To Depose a Nameless King

"I'm moving to the private estate on Lake Michigan."

I announced it at the breakfast table.

Kurt froze, his silver knife hovering in mid-air. His brow tightened—the first sign of his displeasure.

"Why? The main house has unparalleled security and the best doctors."

"I feel unsettled," I said, letting a hint of vulnerability soften my gaze. "It's too noisy here. Ava's piano playing, the endless parties… I'm worried it's not good for the child."

The word "child" changed everything. It was the cornerstone of his plan—the scapegoat.

"Alright," he said, his tone softening. He even placed his hand over mine in an empty gesture of intimacy. "You are my wife. You need absolute quiet. I'll have men escort you."

He was lying. I saw the flash of relief in his eyes. Sending me away meant he and Ava could be together without interruption. He wouldn't have to worry about me hearing her moans from the next room.

I moved into the lakeside estate. It was remote, nestled in a dense forest. A perfect hiding place. A perfect training ground.

My excuse was a pregnancy-induced sensitivity to perfumes and chemical scents. The truth was much simpler: I had to mask the smell of gunpowder and sweat clinging to me—the scent of a killer.

The next few months were an absurd one-woman show. Kurt visited every two weeks, playing the part of the "devoted husband."

But his gifts betrayed him. For me, he brought cheap vitamins from the corner pharmacy. But according to the family financial records provided by the informant my father had left me—he had siphoned a large sum from the family funds to smuggle an expensive, unreleased experimental drug from Switzerland for Ava. It was a drug that could pull someone back from the brink of death. Its destination? Ava's luxury apartment.

It was obvious the pregnancy was draining the life out of her; the child she carried was aggravating a rare blood disorder.

Staring at the expense ledger, I remembered my past life. I had been dying from a massive hemorrhage, begging him for a dose of that same drug. What had he said then? “That’s a strategic family asset. It can’t be wasted on a woman carrying an impure heir.” And now, he was lavishing it on the woman carrying a monster.

I let out a scornful laugh and fired my last round. Sweat dripped from my chin. My muscles were taut, power surging through me.

I had once been the family's deadliest assassin and strategist. For Kurt, I had clipped my own wings, content to be a caged bird. Now, the woman I once was had fully awakened.

"Madam, you seem… revitalized," said Dr. Eleanor, the family's private physician, during a check-up. She was an experienced and trustworthy woman whose life my mother had saved, her gaze sharp and perceptive.

"Thank you," I replied coolly.

Dr. Eleanor hesitated, then lowered her voice. "I saw Kurt take Ava to a private sanatorium again yesterday. There are rumors in the family… They say Ava is carrying the true heir, and that you…"

She didn't finish, her eyes filled with sympathy.

"Madam, your mother was my savior. I owe her a debt I can never repay. I trust my own eyes, not gossip. If you need anything, I am loyal to you."

She thought I was the poor, ignorant wife. I rose from the yoga mat and draped a loose robe over myself, hiding my firm abs.

"Let them talk, Eleanor," I said, picking up a teacup. "Kurt is my husband. He knows what he's doing. As long as my child is born safely, I am at peace."

Dr. Eleanor looked like she wanted to say more, but she held back. If she knew what I was really thinking, she might have a heart attack.

I couldn't care less about Kurt and Ava. In fact, his obsession with her was my greatest advantage. It left him no time to scrutinize me with his predatory instincts. Otherwise, even with the silicone belly and perfume, he might have discovered the "child" in my womb was nothing but a phantom.

Six months flew by. As my due date approached, Ava was clearly growing more desperate.

That night, the estate doors were kicked open. Kurt burst in, soaked by the rain, his face twisted with a sick, fanatical obsession.

He was in a hurry. My informant had confirmed it: Ava had shown signs of premature labor half an hour ago. Her bastard was tearing its way out of her body, the agony nearly killing her.

Kurt needed my "child" to swap with hers. Immediately.

"Maggie!" Kurt strode into the bedroom, a syringe in his hand. The liquid inside was cloudy, reeking of chemicals.

"Darling, I know you haven't been feeling well," he said, his voice trembling—not with concern, but with nerves. "Inject this," he urged. "It will ensure our heir is born with the strongest possible constitution."

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. My sense of smell was sharper than a hound's. That wasn't some nutritional supplement. It was a massive dose of oxytocin. It would induce violent contractions, leaving a new mother weak and helpless—a puppet in his hands.

In my last life, I took that shot. I passed out on the delivery bed, allowing him to switch my child.

"It's for the good of the child, right?" I asked, taking the syringe, my fingers tracing its cold barrel.

Kurt swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on the syringe. "Yes. For our heir. Inject it. Now. Be a good girl."

He was terrified. If I didn't "give birth" tonight, the family would execute his precious Ava for bearing an illegitimate child.

I brought the needle to my arm. The acrid smell of the drug filled my nostrils. In that moment, I saw a flicker of cruelty and anticipation in his eyes.

"Kurt," I asked in a dangerously low voice, "are you sure this is for our heir?"