The Young Lady Made Me Her Husband's Bedmate, So I Turned Around and Climbed Into the Coachman's Bed

The young lady and her husband were deeply in love, but three years after their wedding, they still had no children.

The mistress gave the young lady two choices: either she could find her husband a suitable concubine, or she could choose a fertile maid from among those who had come with her dowry and promote her to the position.

In my previous life, the young lady took my hand and said earnestly,

"You're the most honest of the maids. You're loyal to me, so of course I won't treat you unfairly."

I believed her and served the young master with all due respect,

enduring his roughness and contempt in bed:

"You must always remember that you're nothing but a plaything. Madam may have raised you up, but we won't tolerate a speck of dust in our eyes."

Later, I became pregnant. Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, word came that the young lady was pregnant too.

My child became inconvenient. After all, how could a maid's child be the eldest son?

They beat my lower belly with a club, blow after blow, and I miscarried.

I fell ill, but no one treated me. I bled without end and died less than a month later.

When I opened my eyes again, the young lady was telling me to become the young master's bedchamber maid.

I lowered my head and knelt in fear:

"Miss! I've already been promised to someone back home. I have a sweetheart, so I can't marry again."