“After a Year of Trying, I Finally Got Pregnant — But When I Joined a Prenatal Class, Everyone Treated Me Like a VIP, and the Truth About Who Registered My Name Changed Everything”

 The Membership That Wasn’t Mine

After a year of tears, prayers, and medical appointments, I finally saw the two pink lines.
I was pregnant.

My husband, Liang, was overjoyed. He promised I wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the next nine months. Every detail of my life was suddenly planned — from prenatal vitamins to sleep schedules.

I was glowing, or so everyone said. But something in my reflection felt unfamiliar — like a stranger was smiling back.

Chapter 1: The Invitation

It was my friend Madam Lin who suggested we attend a prenatal education class together.

“It’s the top-rated one in the city,” she said. “National experts, tailored programs. You’ll love it!”

I hesitated. The place sounded expensive. Liang was generous, but he liked being informed about every penny spent. Still, Madam Lin insisted, “Come with me — consider it a day out.”

So I agreed.

Chapter 2: The VIP Treatment

The Harmony Motherhood Center stood like a white palace on the hill — glass walls, marble floors, a scent of jasmine in the air.

The moment we stepped inside, two attendants approached with smiles.

“Welcome back, Mrs. Jiang,” one said warmly.

I blinked. “I’m sorry — you must be mistaken. It’s my first visit.”

The attendant’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh no, Mrs. Jiang. You’re one of our Platinum VIP members. Everything’s been arranged for you.”

Before I could respond, she guided us to a private lounge where a tray of imported fruit and steaming jasmine tea awaited.

Madam Lin gaped. “Diān Tán, I didn’t know you were that kind of member. Platinum VIP? You didn’t tell me your husband spoils you like this!”

I shook my head quickly. “I’m sure there’s some mistake. I never registered—”

But the staff member returned, holding a sleek folder. “We have your profile here, Mrs. Jiang. It was created under your full name — Jiang Diantian, date of birth, ID number, and medical details.”

My stomach tightened. Every detail was correct. Even the prenatal scan from my hospital was listed inside the digital record.

“How did you get this?” I whispered.

The staff looked puzzled. “It was uploaded by your family representative last week. Mr. Liang.”

Chapter 3: The Signature

That night, I asked Liang casually over dinner.

“Did you… register me at a prenatal class?”

He smiled without looking up from his phone. “Maybe. I wanted to surprise you.”

I forced a laugh. “You bought a VIP membership?”

“Something like that.”

I tried to drop it, but the unease lingered. Liang was careful with money — generous, yes, but practical. A Platinum membership at that center cost more than our car.

And then there was something else: the name. They’d called me Mrs. Jiang.
But I’d never changed my name after marriage.

Chapter 4: The Expert

The next week, I returned for my first class. The instructor was introduced as Professor Chen, a national prenatal specialist with a calm, knowing smile.

When he saw me, his expression flickered — surprise, then recognition.

“It’s an honor to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Jiang,” he said.

I frowned. “We’ve met before?”

“Not directly,” he said smoothly. “But I’ve been following your case for years.”

“My case?”

He glanced at the nurse, who immediately busied herself adjusting the projector. “Your family’s health records,” he said finally. “We study them to tailor our lessons.”

I didn’t press further. But that night, I couldn’t sleep.

What did he mean, my family’s health records?

Chapter 5: The File

I went back to the center alone a few days later, pretending I’d left something behind.

The receptionist, young and distracted, left me near the registration counter as she answered a call. A silver folder sat open beside the monitor.

It had my name — Jiang Diantian — printed neatly at the top.

Inside was a complete medical record: my blood type, prenatal tests… and an entry I’d never seen before.

“Genetic Profile Update — Linked to Project Heirline.”

The notes below were encrypted, but one phrase stood out in bold:

“Donor lineage match confirmed. Next generation stabilized.”

I froze. Donor?

The air left my lungs. I took a photo of the page, shoved the folder back, and left before anyone saw.

Chapter 6: The Call

That night, I confronted Liang.

“Why does the prenatal center have a file about me labeled ‘Project Heirline’? What does that mean?”

He stared at me, startled, then sighed. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“It’s just a program — something about genetic wellness. It’s meant to ensure healthy offspring.”

“Donor lineage?!”

“It’s a translation error,” he said quickly. “They used medical terms from overseas reports. Don’t overthink it.”

His calm voice should’ve reassured me, but instead, I noticed the way his hand trembled slightly as he poured water into his glass.

Chapter 7: The Recordings

Two weeks later, Madam Lin called me in a whisper.

“You won’t believe this,” she said. “I went to the center today — and the nurse accidentally called me Mrs. Tang. Apparently, that’s their code for sponsors. Every VIP member has one.”

“Sponsors?”

“Yes. Someone who funds the membership privately. But here’s the thing — they showed me your record by mistake.”

My pulse quickened. “And?”

“It wasn’t your husband’s name listed as sponsor.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know. It was blacked out. But it said: ‘Authorized by Principal Member — Level S.’ Whatever that means.”

Chapter 8: The Doctor’s Warning

The next day, I returned to see Professor Chen, pretending I wanted advice.

He looked at me for a long time, then closed the door quietly.

“Mrs. Jiang,” he said, “I shouldn’t tell you this. But you need to stop asking questions in public.”

I felt my heart pound. “Why?”

“Because this center isn’t just for education. It’s a research division — funded by private donors. You’re one of the few participants selected for… observation.”

“Observation?”

He nodded. “You and the child you carry.”

I stood up. “Who authorized this?”

He hesitated. “Your membership wasn’t arranged by your husband.”

Chapter 9: The Message

That night, an anonymous message appeared on my phone:

If you want to know who paid for your membership, check the original hospital records from a year ago. The day you started fertility treatment.

I drove to the clinic the next morning, demanded to see the records.

After hours of confusion and red tape, a nurse handed me a sealed envelope with my name. Inside was the consent form for my fertility program — except the signature wasn’t mine.

At the bottom, in looping script, it read: Jiang Diantian — Authorized by Guardian Account: Liang Industries Holdings.

But there was another name in smaller print beside it: Primary Beneficiary – Tang Yun Group.

Tang Yun. The name jolted something in me. My late father’s company. The one that went bankrupt fifteen years ago.

Chapter 10: The Truth

I confronted Liang again that night.

“You’re working with my father’s old company.”

He froze. “How do you know that name?”

“Because it’s written on the consent form you forged.”

His face paled. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

He took a deep breath. “Before you and I married, your father left debts — enormous ones. The Tang Group wanted repayment. I negotiated… another arrangement.”

“What kind of arrangement?”

“To let them sponsor our fertility treatment. They said it was just medical assistance, nothing more.”

I stared at him. “You sold my pregnancy to pay a debt?”

He slammed his hands on the table. “It wasn’t like that! They promised it was harmless — genetic monitoring, data sharing. You’d get the best care, and our child would be secure.”

“But why use my father’s company name?”

He looked down. “Because your father isn’t dead.”

Chapter 11: The Reunion

It took me days to process what he’d said.

Then, one afternoon, the center called. “Mrs. Jiang, your sponsor has requested a private consultation. He says it’s time you met.”

When I arrived, a man in his sixties stood waiting. His hair was silver, but his eyes — those sharp, familiar eyes — stopped me cold.

“Father?” I whispered.

He smiled faintly. “You’ve grown into your mother’s grace.”

I wanted to scream, to ask why he’d vanished for fifteen years, why he’d let me think he was gone. But the words caught in my throat.

“I had to disappear,” he said softly. “For your safety. The Tang Group fractured after the scandal. But I never stopped watching over you.”

He reached out, resting a trembling hand over mine. “The program — the membership — it’s all to protect you. To ensure your child inherits what’s rightfully yours.”

Chapter 12: The Heir

I stared at him, numb. “Protect me from what?”

“From those who wanted to erase the Tang bloodline,” he said. “Your child carries it now. That’s why I needed to secure your safety before the truth came out.”

Tears blurred my vision.

“Why not just tell me?”

“Because some truths destroy before they save,” he whispered. “But now… it’s time you reclaim what’s yours.”

He handed me a black envelope. Inside was a document labeled “Tang Holdings — Succession Directive.”

At the bottom was my name.

Epilogue: The Broadcast

That night, a message pinged on my phone. A link — no sender.

When I opened it, a live stream filled the screen. The Harmony Center logo appeared, followed by text:

“Welcome to Project Heirline: The Future Begins Tonight.”

And then my ultrasound appeared — my baby’s heartbeat echoing in the background.

Below it, a line of text scrolled in gold:

“The next generation of Tang begins here.”

I dropped the phone.

Somewhere far away, my father’s voice echoed in my mind: “It was always about protecting the bloodline.”

But I no longer knew — was I the one being protected?
Or the one being used?

End.