Chapter 1

My brother, Kevin, was a medical miracle.

And a monster.

In my previous life, it started as a joke. He was twenty-five, complaining of stomach pains and bloating. He' d always been a hypochondriac, so our mother, Eleanor, rushed him to the best doctors. They ran every test imaginable. The final diagnosis was so bizarre, so unprecedented, that it made the news.

Kevin, my brother, had a fully functional uterus.

A one-in-a-billion genetic abnormality. A quirk of embryonic development. The scientists and doctors were ecstatic, calling it a breakthrough in human biology.

I, a bio-ethicist, saw it as a serious medical condition that required careful management and psychological counseling.

Kevin saw it as his ticket to godhood.

"I' m the next step in human evolution, Sarah," he' d said, puffing out his chest in the sterile hospital room. His face was alight with a feverish glee. "I' m better than women. I don' t need them. I can carry my own heir. Our family' s heir."

Our mother, Eleanor, stood beside his bed, her hand stroking his hair. Her eyes, full of manic pride, met mine.

"Isn' t it wonderful, Sarah? My boy is special. He can secure the family fortune all by himself. No messy daughter-in-law trying to get her hands on what' s ours."

The fortune. That' s all it ever was to her. Our grandfather' s will stipulated that the bulk of his massive inheritance would go to the first of his grandchildren to produce a male heir. It was an archaic, sexist clause, but it was ironclad. Mom had been obsessed with it for years, pushing both Kevin and me towards marriage and children with a desperate, greedy urgency.

Now, she saw a shortcut. A way to cut me, my potential husband, and any future daughter-in-law out of the equation entirely.

I tried to intervene. I tried to explain the immense physical and hormonal risks. I told them that even if he could conceive through an experimental procedure, carrying a pregnancy to term would be incredibly dangerous, likely fatal.

"You' re just jealous," Kevin sneered, his voice dripping with the misogyny he' d always worn so comfortably. "You' re a woman, so you can' t stand that a man can do your one job better than you. You' re obsolete."

Eleanor nodded in agreement. "She' s just trying to stand in your way, my sweet boy. She' s always been jealous of you."

That was my first warning. The good deed that sealed my fate. I pushed harder, trying to get the hospital' s ethics committee involved. I argued that Kevin was not psychologically fit to make this decision, that he was being driven by a delusion of grandeur, enabled by our mother.

They found out.

I remember the night clearly. It was raining. I had just come home from a meeting with one of the doctors, who had agreed to listen to my concerns. I opened the door to our family home and saw them waiting for me in the living room. Kevin was holding a heavy glass trophy from one of his high school sports teams. Eleanor stood behind him, her arms crossed, her face a mask of cold fury.

"You tried to stop me," Kevin said, his voice low and guttural.

"I was trying to help you, Kevin. You' re not thinking clearly."

"Mom said you would do this. She said you would try to take my birthright away."

He took a step forward. I backed away, my heart pounding in my chest. I looked at our mother, pleading with my eyes. She didn' t move. She just watched.

"Mom, please. Talk to him."

Eleanor' s lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "He is the man of this house now, Sarah. He knows what' s best."

That was her blessing. Her permission.

Kevin lunged. The trophy came down hard. The first blow was to my shoulder, a searing, shattering pain. I stumbled back, crying out. He swung again, this time catching me on the side of my head. The world tilted, a burst of white light filling my vision. I fell to the floor, the polished wood cold against my cheek. I could hear Eleanor' s voice, a calm, chilling instruction.

"Make sure it' s done right, Kevin. No mess."

The last thing I saw was the base of the trophy swinging down towards my face.

Then, darkness.

And then... light.

I gasped, my body jolting. I was in my bed. My own bed, in my apartment. Sunlight streamed through the window. My head didn't hurt. My shoulder was fine. I frantically patted myself down, my fingers tracing whole, unbroken skin.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it. The date stared back at me. It was three years before my murder. Three years before the doctors would discover Kevin's "miracle."

I fell back against the pillows, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. A second chance. Not for them. For me.

The memory of the trophy, of my mother' s cold eyes, of their shared betrayal, was not a dream. It was burned into my soul. They had killed me once because I was an inconvenience, a threat to their misogynistic, greedy fantasy.

This time, I wouldn' t be an inconvenience.

This time, I would be the architect of it. I would not stand in Kevin' s way. I would clear the path for him. I would hand him the shovel and watch with delight as he dug his own grave. He wanted to be a god? Fine. I would help him build his altar, and I would be there to watch him burn on it.

The trauma of my past life was no longer a burden. It was a weapon. And I was going to use it to ensure that my dear brother and my loving mother got exactly what they deserved. Revenge wouldn't be swift. It would be a slow, agonizing, public spectacle of their own making. I would just give them a little push.

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