Part 2I Married My Best Friends Father

Back in the foster home, while the other kids were sickly and hollow-cheeked, I was thriving—radiant and healthy.

The system wasn't some magical sanctuary. It was a brutal competition for survival, and amid all that ugliness, Bernice was the only one who looked out for me.

There were always families who wanted to adopt me, but somehow, at the very last second, the paperwork would always fall through.

Not long after, Bernice hit the jackpot. She was taken in by Richard Kerwin, the legendary corporate shark.

I had been genuinely happy for her. I truly believed she was my sister, the most important person in my life.

I believed it so deeply that in my previous life, when Bernice stood in my living room, caressing her swelling belly and telling me she was carrying my husband’s baby, my brain simply couldn't process it.

They stood there together, laughing at me. They called me a barren, useless husk.

And when I finally snapped, threatening to take my husband for every penny he had in the divorce, they dragged me to the staircase.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back before the blood, before the betrayal.

Realizing that the two people you trusted most in the world were the architects of your destruction... it's a suffocating, paralyzing kind of agony. An agony so deep that in my last life, I died before I could even scream the truth at them:

The problem wasn't me! The one who was medically sterile was my husband!

My bloodline practically guaranteed fertility. I had spent years burying the truth, silently taking the blame and enduring endless pity just to protect his fragile male ego.

Well, no more.

Bernice thought she could play with human lives just because she had a billionaire daddy backing her up. She loved my useless, sterile husband so much? Fine. She could keep the trash.

I, on the other hand, thought her father was quite the catch.

Wealthy, devastatingly handsome, and completely alone, save for one adopted daughter.

Let’s see how much he remembers you, Bernice, once I give him a biological child of his own blood.

In this life, you will drop to your knees and call me Mother.

By the time Richard and I were dressed and making our way downstairs, Bernice was already sitting stiffly on the living room sofa, radiating fury.

"Dad... Helen... Now that the guests are gone, do you two have absolutely no sense of shame?"

Shame? Hilarious. I doubt the word crossed her mind when she was climbing into my husband's bed in our past life.

Swallowing the urge to laugh in her face, I buried my face in my hands and let out a soft, pathetic sob.

"I don't even know what happened," I cried, my voice thick with tears. "I just drank that one cocktail you handed me last night, Bernice, and then everything went blurry..."

Bernice’s righteous anger immediately dissolved into panic.

"What?! Are you trying to say I drugged you?!"

I looked up at her, my eyes swimming with wounded vulnerability.

"No, of course not! You're my best friend, I would never suspect you. But... those people you hang out with... they don't seem like good people. What if one of them slipped something into my glass behind your back?"

Bernice was turning purple. The elite circles of New York had always quietly shunned her for being an adopted outsider. Getting those socialites to attend her birthday had been a monumental task.

"You bitch," she hissed. "If you want to sleep with my dad, just say it! Stop making up lies!"

"That's enough," Richard interrupted, his voice dropping an octave.

He looked at Bernice. "She was clearly not in her right mind last night."

He rubbed his temples. "I thought I raised you better than this. I know what kind of person you are, but I also know I’ve spoiled you rotten. You’ve been running around with a degenerate crowd. Your black card is cut off. You're grounded. You will stay in this house and think about your actions."

"Dad—!"

"My decision is final."

Bernice let out a scream of frustration and stormed out of the room.

The heavy oak doors clicked shut, leaving just Richard and me in the cavernous, quiet room.

I took a shaky breath, speaking before he could.

"Richard... Mr. Kerwin. Last night was a mistake. I only came here to celebrate Bernice's birthday. I never imagined things would spiral out of control like this."

I let a small, choked gasp escape my lips.

"But I need you to forget this ever happened."

The request caught him completely off guard.

He was a billionaire; he was no stranger to women trying to manipulate their way into his bed. But he remembered last night. He remembered that I really was delirious, that I had even tried to push him away a few times.

And then he remembered that his own daughter’s party guests were likely the cause of it.

A rare flicker of guilt crossed his sharp features. His jaw tightened.

"Whatever compensation you want," he said quietly. "Name it. It's yours."

I shook my head, offering him a sad, fragile smile.

"You're a victim in this too." I paused, looking down at my hands. "The truth is... I'm a married woman. But I don't think I can live with this guilt. I've betrayed my husband, and I need to ask him for a divorce."

I looked back up, letting a single tear slip down my cheek. "But we built our company together. If he finds out why I'm leaving him, he'll destroy everything I've worked for. My life's work will be gone."

Richard stared at me, his expression softening into something entirely new. He reached out, his large, warm hand tentatively resting on my shoulder.

"I understand," he said softly. "Don't worry about the company. What belongs to you will stay yours."

I widened my eyes, looking up at him with pure, unadulterated admiration.

"Thank you, Richard. You really are a good man."

I could see the gears turning in his head. To him, I was entirely different from the predatory socialites he was used to. He was the one who had taken advantage of me in my compromised state, yet here I was, thanking him.

He walked me to the front doors and instructed his private driver to take me home. As I stepped out into the crisp morning air, I paused, pretending to remember something.

I turned back, 'accidentally' bumping softly against his chest, just as I had the night before.

Instinctively, his arm came around my waist to steady me.

I stepped back quickly, putting a polite distance between us, and carefully handed him my business card.