Chapter 1I Only Talk To Dead Billionaires

In the celestial waiting room, standing in the queue for reincarnation, I saw a baby crib encrusted with real diamonds, destined for the country's wealthiest family. Without a second thought, I elbowed my way to the front and jumped right into their golden lineage.

But wealth, I soon learned, comes with a brutal price tag.

By the time I was almost a year old, my parents were dangling solid gold bars in front of my face, testing me.

"Sweetheart," they’d coo, "when you finally speak, are you going to say 'Dada' or 'Mama' first?"

In my first life, I said "Mama" first.

My father's face darkened instantly.

"I spent millions on your trust fund and the best doctors in Manhattan," he snarled, "you should have said Dada!" In his petty fury, he kicked my hand-carved Italian crib. It tipped over, and the fall ended my first shot at luxury before it even began.

In my second life, I learned my lesson. I looked right at him and squeaked "Dada."

He cheered, but my mother’s eyes turned to ice. She called me a cold, ungrateful little leech. Within weeks, she checked into a fertility clinic to prepare for a "do-over baby." Discarded and forgotten in the nursery, I caught a severe fever that no one bothered to treat, and died in shivering neglect.

In my third life, I tried to play the long game.

The real power in the Bradford dynasty lay with Grandmother Emily, the formidable matriarch who controlled the family fortune. I'll say 'Nana' first, I thought. Surely that’s safe.

But when I did, Emily stared at me through her designer spectacles and shook her head.

"A child who doesn't bond with her own parents is cold-hearted. She's calculated. Send her away to boarding school in Switzerland; she'll never be one of us."

The sheer terror of being exiled squeezed my tiny lungs. I panicked, stopped breathing, and literally suffocated on my own fear.

Now, this is my fourth attempt.

Here we are again. The entire family is gathered around my crib, holding their breath, waiting for me to speak. I keep my lips pressed tight, terrified to let out even a squeak.

Who on earth do I call out to first... just to survive in this billionaire circus?

* * *

Seeing me remain stubbornly silent, my mother, Victoria, gently pinched my cheek.

"I went through thirty-six hours of grueling labor, darling, and I haven't slept a full night since you were born. You’re going to say 'Mama' first, aren't you?"

Her smile was soft, radiating the kind of manicured maternal warmth that belongs on a magazine cover. But looking into her eyes, terror rippled through my tiny chest.

I remembered my first life all too clearly. Back then, I’d looked at her tired eyes, felt that primal infant pull toward the woman who carried me, and chirped "Mama" without a second thought.

Who could have guessed that a single word would trigger my father's insatiable, competitive ego? To him, my choice was a public humiliation, a sign that he had lost. The memory of his face, veins bulging as he kicked my crib, made me instinctively pull my head back into my shoulders.

No. I had fought too hard to get back into this tax bracket. I couldn't afford to offend my billionaire father.

But my father, Thomas, was also waiting, leaning over the railing with an expectant grin. Seeing the sheer hesitation on my face, he chuckled.

"Look at that clever little expression. She's actually weighing her options. She's thinking, Dada bought me a custom yacht and a brownstone in the West Village before I could even crawl. I’d better play my cards right. She's definitely going to say 'Dada' first."

I forced a toothless, awkward grin, screaming internally.

Oh, if only he knew. In my second life, I had figured he was my ultimate meal ticket. If I wanted to inherit the Bradford billions, I had to stroke his ego. So I ignored my mother and happily cooed "Dada."

He was ecstatic. He literally called his broker to buy me a yacht on the spot. But my mother's heart shattered. That very night, she dragged him into their dressing room, declaring they needed to "try again" for a baby who would actually love her.

I thought she was just being dramatic.

But from that day on, I became a ghost in my own home. She poured all her energy into IVF treatments, completely freezing me out. She didn't even notice when my temperature spiked to a lethal hundred and four.

Those two brutal demises taught me a cold, hard truth: choosing either parent was a death sentence.

Seeing my expression wobble between a smile and a grimace, Grandmother Emily let out a dry, patrician laugh.

"Who says Charlotte will choose either of you? What if her very first word is 'Nana'?"

She lifted me from the crib, cradling me with an air of absolute authority. "Listen to me, little one. You say 'Nana' first, and I’ll rewrite the family trust tomorrow. You will be the sole heir to the Bradford empire."

The temptation was astronomical.

And a cold sweat broke out across my back.