The Fifth Child

Five years ago, Mannie accidentally had a night with a man. In result, she was pregnant with 8 children! When she thought she was going to raise the 8 babies alone, she met him again... That man, or should she say the Alpha, who took her first time five years ago... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He stepped closer, hands in his coat pockets. “I think I know you.” “I don’t think so,” I said, annoyed. “You were at a hotel five years ago.” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He stared at me like I was supposed to react. “It was raining. You were wearing a maid’s uniform.” I took a step back. “Are you for real right now?” “You don’t remember?” I laughed dryly. “I’ve worked in hotels, cleaned rooms, mopped floors, but I don’t remember you.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don’t remember anything?” I shook my head. “Look, I don’t know what fantasy you’re living in, but I’m not part of it.” “I’m not guessing,” he said softly. “It was you.” “Wow,” I muttered. “Okay, so let me guess. You walk up to women, tell them you had a special night five years ago, and hope they fall for it?” “No,” he said firmly. “You feel... familiar.” “And you feel insane,” I snapped. “Why are you even following me?” “I just thought maybe we had a connection—” “No,” I cut him off. “You saw me on stage and thought I’d be an easy target. That’s all this is. Another rich man thinking he can throw out a few charming lines and get what he wants.”

After my grandmother passed away, my parents brought me back from the countryside to the city. That was when I learned I had a younger sister, born a mere year after me. My mother sat me down and reminded me that as the oldest sister, I needed to learn to yield to my siblings in everything. I nodded quietly, understanding my place. In this household, I ranked fourth. Later, my little brother was born, and my standing effortlessly plummeted from fourth to fifth. The turning point came during the summer of my sophomore year of college. When I returned home for the holidays, I discovered the front door had been outfitted with a brand-new, high-tech smart lock. They had completely forgotten to mention it to me. Clutching a dead phone, I sat on the hot concrete of the stairwell, waiting from two o'clock in the afternoon until ten o'clock at night. When they finally emerged, they were dragging luggage behind them, laughing and chatter-boxing about the highlights of their recent vacation. The four of them were wearing matching family T-shirts. Naturally, there wasn't one for me. As my dad begrudgingly attempted to program my thumbprint into the system, he let out a sharp, irritated click of his tongue. "The master administrator account only permits five profiles. There's no room to add another." My mom barely looked up. "Just set her up with a temporary guest token. We can manually authorize her whenever she decides to visit." As I stood there stunned, my brother laughed. "Shelly registered the dog's nose print into the system. She said he's an important member of the family. Guess that leaves you out of the slot!" In a family of five, the dog claimed the fifth tier, and I ranked sixth. That very night, I quietly filled out the application to join a classified frontier research program. I understood that when a visitor's time ran out, the only proper thing to do was take their leave.

Seven years after leaving the country, I returned home with my five-year-old son. The moment my stepsister saw me, her eyes filled with contempt. "I always wondered what you were doing overseas. Turns out you were out there sleeping your way around for money. And now you've come back with a kid in tow." I was about to fire back when my stepmother cut in, looking smug. "You came back because you heard Victoria is about to marry the CEO of Sinclair Group, didn't you? Hah! You used to throw yourself at Elliot. It's a good thing Elliot wasn't blind and knew to choose Victoria instead." She let out a cold snort. "Take your bastard child and get out of my sight. Otherwise, you'll be sorry if you're still here when the Sinclairs arrive." I glanced at the five-year-old boy holding my hand and smiled. Elliot? Please. The guy would be grovelling on his knees the second he met my son.

For eight years in a marriage devoid of light, I had abortions five times. Every time, Sam would grip my hand when I woke up, his eyes red, and promise to find the best doctors to help me recover. After the third miscarriage, he finally hired a team of top-tier nutritionists, ensuring that every single meal was planned perfectly. He always comforted me, "Don't worry, Penny. We're still young, so we can have another baby!" When I found out I was pregnant again, snowflakes were dancing outside my window. I wrapped my fur coat tightly around my body and rushed to the company, only to hear Wren's furious voice outside the VIP suite, "Are you insane? Those five babies were your own flesh and blood!" Sam replied coldly, "Nicole needs specimen for her experiments. All I'm doing is providing her with the materials she needs." His words dug into my heart like icy spikes, and I could even hear my own bones cracking. "As for Penelope…" He chuckled. "Do you think that our marriage certificate is the real deal?" Snowflakes stung my face like needles, and I finally found out the truth about our marriage. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a living test subject for the woman he truly loved. Sam was right. Those unborn children never even had legal identities, and were worth less than a piece of paper, just like my so-called marriage. Glass shattered from inside the room, and I could hear Wren cursing, but I turned and walked towards the elevator. Since Sam's priority was Nicole and nothing else, I was hell-bent on making him pay the price.

After my wealthy biological parents found me and brought me home, the vicious family drama I had imagined never happened. Both the fake heiress and I entered arranged marriages. However, after getting married, I, who was perfectly healthy, struggled to get pregnant for a long time. Meanwhile, Angela Miller, who had been diagnosed with a cold womb condition, quickly gave birth to a daughter with her husband, who suffered from low sperm count. Outside the delivery room, the private doctor mistook me for the fake heiress and comforted me gently. "Everyone has their own fate. Your sister has a good constitution for pregnancy, but that doesn't mean you have no hope." Forcing a smile, I explained who I really was. The doctor stared at me in disbelief. "Then why haven't you gotten pregnant yet...?" His words cut deeply into me, and I thought maybe I simply had not worked hard enough while trying to conceive. After returning home, I desperately adjusted my diet and managed my figure. I even accepted Angela's recommendation and went to the hospital for IVF treatment. The moment I came off the operating table, my back aching so badly I could barely straighten up, I received a message. Angela, whose first pregnancy had already been considered a medical miracle, was pregnant with a second child again.

My younger sister and I were born twins, yet from the very beginning, our parents had zero fondness for me. My sister was the family's good-luck charm, while I was hailed as the harbinger of misfortune. I was blamed for every calamity, while she got all the credit for every blessing. Even after my death, I heard them say, "If we had abandoned her at birth, or even ended her life then, none of this would have happened." I had once tried desperately to win their approval, only to be met with cold indifference. When I finally secured a coveted civil service post, they celebrated me for the first time in my life. I naively believed that I had been acknowledged at last. But then, they said, "Give your job to your sister. She needs it more." At that moment, something inside me completely died. I tried so hard to cling to the hard-won proof that I was not the family's misfortune, yet even that slipped through my grasp. In the end, I lost everything, even the life they had never once cherished.