The hospital room smelled of metal and prayers.
Annette lay weakly beneath the harsh lights, sweat glistening on her brow, a nurse holding her hand, whispering courage. Her cries had already faded-the baby had been delivered. A girl. Small, crying, full of life.
But Annette wasn't.
The pain had shifted, deepened. Something inside her was breaking. The doctors moved fast, voices sharp, words blurring.
"She's losing too much blood!"
Her eyes were glassy, drifting past the chaos toward the door. No sign of him. No Martin. No father to the child. Just silence.
But Justin was there-pale, frightened, holding her arm with both hands. The brother who never left. The one who watched her make all the wrong choices.
"She's beautiful," he whispered, choking on the words. "Your daughter's beautiful, Annette. You did it."
Annette smiled faintly. Her lips were dry, her voice broken. "Tell her...tell her I loved her. Even if she doesn't know me."
Justin nodded quickly, tears streaming.
"And you, Justin..." Her eyes locked with his, and for the first time, there was no confusion in them. Just truth. "If I ever get another chance...I'll find you. I swear it."
Her fingers slipped from his grasp as the machine began to scream.
One final breath. One final vow.
And then-stillness.
...
"I cannot stay with the child," Martin muttered, pacing back and forth, eyes avoiding the newborn wrapped in soft linen.
Justin stood by the hospital window, jaw tight, fists clenched. He turned slowly. "She's your daughter, Martin."
Martin's voice cracked. "She's Annette's daughter. Not mine."
Justin took a breath but it burned in his chest.
"I suggest you take her to her grandmother," Martin continued, rubbing his temples. "She raised Annette, she can raise this one too."
Justin frowned. "Her grandmother? The same woman raising two more kids on her own? A widow with barely enough to eat, and you want to throw your daughter on her doorstep like a bag of laundry?"
Martin flinched. "She's the next of kin"
"No," Justin snapped. "She's not the next mother."
Martin didn't respond.
The nurse entered briefly and placed a document on the table. Adoption papers. Emergency guardianship forms. No one moved.
"I can take her to the church," Martin said suddenly, coldly. "If that's the solution you're hoping for. People leave babies at churches all the time."
Justin stared at him in disbelief.
"You think this is about convenience?" he said quietly. "You think Annette went through hell just so her daughter could be dumped like a stray animal?"
"I'm not in the mood for this, Justin," Martin said sharply. "I'm not ready. And frankly, it's irresponsible to keep bringing babies into the world when you can't guarantee a future."
"Then I'll take her."
The room fell silent.
Justin stepped forward and picked up the crying baby girl; small, warm and trembling. "I'll raise her. If no one else will."
...
The baby wailed again, louder this time.
Justin rocked her gently in his arms, seated on the edge of a small mattress on the floor. The room was dimly lit, a single lamp casting soft shadows on the wall. He guided the rubber teat of the bottle toward her trembling lips, whispering soothing words, sweat lining his forehead from the effort.
"Shhh...I've got you. Just a little more, alright?" he murmured.
Tiny fingers wrapped weakly around his thumb.
The door burst open.
"Are you mad, Justin?!"
He startled, nearly dropping the bottle. "Mum please..."
His mother stormed in, her face twisted with anger, her scarf slipping halfway off her head. "What is wrong with you? Why are you meddling in your brother's business?"
"She's just a child." Justin said quietly, not looking up. "She's alone."
"And she should have gone to her grandmother like your brother said!" she snapped. "Or are you now her father? Is that what you want people to believe?"
Justin's lips pressed into a line, his jaw clenched.
"Even if she is your brother's child-which I doubt-how dare you bring her here like this?" She pointed a trembling hand toward the child. "Do you want the neighbors to say you had something with that woman? That you were her secret lover?"
"Mum, enough."
"No! You don't listen! You don't think!" she cried. "Even you cannot feed yourself, Justin. I am the one who sends you food. I am the one who even buys you clothes. And now you want to feed this woman's baby? A baby whose father doesn't even want her?"
Justin stood slowly, still cradling the child, now calmer in his arms. His voice was low but firm.
"Then stop sending me food. Stop helping. I didn't ask you to come here."
She looked stunned.
"If you can't love her, fine. If Martin can't even look at her, fine. But don't stand there and make her carry your shame," Justin said. "She didn't ask to be born. And I didn't ask for your permission."
The child gave a soft hiccups, then went quiet again.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
His mother turned, lips pursed in silence, and walked out without another word.
Justin sat back down, trembling not from fear, but from a growing fire in his chest.
"I've got you," he whispered again to the baby girl. "I promise."
...
Silence.
Not the hospital lights. Not the cries of a newborn.
Just darkness. Then...a sudden gasp.
Lucien's eyes flew open; wide, alert, unfamiliar. The ceiling above was gilded, not white. A chandelier swayed slightly. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding but it wasn't his old heart.
He sat up quickly, the bedsheets falling to his waist. His hands-large, masculine-gripped the fabric. He blinked. Once. Twice. The arms were too muscular. The skin tone was a little deeper. His voice cracked, low and foreign.
"Where...am I?"
A knock at the door interrupted his racing thoughts.
"Sir, the board meeting starts in thirty minutes. Shall I bring your black coffee now?"
Sir?
Lucien scrambled from the bed and stumbled into a mirror. What he saw made his breath freeze. A man stared back at him.
Tall. Sharp. Cold eyes. Expensive silk robe hanging on powerful shoulders.
But inside that flawless, deadly body...was him.
"I...I died," he whispered. "I died...in that hospital. Giving birth."
His hand touched the glass, shaking.
"What is this...? Who am I now?"
A tablet on the nightstand lit up with a news alert:
"Lucien Crowe, CEO of AMEL Group, returns from one-week coma. Investors await public appearance."
Lucien Crowe. That's the name of the man he was in now. The most feared CEO in the entire country.