Part 1I Married My Best Friends Father

In my last life, my best friend—the sole heiress to a billionaire's empire—stole my husband.

They mocked me, degraded me, and eventually, they pushed me down a flight of stairs, leaving me to bleed out on the cold marble floor.

Given a second chance, I set my sights on a different prize: her wealthy, silver-fox of a father. He had no biological heirs, only his adopted daughter. She thought her father's empire made her invincible, giving her the right to play God with my life.

But she didn't know about my family's secret. I possessed a rare, genetic predisposition for extreme fertility. Soon enough, I'd be slipping into his bed, carrying his quadruplets.

In this life, I’m going to make you drop to your knees and call me "Mother."

……

* * *

I feigned a hazy disorientation, stumbling my way toward the master suite on the second floor of the mansion.

Richard Kerwin stood there in a plush robe, silver-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. When he saw me burst in, surprise flashed across his face, quickly followed by a cold, guarded mask.

I played the part of the innocent, drunken guest perfectly, bumping into his solid chest and letting out a soft, incoherent murmur.

At this point in my timeline, my body hadn't yet been ravaged by the grueling rounds of IVF hormone injections. I was still in my prime—radiant, vibrant, and undeniably alluring.

Silky strands of my hair brushed against his fingers. A delicate, intoxicating perfume drifted into the air between us, sinking right into his veins.

The man’s eyes darkened instantly.

Every single detail of this moment—the precise length of my slip dress, the plunge of the neckline, the slit at my thigh, even the breathy cadence of my voice—had been meticulously calculated.

Because I knew that if I missed this window, I might never get close to him again.

I watched his Adam’s apple bob. The icy restraint in his gaze was rapidly melting, replaced by a raw, primal heat.

Suddenly, his arms came around me, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the searing heat radiating from his skin and the frantic, heavy thud of his heartbeat.

He leaned down, his voice a low, gravelly whisper against my ear. "Do you have any idea what you're doing right now?"

In that split second, the sheer weight of his hunger washed over me.

I smiled inwardly. Checkmate.

The next morning, a piercing shriek shattered the silence.

"Helen! What the hell are you doing?! That is my father!"

Bernice stood paralyzed in the doorway. Behind her, a small crowd of guests from her birthday party the night before lingered in the hall, their faces a canvas of shock and morbid curiosity.

I blinked up at her with wide, innocent eyes, pulling the duvet tightly up to my collarbone, deliberately cutting off whatever explanation Richard was about to offer.

"I... I was just so drunk last night," I stammered, my voice trembling perfectly. "We just laid here and talked under the covers. Nothing happened, I swear."

I knew how the game was played. A ruthless, highly respected titan of Wall Street was never going to let himself become the punchline of a society scandal. Especially not with half of New York's elite standing in his hallway.

Bernice’s face morphed from sheer shock to a violent, trembling rage. She ground her teeth, her eyes practically vibrating with hatred. "Do you... do you think I'm a fucking idiot?"

She lunged forward, hands raised to strike me.

"Enough!" Richard’s voice cracked through the room like a whip.

Bernice froze.

"Did you not hear what she just said?" Richard demanded, his tone brokering no argument. "It was a misunderstanding. An accident."

Bernice stared at him, utterly betrayed, her mouth opening and closing as she desperately searched for a rebuttal.

I leaned forward, closing the distance between us until my lips were inches from her ear. "You’d better play along with my story," I whispered, so low only she could hear. "Because if your dad decides he actually does have a taste for me... you're going to have to start calling me Mom."

Her pupils dilated in pure horror. A flicker of profound hesitation crossed her face. Finally, she shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred, then whipped around to face her guests, forcing a sickeningly sweet, plastic smile onto her face.

"Everyone, please, let's not jump to conclusions. They... they really just stayed up talking."

The guests exchanged awkward, knowing glances, muttering polite excuses as they quickly dispersed down the hall.

Before Bernice walked away, she turned and glared at me one last time. It was the exact same look she had given me in my past life, right before she shoved me to my death.

I was born in an isolated, forgotten valley deep in the mountains—a place locals whispered about in folklore. The women from my hometown were famously beautiful, but more importantly, we were known for a fierce, generational vitality. We were built to bear children, effortlessly and abundantly.

Because of that trait, I was nearly trafficked three times as a toddler, eventually ending up in the foster care system, which is where I first met Bernice.