The InheritanceChapter 1

My data-tracking algorithm, in its infinite wisdom, pushed a video of my daughter, Chloe, to the top of my feed.

She was using a 'Crying Baby' filter, the audio a high-pitched, cutesy song. She pouted at the camera.

"Hey guys, so, like, major dilemma," she whined. "Should I take the million-dollar education trust my parents set up and... like, secretly have this baby instead? Just to, you know, surprise them?"

She panned the camera down, rubbing a hand over her stomach. "I mean, I'm already five months, and it's getting, like, super hard to hide. What should I do, guys? Give me your best ideas!"

The comment section was a dumpster fire.

In my last life, that "surprise" sent me into a blind rage. I dragged her to a clinic, I forced the termination. It ended on a rainy night, with her and her boyfriend pushing me down the grand staircase of our home.

As I bled out, I heard her whisper, "You ruined my life."

This time, I’m letting go.

I just want to watch her and that deadbeat boyfriend, Leo, pay for their own "surprise."

* * *

I scrolled through the comments, my face blank.

Yasss queen! A baby is a *life*! You can go to college anytime, but a baby is so much more important! Do it and then play 'guess the daddy' with your parents, they'll think it's HILARIOUS. [clown emoji]

omg ur preggo?? that’s gonna be the cutest baby ever! [heart emoji]

Just tell them you're taking a 'gap year' lol. A long one.

In my last life, I’d thrown my phone so hard it shattered the screen of my office monitor. I couldn't understand how my daughter—our only child, raised with every privilege—could be so stupid. To be pregnant, by him, and to treat her future and our family's reputation like a joke for her online followers.

I'd immediately frozen her cards and had my security team pull her out of Leo's squalid one-bedroom apartment.

She'd screamed, of course. That I was a tyrant. That I didn't respect her. That Leo loved her, and they had a right to their "miracle."

I'd looked at that boy—who had nothing but a pretty, vacant face and a sleeve of bad tattoos—and felt nothing but disgust.

I told her the plan was Columbia. The trust was for Columbia. The child was an obstacle. It had to be removed.

After the clinic, she'd never looked at me again. I was the enemy.

Until that rainy night. She and Leo, blocking my path on the second-floor landing. The argument. His hands on my back, shoving hard. The sickening crunch as I hit the marble floor.

"Don't worry," she’d told him, as my vision faded. "She slipped. It's her own fault. She ruined my life. She deserved it."

A familiar, sharp pain clenched my chest. I snapped back to the present.

I would not be that mother again.

I calmly saved the video. I called my husband. "Richard, be home early tonight. We need to talk."

"Is everything... okay, Claire?" He sounded surprised. I was never the one to call for "talks."

"It's fine. Just be home."

I hung up and messaged my personal assistant. "I need a full background check on a 'Leo Rojas.' Everything. The dirtier, the better."

I leaned back in my chair. Chloe, my darling girl. We have a debt to settle.