Transmigrated as the Pregnant Villainess: Mr Lu. This Heir is Yours. PROLOGUE 2

PROLOGUE 2

PROLOGUE 2

The Mont That Should Not Exist

Darkness.

Not the kind that cos with night. Not the kind that fades with dawn.

This was—still. Endless.

Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing existed.

Then—a sound. Faint. Distant.

A heartbeat.

...No. Two.

One—weak. Fading. Slipping away.

The other—steady. Unfamiliar. Wrong.

They overlapped. For a mont. Only a mont.

Then they collided.

---

Pain. Sudden. Violent. Unforgiving.

It tore through the silence—ripping it apart.

Fragnts of mory shattered open. Rain. A rooftop. Falling.

A room. Silk sheets. A locked door.

A voice—crying. Begging. Breaking.

Another voice—laughing. Soft. Cruel.

They didn’t belong together. They were never ant to et.

But now—they were the sa.

---

Sothing resisted.

A fading will. A dying consciousness. It tried—to let go. To disappear. To end.

But sothing else refused.

A second will. Colder. Sharper. Unfamiliar.

It didn’t break. It didn’t surrender.

It took.

The darkness trembled. Cracked.

And in that fracture—sothing changed.

Fate. Ti. Ending.

All of it—shifted.

---

The weaker heartbeat faltered. Once. Twice.

Then—gone.

The other remained. Stronger now. Claiming. Replacing.

Air rushed in. Sharp. Burning.

Pain followed. Heavy. Real. Alive.

And sowhere—in a room that should have been silent—a body that should have been empty—

Breathed.

---

The Mont Before Awakening

Silence. Not complete. Not peaceful. Fragile.

Like sothing had just ended—and sothing else had taken its place.

---

A room. Dim. Heavy. Curtains drawn. Air thick with the faint scent of dicine.

A body lay on the bed. Still. Unmoving. Too still.

For a mont, nothing happened.

Then—fingers twitched. Once. Then again. Slow. Uncertain. As if rembering how to move.

A breath followed. Shallow. Uneven.

Pain ca next. Low in the abdon. Sharp. Persistent. Real.

The body reacted before the mind caught up.

A hand lifted. Instinctively. Resting over the stomach.

Warm. Alive. A heartbeat. Not hers.

---

The realization ca quietly. Not as shock. Not as panic. But as certainty.

Sothing had changed.

Fragnts surfaced. A marriage without warmth. A man without rcy. A sister with a smile too perfect to trust.

Accusations. Whispers. Judgnt.

A future—already written. Already dood.

And an ending—already seen.

---

Her breathing steadied.

Then sothing else settled in. Clarity. Cold. Precise. Unforgiving.

This was the beginning.

Not of life—but of destruction.

And she had arrived exactly at the mont it started.

Outside the door—faint voices. Footsteps. Waiting.

For her to wake. For her to break. For her to fall—exactly as she had before.

Her fingers pressed slightly against the fabric over her stomach.

Not fear.

Awareness. Calculation.

Then—slowly—her eyes opened.

Dark. Clear. Different.

Not the woman who died. Sothing else. Sothing that already knew how this story ended—

And refused to let it happen again.

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