged a glance, sinking into a heavy silence. The question was a bullet in the air, cold and hard: Who, exactly, was the infertile one? 1 Inside, Liam was groaning like a desperate animal, his sounds thick and primal. No matter how much he pleaded for one of us to open the door, Natalie and I clung to the doorknob, two statues of modern-day restraint. Then, the cavalry: Mrs. Harrington, a formidable presence, and the remaining sixteen mistresses. “What is all this commotion?” She shoved the door open. Liam was red-faced, tearing at his shirt. Mrs. Harrington gave us both a sharp rap on the head. “You two fight every day to get in, and now that the door is open, you’re playing the deference card?” “You’re both supposedly ‘super-fertile.’ Anyone of you can conceive tonight. Decide who goes in!” The old woman was beyond desperate for a great-grandchild, and with Liam constantly traveling, we were—in her mind—the two best candidates. Natalie and I stared each other down. If I go, I die. If she goes, she dies. The solution? Send the true love. But who, among eighteen women, was it? I spoke softly, carefully. “Mrs. Harrington, it’s not fair to the others. And we should respect Liam’s choice.” I turned to him, my voice dripping with false concern. “Liam, darling, who do you choose? It’s okay if you don’t conceive immediately. We can’t let you upset the one you truly love.” I knew that when I’d tried to help him in the first life, everyone else was sleeping. I just needed to see if he would sacrifice his "true love" now that she was standing right here. Liam looked at me, struggling through the haze. “Then... Sienna, you come.” His voice was a reluctant groan. I could hear the sheer unwillingness. Mrs. Harrington nodded. “Sienna, go. It’s what you’ve always wanted.” She wasn’t wrong. Marriage to Liam had been my ultimate dream. He was my rescuer. The golden boy who saved me from the alley thugs in college. He was tireless in his care, his affection, his gifts. As an orphan from the group home, a crumb of love was enough to make me fall. I became his seventeenth mistress, dismissing all the warnings that he was a confirmed bachelor. In the first life, he sent everyone else away, and personally nursed me through pregnancy. I was delirious with happiness. Then came the basement, the ropes, the cold steel of the scalpel. He murdered me without anesthetic, watching me thrash. “I never loved you. I married you for a promise to my grandmother. The heir is here, and now you die. I will raise him with the one true love of my heart.” My last question was if it was Natalie. He just smiled: “You’ll see.” I bled out before I could turn my head and never saw the face. The horror was visceral. My palms were slick with sudden, fresh fear. I shook my head. “I can’t.” Mrs. Harrington was bewildered. “Why? Didn't you always want to be Mrs. Harrington?” I chose my words carefully, my tone utterly sincere. “It was a mistake. I confused gratitude for love.” I took a deep breath, dropping the bomb. “The truth is, Mrs. Harrington, I took a lover last month. I’m already carrying his child.” Liam's face went crimson, veins bulging in his forehead. “Sienna, you are unbelievable!” His furious gaze shifted to Natalie. Before he could speak, she stumbled back three steps, throwing her hands up. “Don’t look at me, I’m out!” Liam scoffed, “What, you’re sleeping around too?” Natalie's eyes lit up with invention. She pointed at me, nodding vigorously. “Yeah! We hooked up with the same guy! I’m pregnant too!” Mrs. Harrington nearly passed out from shock and fury. A good womb was useless if it carried bastards. She banished us both, telling the two “hussies” to be packed and gone by morning. She looked worriedly at Liam. “What about the others?” Liam’s rejection was instant and sharp. “No!” Natalie and I exchanged a baffled look. Ah, I see. He thinks it would be disrespectful to his true love if he slept with someone else after this mess. How deeply romantic. Liam spent the night in a tub of ice water. Natalie and I slept soundly, dreaming of freedom. The next morning, bags packed, we met Liam at the door. He threw two blood test reports at our feet. “You both lied. You are not pregnant. You conspired to trick me!” So that’s why we slept so well. The bastard. Natalie, the straightforward one, bristled. “So what? We just don’t want to carry your kid!” The Harrington name, a powerful one on the East Coast, was being openly mocked by a mere mistress. Mrs. Harrington was visibly offended. “Liam, let it go. You have sixteen other girls. You’ve been too busy to focus on a family. But if you try, someone will conceive.” Liam laughed, a cold, harsh sound. “No woman has ever refused me and gotten away with it. My reputation would be ruined!” He glared at us both. “I will only choose from the two of you!” The doctor had warned him that the ice bath had taxed him severely. He needed a week to recover, or he risked permanent damage. Liam looked at me, a cold fury in his eyes. “One week. Don’t try to run. I will find you.” The other mistresses were furious, making it impossible to single out the true love. Perhaps it was the lack of a shared target, but Natalie quickly barged into my room. “What do we do? That bastard’s pride is at stake. He wants us to be reproductive machines for his true love! I refuse to die!” I showed her my phone. “There’s a loophole. We’re 'super-fertile' because of our exceptional uterine quality. Liam wouldn’t know the specifics.” I explained the absurd idea. “If we find his infertile true love, I can offer her a transplant. He should be happy then, right?” Natalie’s eyes widened. “My god, that’s genius! Give her mine too! Let them breed like rabbits in a hutch, just leave us alone!” We agreed on the plan. I would arrange a group physical for the other mistresses. The results were staggering. All sixteen of them were medically infertile. “Holy hell. That’s too damn convenient. We only have two uteruses. That’s not enough to go around!” Natalie shrieked. “We can’t just pick one!” She was right. If the woman wasn't the true love, she would meet the same fate as me in the first life. I wasn't that heartless. Natalie, a bundle of raw nerves, volunteered to interrogate the mistresses. I knew I had to handle Liam. The next day, I headed to the small, unpretentious family restaurant near my old campus. Liam was waiting, the table laden. He pointed to a dish. “Spicy Lamb Offal. I knew you’d come. Hungry? Five years ago, you ate half the plate, so I order it every anniversary.” Today was our five-year anniversary—the night he rescued me. I suddenly laughed. “Liam, we’ve eaten everything on this menu over five years. I’ve never touched the offal. I hate organ meat.” I leaned forward, keeping my gaze steady. “The person you’re remembering, Liam, is she really me?” He put down his chopsticks. He sighed. “Since you asked directly, I will tell you.” He raised his hand, pointing to the door. My heart pounded. This is it. The doorway was empty. He was pointing at the crowded photo wall, at a candid snapshot of us. He smiled, a practiced, melancholic look. “Sienna, this place holds our most precious memories. Would I bring anyone else here? I'm over thirty, my memory is a little foggy. I just forgot you hated offal. The other women were games. I want forever with only you. Trust me.” The waitress, a friend of ours, chimed in: "Mr. Harrington looks at you with so much love, Miss. Of all the couples, you look the most like a real man and wife." I felt dizzy, the words sinking into the old wounds of my past. He was my protector, driving hours to bring me a heating pad for cramps. He defended me from the bullies. He was the only person who had ever made me feel like I was worth something. I wanted to believe him. I pointed to the photo. “What about Natalie? Your first love. If she was the one whose room you stumbled into, would you be saying this to her? Our doors are identical, and you’re rarely home. It would be an easy mistake. That’s why you asked us to choose.” His hand tightened on my shoulder. He chuckled dismissively. “Natalie? A high school fling. She was just fighting with you out of stubborn pride. I only said that to protect you from her competitiveness. I’m protecting you, Sienna.” He kissed my cheek. “And you made me soak in an ice bath because you were jealous and lied about sleeping around. You broke my heart.” He wasn’t wrong about Natalie. She was a tomboy, more aggressive than half his male friends, and had only become a mistress out of pure spite. As we walked to the car, Liam suddenly buried his face in my neck, his voice low and ragged. “If you’re so worried, five days from now, we'll get married. We’ll skip the engagement. I need you so badly right now, and if the doctor hadn’t warned me, I’d take you here…” I pushed him away, feigning a blush. “Stop it! Someone might see!” “The wedding, yes. But no license yet. I need to get pregnant first, or Mrs. Harrington will be furious. We’ll have a wedding ceremony to make Natalie finally give up. I need to save face. I want the most lavish wedding. The city’s elite. Live broadcast.” Relief washed over him. “Deal, my love.” I watched his car disappear. My smile vanished. I went back inside. I paid the owner a handsome sum. “I want the photo you just showed me. And I want the other one.” The wedding announcement spread through the city that afternoon. I returned to an eerily quiet mansion. Natalie was pacing, staring at the empty hall. “They’re all gone. Why aren’t you?” “Sienna, you’re a big idiot!” Natalie rushed me, but instead of hitting me, she hugged me, sobbing. “You’ve been through so much, and you’re still a fool for love! Let’s just run!” I patted her back. “We’re not even married yet. I only agreed to the ceremony.” I felt her body tense up as she remembered the basement. “Don’t worry,” I whispered. “I won’t let you die.” Natalie confessed she learned nothing. “They’re gone, who knows where. How do we find the true love?” I wiped her tears. “No need to look, Nat. I know who it is. And no, they won’t agree to the uterus transplant.” “Why not? Get married and have your own kid? They’re insane!” I laid out the two photos side-by-side. Natalie looked, then looked again. Her expression went from confusion to utter horror. “Holy smokes... I see it.” “You see it.” The first photo showed Liam’s devoted gaze, but in the second, from a different angle, it was clear he was looking past me, at the person standing by the wall. I’d checked the surveillance: when Liam had his "reaction" in the car, that person had been standing not far away. The whole puzzle clicked. No wonder he insisted on me or Natalie. A knock on the door. A man in a tailored suit, golden-rimmed glasses, exuding a slight air of competence. Natalie squeezed my arm. “Hot! Who is that? He looks like you.” The man smiled. “Sienna, I’m Lucas, your brother.” He wanted to take me home. I told him the plan. He sighed, but didn't argue. Natalie was confused. “Your brother is so rich. Why not just leave?” I was already picking out a dress. “Because Liam needs to pay the price for the first two lives.” Natalie brightened. “You’re damn right! I’m staying to watch that bastard crash and burn!”
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