Our Love and Hate were Boundless, and Now Happiness Await

I was one of George Swallowell’s twelve concubines. Rosalie, the elder of the Swallowell, once said, “Whoever gets pregnant first will be the future mistress of the house. In my previous life, I was the first to get pregnant. But his favorite, the twelfth concubine, Priscilla Caradoc, slit her wrists and died. On the day I gave birth, he dragged me from the delivery room to Priscilla’s grave. He pressed my head and made me prostrate myself in front of the grave a hundred times. “If you hadn’t secretly hyped up the birth control pills, how could you get pregnant? Priscilla is already preparing for pregnancy and we will have a child soon. She is the one who should be my wife!” “It’s not enough that you took Priscilla’s position, but you also forced her to commit suicide. I want you to join her in death!” He dug out the ashes of my entire family and fed them to the wild dogs on the mountain in front of Priscilla’s last photo to take out his anger for her. George knew that I had a poor blood clotting disorder, he cut dozens of knives on my body and watched me bleed to death with my eyes wide open. In this life, I secretly switched the urine cup for the pregnancy test with Priscilla. I’m really sorry, I won’t accompany you in their love game any longer.