Crowned by Fate

Chapter Three – The Decision Years Ago

The hum of the fertility clinic was a sound Amara never forgot. It wasn’t loud, just the faint whir of machines, the muted shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional hushed voices of nurses, but to her, it had been deafening. Because in that moment, it marked a turning point. The point where she chose a future that terrified and liberated her all at once.

But to understand why she was there, she often thought back to the months leading up to it.

Amara had been different from the woman she was now. She had been tired, worn down by years of believing in promises that never came true. Her friends were moving on with their lives, marriages, babies, and dream jobs, and she had been stuck in a cycle of heartbreak and disillusionment.

Her last relationship had ended with a bitter taste she could still recall. Michael. A man with a charming smile and grand words, but no backbone when it came to building a future. He had promised commitment, whispered dreams into her ear, but when the conversation of children had come up, he had laughed.

“Kids? With you? Amara, you’re too serious. Relax. Life’s supposed to be fun.”

The words had stung deeper than she’d admitted at the time. Too serious. Too practical. Too much.

Weeks later, she found him with someone else, a woman who was “fun.” It was the last straw.

She had packed up her life, moved into a smaller apartment, and swore she wouldn’t put her future into the hands of another person again.

It was during one of those lonely nights, curled up on her couch with the silence pressing in, that the thought first came. A family. Not later. Not when someone else decided she was “enough.” Now. On her terms.

At first, it had sounded ridiculous. Women didn’t just… go to a clinic and buy sperm.

Did they?

But the thought stuck. And the more she turned it over in her mind, the less absurd it seemed. Why shouldn’t she?

She had a good job, savings, and more determination than she knew what to do with. She didn’t need a man to validate her worth.

She needed a family.

The clinic had been cold that first day.

Not unkind, but clinical, sterile, with its white walls and sharp lighting. She remembered sitting across from a doctor in a white coat, her hands clenched together in her lap as she tried not to shake.

“You’re young, Ms. Collins,” the doctor had said gently. “Most women don’t make this decision until later in life.”

Amara had lifted her chin. “I don’t want to wait until later. I’m ready now.”

“May I ask why?”

She had swallowed hard, then forced the words out. “Because I’m tired of being told I’m too much, or not enough.

Because I don’t want to gamble my dreams on someone else’s choices.

Because I want children, children and I’m not waiting for permission.”

The doctor had studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “That’s a brave decision.”

Brave. Maybe. Or maybe reckless. She hadn’t known which. But she knew it was hers.

The donor catalog had been surreal.

Rows of profiles, reduced to numbers and vague descriptions. Height, weight, hair color, eye color, and education.

“Anonymous Donor 1742: tall, dark-haired, graduate degree, athletic.”

Amara had scrolled through dozens, her heart pounding. She wasn’t looking for perfection. She wasn’t even looking for compatibility. She just wanted someone who seemed… steady. Healthy. The kind of foundation she could build her dream on.

She had paused when she saw one profile.

Donor 2648.

There wasn’t much detail. Just: Height: 6’2. Eyes: green. Education: international politics. Athletic background: fencing, rowing.

But there was a note in the margin:

“Known for being disciplined, intelligent, and ambitious.”

For some reason, it had struck her. Not because of the achievements, but because of that word: disciplined. It sounded strong. Solid. The opposite of the chaos she had grown used to in men.

She had chosen him. Without knowing that the man behind that number wasn’t just anyone, but Prince Alexander Laurent, heir to the throne.

The procedure itself was anticlimactic. A quiet, clinical moment that felt more like a medical appointment than the beginning of a new life. She remembered staring at the ceiling, her heart pounding, thinking: What am I doing? What if this doesn’t work? What if it does?

But the fear was drowned out by a deeper voice inside her. One that whispered: You are building something no one can take from you.

And when the nurse smiled and said softly, “All done,” Amara had exhaled with a relief that nearly broke her.

She had walked out into the crisp night air afterward, the city lights blurring through her tears, and made a vow to herself.

These children will know love. They will know stability. They will never beg for someone’s attention the way I did. I will give them everything I have, and they will never doubt they are enough.

The months that followed had been both the hardest and the most exhilarating of her life. The waiting, the uncertainty, the endless doctor visits. She hadn’t told anyone at first, not her family, not her friends. She wanted to carry it alone, at least until she was sure.

Then came the day the test turned positive. Two pink lines that changed everything. She had sat on the bathroom floor, staring at them, laughing and crying all at once.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

Pregnancy had been a whirlwind.

Morning sickness that lasted all day. Cravings for peanut butter and pickles at midnight. The shock of her first ultrasound, when the technician turned to her with wide eyes and said, “Congratulations’s twins.”

Twins. Two heartbeats. Two lives. Twice the love.

Amara had left the clinic that day in a daze, her hand pressed against her belly. She had wanted children, but twins?

Could she handle it?

That night, she had stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with tears streaming down her face.

“You can do this,” she had whispered to herself. “You will do this. For them.”

And she had. Every sleepless night. Every moment of doubt. Every kick, every flutter, every wave of fear. She had carried it all, determined that her children would enter the world surrounded by love, not regret.

Now, years later, she sometimes looked back on that chapter of her life and marveled at her own courage. Or stubbornness. She had been so young, so unprepared, and yet… somehow ready.

It hadn’t been easy. She had sacrificed more than anyone knew. She had cried into her pillow some nights, terrified she wasn’t enough. She had worked double shifts, skipped vacations, and counted pennies just to keep everything afloat.

But she never regretted it. Not once.

Because every sacrifice had led to Ethan and Ellais.

Her sons. Her joy. Her destiny.

And though she had vowed never to think about the donor again, sometimes, just sometimes, she wondered who he was.

Where he was. If he had any idea what his choice had given her.

If he were ever to come looking.

The thought always sent a shiver through her.

So she would push it away, kiss her boys goodnight, and remind herself of her vow: They’re mine. Always mine.

But fate had a way of testing vows.

And hers was about to be tested more than she could ever imagine.