The black car rolled up a winding private drive, flanked by manicured hedges and tall cypress trees. Elena sat in the back seat, her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her bag, her heart thudding against her ribs.
The estate came into view—grand but not gaudy. Cream stone walls, tall arched windows, and a terracotta roof. It looked like something out of a magazine. Elegant. Imposing. Quietly intimidating.
The driver pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. A pair of tall wooden doors stood beneath a carved stone archway. No guards. No staff waiting. Just silence.
Elena stepped out, her flats crunching softly against the gravel. The air smelled like lavender and rain.
The door opened before she could knock.
Brittany stood there, clipboard in hand, dressed in a sleek navy suit. "Welcome, Miss Hart. You'll be staying in the east wing. Follow me."
Elena followed her through the foyer—high ceilings, marble floors, soft lighting. Art lined the walls. Not flashy, but expensive. Thoughtful.
"Mr. Moretti is not home at the moment," Brittany said. "He travels frequently. You'll have privacy."
Elena nodded, unsure whether she felt relieved or disappointed.
They reached a set of double doors. Brittany opened them to reveal a spacious suite—soft cream tones, a king-sized bed, a private balcony overlooking the lake, and a sitting area with a fireplace.
"There's a schedule on the desk," Brittany said. "Medical appointments, nutrition plans, and security protocols. If you need anything, press the call button."
Elena stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. It was beautiful. Peaceful. But it didn't feel like hers.
Brittany paused at the door. "You've entered a new chapter, Miss Hart. Make the most of it."
Then she was gone.
Elena stood alone, the silence pressing in. She walked to the balcony, opened the doors, and stepped out into the breeze.
Somewhere in this mansion, a man she barely knew had just become the father of her future child.
And she had just become the surrogate of his legacy.
The evening was quiet in the city.
Elena stood in the center of the bathroom, wrapped in steam and confusion.
The space was sleek and modern—glass panels, marble counters, and a built-in tablet mounted beside the shower. She tapped the screen, swiped, poked, and frowned. Nothing. No hot water. No instructions. Just symbols she didn't understand.
She sighed, brushing her damp hair off her neck. The robe she'd worn was now draped over the counter. Her bare skin prickled in the cool air.
A soft thump echoed from the suite.
She froze.
Footsteps.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Luca stepped inside, dressed in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up, no tie. His brow furrowed as he looked around.
"I heard some noise and came in to check—"
He stopped.
Elena gasped, grabbing the robe and clutching it to her chest. Her cheeks flushed deep red.
"I—I didn't know how to use the shower," she stammered, backing toward the wall.
Luca turned his head away instantly, jaw tight. "Sorry. I didn't know you were not clothed."
She fumbled with the robe, slipping it on quickly, tying the belt with trembling fingers.
"I wasn't expecting anyone to just walk in," she said, voice sharp with embarrassment.
"I wasn't expecting anyone to be… showering in silence," he replied, still facing the door. "Usually people curse when technology fails."
Elena blinked. "I was trying to stay calm."
Luca nodded, still not looking at her. "The tablet controls are sensitive. Swipe left, hold for three seconds, then tap the flame icon. It'll activate the hot water."
She stared at the tablet, then at him. "You memorized the sequence?"
"It's my house."
A beat passed.
"I'll knock next time," he said, turning to leave.
Elena tightened the robe around her. "That would be nice."
He paused at the door, then glanced back—just for a second. His eyes met hers. Something flickered there. Not desire. Not discomfort. Just… awareness.
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Elena stood frozen for a moment, the robe cinched tightly around her, steam curling around her ankles.
She brushed her damp hair away from her face, muttering under her breath.
"I thought she said he was not around at the moment… oh my gosh."
Her cheeks were still burning. She shook her head, half in disbelief, half in embarrassment.
"Great start, Elena," she whispered. "Really graceful."
She turned back to the tablet, eyeing it like a puzzle she was finally ready to solve.
"Swipe left… hold for three seconds… flame icon."
She followed the steps exactly as Luca had instructed. A soft hum responded, and the shower flickered to life—warm mist rising from the tiles.
She stepped in slowly, letting the water wash over her, eyes closed, heart still racing.
Somewhere in this mansion, the man whose child she'd agreed to carry had just seen her completely exposed.
And yet… he hadn't looked at her like she was a stranger.
He'd looked away.
Respectfully.
Thoughtfully.
She wasn't sure what to make of that.
But for now, she let the water drown out the thoughts.
The dining room was quiet, lit by soft golden sconces and the flicker of a single candle in the center of the long table. Elena sat at one end, dressed in a simple cream blouse and soft linen pants provided by the estate staff. Her hair was damp, loosely braided over one shoulder.
Luca entered without ceremony, sleeves still rolled up, no jacket. He took the seat opposite her, not at the head of the table—just across, close enough to speak without raising his voice.
Neither of them said anything at first.
A server placed two plates down—grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a glass of sparkling water. Then disappeared without a word.
Elena picked up her fork, then glanced at Luca.
"I didn't expect dinner," she said.
"You're living here," he replied. "You'll be taken care of."
She nodded, taking a bite. The food was perfect—delicate, flavorful, nothing like the rushed meals she was used to.
Luca cut into his salmon with quiet precision. "Did the shower work?"
She looked up, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "Yes. Your instructions were oddly specific."
"I designed the system myself," he said. "Efficiency matters."
Elena smirked. "So does simplicity."
He didn't smile, but his gaze softened slightly. "You'll get used to it."
They ate in silence for a few moments.
Then Elena spoke again. "Do you always eat alone?"
Luca paused, then set his fork down. "Mostly."
"Why?"
He looked at her, eyes steady. "Because I prefer silence to small talk."
She tilted her head. "And yet you invited me to live here."
"I didn't invite you," he said. "I hired you."
Elena's lips pressed together. "Right. Of course."
Another silence.
Then Luca leaned back slightly. "You're not what I expected."
Elena met his gaze. "Neither are you."
He didn't respond. But something shifted in the air—an unspoken understanding. Not friendship. Not warmth. Just… recognition.
They finished the meal quietly.
And for the first time since she arrived, Elena didn't feel like a stranger.
She set her fork down, her appetite fading beneath the weight of the question pressing on her chest.
"So… about the contract," she said, voice low but steady.
Luca looked up, his expression unreadable. "Go on."
"When does the… donation begin? The IVF process?"
He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin, then placed it neatly beside his plate. "You'll have your first medical consultation tomorrow. Bloodwork, hormone screening, and a physical exam. After that, you'll begin ovarian stimulation."
Elena blinked. "Stimulation?"
"It's a series of hormone injections," he explained. "To encourage your body to produce multiple eggs. Once they're mature, they'll be retrieved."
She nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "And then?"
"The eggs will be fertilized with my sperm in vitro. The healthiest embryo will be selected and implanted."
Elena's fingers curled around her water glass. "And since I'm a virgin… will that affect anything?"
Luca's gaze didn't waver. "Not medically. The procedure is non-invasive. You'll be sedated during retrieval. The implantation is done through the cervix—no physical intimacy required."
She looked down at her plate, then back at him. "So I'll be pregnant… with a child that's biologically mine and yours. But I'll never… have been with anyone."
"Yes."
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "That's a lot to process."
"I know."
She studied him for a moment. "Why me?"
Luca didn't answer right away. He leaned back slightly, his eyes steady.
"Because you're healthy. Intelligent. And you don't want fame or leverage. You want to disappear after this."
Elena's jaw tightened. "You think I want to disappear?"
"I think you want to survive."
Silence settled between them again.
Then Luca stood, gathering his plate. "You'll be briefed by the medical team in the morning. Brittany will walk you through the schedule."
He turned to leave, then paused at the doorway.
"If you change your mind, say so now. Once the process begins, there's no turning back."
Elena looked up at him, her voice quiet but firm.
"I won't change my mind."
Luca nodded once, then disappeared into the hallway.
The suite was quiet, bathed in soft lamplight. Outside, the lake shimmered under the moonlight, and the distant hum of the estate was barely audible.
Elena sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tangled in the hem of her blouse. The dinner had settled in her stomach, but the conversation hadn't.
Egg retrieval. Hormone injections. Embryos. Implantation.
She whispered the words to herself like foreign vocabulary, trying to make them feel real.
She glanced at the tablet on the nightstand—her schedule for the next day already loaded. Medical briefing at 9 a.m. Bloodwork. Ultrasound. Consultation.
Her chest tightened.
She stood and walked to the balcony, pushing the doors open and stepping into the cool night air. The breeze lifted her hair gently, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
"I'm going to be pregnant," she murmured. "With a child that's mine… and his."
She leaned against the railing, staring out at the water.
No one had ever touched her. No one had ever kissed her. And yet, in a matter of weeks, she'd be carrying life inside her. A life she'd agreed to give away.
Her throat tightened.
She thought of her father—his pale face, the machines, the doctor's voice. The helplessness. The fear.
This was the price.
She turned back into the room, closed the balcony doors, and sat at the vanity. Her reflection stared back—young, uncertain, but resolute.
"I can do this," she whispered. "I have to."
She reached for the brush, slowly pulling it through her hair, grounding herself in the rhythm.
Tomorrow, everything would begin.
And she would not look back.