Lydia Garrett gave birth to twin boys, gasping for breath as she weakly pleaded, "Please, don't let Victor know I've had the babies. Don't go telling anyone, I beg you."
It wasn't until twenty minutes later that she heard news: Naomi Clarke, Victor Caldwell's publicly acknowledged mistress, had given birth to a son. And just like that, Victor had declared the newborn as the Caldwell family's heir. Only then did Lydia feel some relief.
She had hoped to give birth after Naomi, but despite trying all sorts of medical methods, the twins had arrived ahead of schedule, impatient to enter the world.
In her previous life, she had given birth to triplets, but that led to the tragic death of Naomi’s newborn son.
After her delivery, Lydia’s frail body had been dragged to a cemetery by Victor. He’d forced her to kneel, and with every swing of the leather whip, agony burned through her.
"The fortune teller said Naomi's son being born first meant he’s destined for wealth and a legacy of greatness. He’s the eldest, the perfect heir to the Caldwell empire. Your sons may not inherit, but I’ll make sure they’re well taken care of—mansions, luxury cars, yachts, they won't lack anything. They just can’t be heirs. Why are you so worked up about this?""Should it be you buried alongside Naomi's son, or should your three bastards be the ones to keep him company in death?"
The torrential rain poured relentlessly from the sky, soaking Lydia Garrett's frail figure, making her barely able to stand. She couldn't even muster a word to defend herself.
Her clothes clung to her, drenched and unflattering on her post-pregnancy body. Raindrops pelted down, sharp like stones hitting her face, her head, her body—leaving her in pain, numbness washing over the agony. The rain mixed with blood pooling beneath her, spreading out across the ground.
Naomi Clarke stepped out of the luxury car, holding three infants with a servant by her side. Her voice was laced with panic as she cried out, "Victor! Something’s wrong. Lydia’s boys... Their breathing’s faint! I don’t know what to do!"
Lydia tried to force her trembling frame up from the ground, desperate to check on her newborns nestled in their blankets. But then Naomi’s sharp scream froze her in place: "The children—they aren't breathing anymore! They're dead!"
"Dead? Let them be dead then!" Victor Caldwell roared, his rage swallowing any semblance of humanity as he mercilessly lashed Lydia with a whip. "Why don’t you go ahead and die too? You can all reunite in hell!"
But he seemed to forget—for all his anger—that those three boys were his own flesh and blood.
Lydia’s vision blurred into darkness, her strength finally giving out as she followed her sons to the grave.
And when she opened her eyes again, it was two days before their birth.In this life, she swore to protect herself and her children.
She did everything she could to delay the delivery, but the three little ones still rushed into the world.
Lydia Garrett had no choice but to bribe the doctors and nurses to write a later birth time for the babies.
Though in this life, she only had two sons instead of three like before, and it left a slight sense of regret, she was content.
One son would at least be spared from knowing his cold-hearted father and wouldn’t have to suffer in this world.
Having herself and two sons alive was already a blessing.
This time, her sons didn’t steal the title of firstborn or the position of heir from Naomi Clarke’s child.
So maybe, just maybe, the three of them could get by peacefully.
The luxurious hospital room felt like a gilded cage—over-the-top and suffocatingly cold.
Even the two newborns, sensing the tension, barely cried except for the occasional whimper.
The best nannies, elite nurses, and household staff—all professionally efficient and expressionless—worked tirelessly while discreetly watching over her family.
The evening lights began to shimmer. A man dressed in a sharp suit stepped in and knocked lightly. "Mrs. Caldwell, I’m Oliver Bennett, Mr. Caldwell’s lawyer. Mr. Caldwell has offered you one billion as a token of appreciation for having twins for him. Additionally, two villas will be transferred to your sons, and you’ll receive constant financial support to ensure you and the boys live well. However, in return, you need to sign an agreement to waive all claims to marital property and any right to compete for the Caldwell family inheritance.”
Sign.
Lydia Garrett made her decision instantly.
Sign, without hesitation.
Compared to the brutal death she and her newborns endured in her past life, this cold treatment now seemed trivial.
All she was losing was property. Not her life.
Even Oliver Bennett, seasoned as he was, showed a trace of surprise at her quick and calm resolve. As someone with years of experience representing Victor Caldwell, this wasn’t something he’d witnessed often.
Without a second thought, Lydia took the documents and pen he handed over. Her voice was steady and level. “Thanks for making the trip, Mr. Bennett.”
Oliver couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for her. This was Victor Caldwell’s legitimate wife, the mother of his twin boys, after all. “Your composure is admirable, Mrs. Garrett.”
It wasn’t something he should say, but he said it anyway.
Lydia signed her name briskly and handed the papers back.
In her previous life, at this exact moment, she had already been reunited with her sons in a sunless underworld.
But now, sunlight filtered through during the day, and light bulbs filled her nights. Surrounding her were the signs of life—not death. She couldn’t get enough of the scrunched-up little faces of her babies.
This, she thought, was nothing short of heaven.She thought to herself, if life could just stay like this, it would be perfect—walking into a big villa filled with servants, going out with luxury cars and an unlimited credit card. The kids had nannies to look after them, while her job was to focus on their education.
As long as she didn’t interfere in Victor Caldwell’s matters, she could call herself and her children the ultimate winners in life.
Even if he had eighty mistresses and two hundred illegitimate children out there, she would turn a blind eye.
Just thinking about it made her wake up laughing from her dreams, and when she opened her eyes, the smile still lingered on her face.
She asked the nanny to bring the twins in, then gently pinched their tiny hands and feet. Her eyes brimmed with a mother’s love, so strong it was almost tangible.
This moment lasted only ten minutes before the door suddenly burst open. A man stormed in, his presence cold and imposing, his face a mask of frost.
Lydia Garrett felt a chill cutting through the crisp early autumn air.
“The fortune teller said your sons need to be raised together with Lucas to foster his superiority, so he can better inherit the Caldwell Group.”
Her head buzzed, unable to process what she’d just heard. Before she could react, Victor’s icy voice sounded again, his tone completely void of warmth:
"By the way, Lucas is Naomi’s and my son."
Lydia Garrett didn’t feel sorry for her own children, nor did she find it odd that Naomi Clarke’s child already had a name while her twins hadn’t even met their father. She hesitated before speaking, “Do you mean bringing Lucas here for me to raise?”
She said it to him but was also making a promise to herself, “Don’t worry, I’ll treat that child like my own.”
“No, it’s for Naomi to raise your sons,” Victor said firmly, enunciating every word. “I’ll come to pick them up in three days. Get everything ready.”
As he finished, Victor threw a disdainful glance at Lydia, who looked disheveled, and her two quiet, motionless babies beside her. Without another second of hesitation, he turned and left.
Watching his retreating figure, Lydia felt as if her entire body was plunged into an icy abyss.
Was the nightmare from her past life repeating itself?
Had the tragedy simply been postponed, but not avoided?
She shut her eyes, pain coursing through her chest. Memories of the previous life crashed over her like a torrential downpour—the kind that struck unexpectedly, unforgiving. It was as if the lashes of rain mixed with cruelty, striking her already frail post-natal body over and over again.
And there it was—Naomi’s vicious face, alive and terrifying, taking form in her mind. The hurt she felt, watching the child she’d fought so hard to bring into the world lose his life in Naomi's grasp.
Lydia couldn’t deny it. If her children ended up in Naomi’s hands, they would endure nothing but suffering, restrained, abused, and unloved.
No. Not this time.
She clenched her fists as determination surged through her. In this life, no matter the cost, she would protect them. Both of them.Three days were enough for a mother to figure out how to protect herself.
The night wind in Haicheng carried a faint chill. Lydia Garrett, still weak from giving birth, wrapped herself tightly in a long-sleeved shirt and an oversized coat.
She pushed the stroller with one hand. Inside were her twin babies, unusually quiet and well-behaved. They didn’t cry or fuss, almost as if they understood this wasn't the right time to make things harder for their mom.
Lydia stared out of the airplane window at the dark night sky. In her heart, she silently whispered:
Goodbye, Haicheng.
Goodbye, Victor Caldwell and Naomi Clarke.
I’m done playing your games.
My children are mine to raise, and I’ll do it alone.
