Chapter 1

A month before I was due to give birth, I caught snippets of a hushed conversation between my husband and his mother in the corridor.

My mother-in-law sounded exasperated. "I've had multiple tests done, and they all say it's a girl! I even tried that special concoction to alter the gender, but it didn't work. What a disappointment!"

My husband replied calmly, seemingly unconcerned. "It's alright, Mom. Sophia and I are only having this one child. Even if it's a daughter, she can still inherit our family's wealth."

His mother scoffed disdainfully. "A woman who marries is like water poured on the ground—worthless! Without male genitalia, she's not truly part of our family. What's the use?"

My husband chuckled, his voice tinged with a perverse sense of pride. "Mom, remember that girl I loved from the rural area? Actually, I never ended things with her. She's expecting too, and judging by her wide hips, it's surely a boy."

His mother gasped, then erupted in joyous laughter. "Is that so? I'm going to have a grandson? Oh, this is fantastic!"

She leaned in, speaking in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. "We can't let our precious heir suffer. We'll exchange him with the girl she's carrying. No one will ever find out."

Two weeks later, I woke up in excruciating pain, my abdomen feeling like it was being torn apart. I was rushed to the hospital for an emergency cesarean section.

When I regained consciousness, my mother-in-law stood before me, her face beaming with satisfaction as she cradled a baby boy. "Sophia, you're incredible! You've given birth to a big, healthy boy—4 kilograms! What a blessing you've brought to our family!"

I looked at her, seeing right through her deceit. But I remained silent.

I played along with their deception for eighteen years.

——

After my postpartum recovery period, my husband hired a nanny to assist me.

To my astonishment, the nanny turned out to be none other than Olivia Carter, his childhood sweetheart. It didn't take long for me to connect the dots. She had recently given birth herself, and I realized she was the mother of the boy my mother-in-law had swapped with my daughter.

I feigned dissatisfaction with her appointment, pointing out that she was still nursing and might not be suitable for the role. But my mother-in-law dismissed my concerns with a cold smile. "That's precisely why she's ideal," she said. "She has an abundance of milk, so you don't even need to worry about feeding."

Her words confirmed my suspicions. They had orchestrated this to ensure that Olivia, the biological mother of their "precious heir," could remain close to him. My mother-in-law's intentions were clear—she had brought Olivia into my home under the guise of being a nanny, ensuring the boy she adored would be cared for by his "real" mother.

I acquiesced without protest.

Olivia moved into my villa, bringing my switched daughter with her.

Initially, she was cautious and submissive. She carried out her duties quietly, always courteous and respectful. But as time passed and she noticed I didn't challenge her, she grew more confident.

She began accompanying my mother-in-law on shopping trips, laughing and playing with my husband and the boy she believed was her son. It was as if she had usurped my position, living the life of the lady of the house. I observed it all, but kept my silence. Allowing them to think they had the upper hand was part of my strategy.

Olivia made no effort to conceal her favoritism towards her son. She lavished attention on him constantly, while neglecting my daughter. The neglect soon escalated into cruelty.

One day, I discovered my daughter sobbing uncontrollably, her diaper soaked and unchanged for hours, causing her to develop severe skin irritation. Olivia brushed off my anger with a dismissive laugh, claiming she was treating it with a "home remedy." I watched in horror as she wiped the inflamed skin with salt water, my daughter's wails echoing through the room.

When I confronted her, she snapped, striking my daughter across the face. Her voice was venomous. "Stop crying, you little pest! Do you think this is your home? You're nothing but a burden, living under someone else's roof!"

Her words burned into my memory. She leaned in, her tone dropping to a menacing whisper. "If you disturb the young master's sleep again, I'll cut out your tongue."

Olivia must have derived great satisfaction from mistreating someone else's daughter right in front of her biological mother. I didn't intervene much—just a few simple words of persuasion.

However, this only served to frustrate her more, prompting her to abuse her daughter even more egregiously.

She clearly had an abundance of milk, enough to nourish two infants, but her sole concern was ensuring her son was well-fed. She never nursed her daughter herself.

Instead, she would express the milk and dilute it heavily with water before giving it to her daughter. Later, even that wasn't enough to satisfy her disturbed mindset, so she shockingly began to add her son's urine to the milk.

This was almost unbearable for me to witness. With a steely expression, I asked her, "Olivia, how can you do this to your own daughter?"