Chapter 1

When the 'Good Fertility System' found me, I was clutching that diagnosis report.

Terminal brain cancer, three months left.

The system said, "Go sleep with three infertile madmen, get pregnant with their children, and you'll live."

I looked at the three names on the list.

Julian, the CEO in New York who treated women like dirt.

Ethan, who built his security empire on weapons, a ruthless CEO with no mercy.

And Leo, the thrill-seeking, extreme racer.

These three were not only infertile but also sworn enemies, the kind who'd love to dance on each other's graves.

I laughed.

I was going to die anyway, so why not go out with a bang?

If I were bold enough, I'd have these infertile tycoons taking paternity leave.

I tore the diagnosis report to shreds and threw it into the trash.

In these three months, I wouldn't just sleep with them; I'd make each of them believe the child could only be his.

I sat on a bench in the hospital corridor for ten minutes.

The doctor's words were blunt: the cancer cells had spread to a difficult location, and the success rate for surgery was less than one percent.

He advised me to eat well, spend my savings, and live without regrets.

I glanced at my mobile banking balance: four digits.

That amount wasn't even enough to buy a decent burial plot.

Just as I was debating whether to jump off the roof or just grab a bun, that voice in my head chimed in.

"Host Alice Miller, the Genetic Completion Plan has been activated."

"Your cancer is caused by a genetic defect. Only by having children with three top-tier genetic donors can your body be rebuilt."

I ignored it, got up, and walked out.

The system sounded a little anxious. "Aren't you afraid to die?"

I pressed the elevator's down arrow. "Yes, but I'm more afraid of a messy death. You want me to approach those three? I'd rather just sign that diagnosis report and donate my body."

Who were those three?

Ethan Blackwood. He had more blood on his hands than anyone I'd ever known. Even though he'd cleaned up his act and become a security company owner in recent years, everyone in New York knew about the madness lurking beneath.

Julian Thorne, a notorious hypocrite, calculating to the core. Women who got close to him either went crazy or ended up broken.

And Leo Maxwell? Don't even get me started. Apart from racing, he was constantly flirting with death. No sane person would dare provoke him.

The system was silent for two seconds. "Get pregnant with one, and your life countdown pauses. Give birth, and you'll receive ten billion dollars in child support, plus your illness will be cured."

The elevator doors opened.

My steps faltered. I hit the 'close' button again, then 'top floor'.

I asked, "Ten billion? After taxes?"

System. "...After taxes."

I wasn't afraid to die anymore.

I was saved.

I immediately changed direction, went back to the doctor's office, and got some pain medication.

These three months would be painful, but I had to hold on.

The system uploaded the information into my brain.

These three men were not only tough to handle but also had severe physiological or psychological defects that made them infertile.

Ethan suffered from severe bipolar disorder. When he snapped, anyone nearby was in danger; no woman could get close to him.

Julian had severe OCD and psychological blocks, making him allergic to women. He couldn't even stand being touched.

Leo's body was simply burned out, his sperm count nearly zero.

The system said, "Because of your special constitution, you possess natural fertility. As long as you 'do the deed' successfully, it's a 100% success rate."

"But you must get all three."

"Miss one, and the gene chain will be incomplete; you'll still die."

I looked at Ethan's schedule in the data.

Tonight, he was at his private estate in the West End.

I felt the bottle of freshly prescribed painkillers in my pocket and swallowed two pills.

"System, get me an identity."

"What kind?"

"Ethan's psychological therapist."

I remembered reading that Ethan's bipolar disorder had flared up recently, and he was offering a high salary for a fearless psychologist.

The previous ones had been carried in and then literally thrown out.

But I had to go. For those ten billion, and for decades more of this wretched life.

I tidied my hair, looking at my reflection in the elevator mirror.

My face, though pale from illness, perfectly fit that delicate, fragile look.

Men, especially the crazy ones, always seemed to be drawn to things that looked easy to break.

I walked out of the hospital entrance and hailed a cab.

"To the Blackwood Estate in the West End."

The driver gave me a look like I was crazy but floored the accelerator.

On the way, the system warned me. "Ethan is in an extremely manic state right now. You might be strangled to death the moment you step in."

I closed my eyes, resting. "As long as I don't die, he has to provide me with genes."

At the estate gates, a bodyguard stopped the car.

I rolled down the window and handed him the top-tier psychologist's license that the system had forged for me.

The bodyguard glanced at it, a hint of pity in his eyes. "Go on in. Take the first left."

The car couldn't go in, so I had to walk.

The estate was eerily quiet; not even a bird chirped.

Just as I reached the entrance of the villa's main hall, a loud crash came from inside.

It sounded like something heavy smashing against a wall.

Followed by a man's furious roar. "Get out! All of you, get out!"

Several servants scrambled out, their faces bruised.

I took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy door.

The room was a wreck, shards of porcelain and glass littered the floor.

A man sat on the sofa, clutching a bottle of liquor, three buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a muscular chest.

His head was bowed, his face obscured, but the raw aggression emanating from him was enough to make anyone's knees weak from a distance.

This was Ethan.

I said nothing, clicking my heels on the floor, avoiding the debris, and walking towards him step by step.

The sound of my heels echoed loudly in the silent hall.

Ethan suddenly looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot, glinting with the savage ferocity of a caged beast.

"If you don't want to die, get out."

His voice was hoarse, thick with a metallic tang.

I didn't stop, continuing until I stood half a meter in front of him.

"Mr. Blackwood, I'm your new doctor."

The words had barely left my lips when Ethan suddenly erupted.

He moved with astonishing speed. I had no time to react before an iron-like hand gripped my neck, squeezing tightly.

I was lifted and slammed against the back of the sofa.

Suffocation instantly overwhelmed me.

The system's red alert blared in my mind. "Warning! Life value decreasing! Warning!"

Ethan stared at me, his grip tightening, eyes full of murderous intent. "Who let you in? Huh?"

I didn't struggle.

Struggling would only make me die faster.

I painstakingly raised my hand, not to pry his fingers away, but to gently caress the back of his hand.

My fingertips traced the bulging veins on his skin.

The system had said I had a special constitution, and my scent was the only tranquilizer for him.

Indeed, Ethan's grip stiffened slightly.

He seemed to smell something, his nostrils flaring, as he leaned closer to my neck.

That killing rage receded slightly, replaced by a mixture of confusion and craving.

I seized the opportunity, using my last ounce of strength, and leaned in to kiss his lips.

Forget it, I had to administer the "medicine" first.