Part 1The Gilded Womb

The perks package I’d earned from my 9-to-5 grind in the afterlife was supposed to be the golden ticket: I chose the life of the sole heir to a New York City financial dynasty.

I never expected that in the final millisecond before my soul settled, my arch-nemesis would squeeze in beside me.

We became twins.

I gave her a swift kick. “Get out of here. This trust fund is mine.”

She retaliated, siphoning half my nutrients from the umbilical cord. “Please. First one out is the oldest. That means primary inheritance rights.”

Fantastic. After a lifetime of rivalry, this time we’d be starting as fertilized eggs.

Our battle for birthright was so vicious we made our mother sick with morning sickness day and night. We were relentless, a tiny two-person war waged in the dark.

Until the day we both heard our father’s voice, cold as ice, from the world outside.

“That child cannot be born.”

* * *

“Carter, what did you just say?”

That was our mother’s voice—Eleanor’s voice—trembling.

My rival, Stella, and I paused our brawl mid-kick. We held perfectly still, listening.

“I said,” Carter Brooks repeated, his voice devoid of any warmth, “that child cannot be born.”

“Why? The doctor said the babies are perfectly healthy…”

“Healthy?” A dry, mirthless chuckle. “Eleanor, have you forgotten your place? Did you really think I let you get pregnant so you could become the matriarch of the Brooks family?”

In the cramped darkness of the womb, Stella and I shared a look, a silent broadcast of mutual panic. This wasn't in the brochure. Sole heir to a Manhattan fortune? We were supposed to be planning our debutante balls, not our own funerals.

“What… what are you saying?” Eleanor’s voice faded to a whisper.

“Chloe’s son, Noah… his heart is failing. He needs a compatible transplant, urgently.”

The pieces began to click into place, each one colder and sharper than the last.

“Your blood type is the same as his,” Carter continued, his tone clinical, as if discussing a stock portfolio. “Rh-null. I did my research. A child you carry has an extremely high probability of being a match. Twins, especially. One for the transplant, one as a backup. It’s foolproof.”

Eleanor’s horror was a physical wave that washed over us. “So, from the very beginning… my children were just… a living organ bank for Noah.”

Her emotional distress triggered a violent contraction. The walls closed in, and Stella and I were crushed together.

“No… it can’t be…” Eleanor’s voice broke into a sob. “Carter, they’re your children, too! How could you…”

“Children?” His voice dripped with disgust. “Eleanor, don’t flatter yourself. My only child is the one Chloe gave me. The things in your stomach are nothing more than two well-matched sets of spare parts. Your job is to deliver them, safe and sound. Do that, and the Brooks family will compensate you handsomely.”

He paused, letting the cruelty sink in. “If you want to blame someone, blame them for choosing your womb to land in.”

“Now, get ready. We’re going to the hospital. I’ve already made the arrangements.”

Our mother’s terror and heartbreak became a cascade of brutal contractions, squeezing the breath from our tiny, developing lungs.

“No! I won’t!” Eleanor shrieked, a sound of pure, primal fear. “I won’t let anyone hurt my babies!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Carter snarled.

Then, a dizzying lurch. We could feel our mother being dragged, her body fighting against an overwhelming force.

What do we do? I projected the thought to Stella.

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she coiled her tiny body and kicked with all her might in one direction.

“Argh!”

A muffled grunt of pain from the outside world. It was Carter.

“Eleanor! You think you can run from me?” his voice roared from behind, filled with a terrifying rage.

He wanted our hearts?

He could dream on.