By midday, the sun had settled into a soft haze over the city, casting long shadows across the pavement as Elena stepped into the clinic. The morning had passed in fragments—Luca's voice echoing in her mind: "You'll go to school tomorrow." It had sounded so ordinary, so final. But nothing felt ordinary anymore.
She had taken the injection in the morning hours, with trembling hands and a sterile needle. Now, she was here for the next step: monitoring. The word itself felt clinical, detached. But inside her, everything was shifting.
The waiting room was quiet, save for the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional shuffle of papers. Elena sat with her coat folded neatly on her lap, eyes fixed on the floor tiles. She wasn't nervous, exactly—just suspended. Like her body was moving forward while her mind lagged behind.
Dr. Leoni called her in, and Elena followed, her steps measured. The exam room was familiar now: pale walls, soft lighting, the ultrasound machine waiting like a sentinel.
"Let's take a look," the doctor said, gesturing to the table.
Elena lay back, the gel cool against her skin as the probe moved gently across her abdomen. The monitor flickered to life, revealing the internal rhythm of her body.
"Your ovaries are responding," Dr. Leoni said, eyes scanning the screen. "We've got a few follicles starting to grow. That's a good sign."
Elena stared at the shapes on the monitor—dark circles suspended in gray. They looked like tiny moons orbiting something invisible.
"How many?" she asked.
"Too early to say for sure," the doctor replied. "But we're seeing progress. That's what matters."
She nodded, though the words felt distant. Progress. It was happening, whether she felt ready or not.
Dr. Leoni printed out a chart and handed it to her. "Same dose tonight. Come back in two days. We'll keep tracking growth. And Elena—if you feel overwhelmed, call us. That's part of the process too."
Elena folded the paper and slipped it into her bag. She didn't speak, but her silence was full—of questions, of hope, of something she hadn't yet named.
Outside, the midday light was sharper now. She stepped into it slowly, blinking against the brightness. Her body was changing. Her life was changing. And somewhere beneath the surface, her future was beginning to take shape.
The mansion was quiet when Elena returned from the clinic. Afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the marble floors. She walked slowly, her bag slung over one shoulder, the chart from the doctor folded neatly inside.
Her body felt heavier than usual—not from pain, but from awareness. The follicles were growing. The process had begun.
She turned a corner near the grand staircase and collided into something solid.
"Oh—I'm so sorry," she gasped, stumbling slightly.
Strong hands caught her before she could fall.
Luca.
He steadied her, one hand on her arm, the other lightly at her back. His grip was firm but careful, like he was holding something fragile.
"You have to be very careful," he said, his voice low. "I do not want to take chances."
Elena looked up at him, startled by the sudden closeness. His eyes were steady, unreadable.
"I assume you've met with the doctor," he added.
She straightened, pulling away gently, her cheeks flushed. "Uh… yes, I have."
He nodded once, releasing her. "Good. Follow the schedule exactly. No deviations."
"I will," she said, her voice quieter now.
Luca glanced at her bag. "How are you responding?"
"They said it's early, but… there's progress."
He didn't smile fully, but his expression softened slightly. "That's what matters."
Elena nodded, unsure what else to say. The silence between them stretched—not uncomfortable, but full of something unspoken.
Then Luca stepped back. "Dinner is at seven. You'll need the calories."
She blinked. "Right. Okay."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall.
Elena stood there for a moment, her heart still racing—not from the near fall, but from the way he'd held her. Not possessively. Not coldly.
Just… carefully.
Well… it was evening.
The kind that settled slowly over the estate, casting long shadows across the marble floors and softening the edges of everything. The air was still, the sky outside a muted lavender, and the dining room glowed with the quiet warmth of recessed lighting and candlelight.
Elena arrived just before seven. Her clothes were simple—soft cotton and linen, chosen by the staff, not by her. Her hair was loosely tied back, her face bare. She looked like someone trying not to be noticed.
Luca was already seated at the far end of the long table. His posture was relaxed but deliberate, his expression unreadable. A glass of water sat untouched beside his plate.
She took her seat across from him, the same spot as before. The silence between them had shape now—less like a wall, more like a waiting room.
The server entered, placing two plates down: grilled chicken, quinoa, steamed vegetables, and a small bowl of fruit. Balanced. Intentional.
"You need protein," Luca said, without looking up. "And iron."
Elena nodded, picking up her fork. "The doctor said the same."
They ate quietly for a few moments, the clink of cutlery the only sound.
Then Luca spoke again. "How are you feeling?"
She paused, considering. "Tired. A little bloated. But… okay."
He nodded. "That's normal."
Elena glanced at him. "Have you done this before?"
"No," he said simply. "But I've studied it. Extensively."
She looked down at her plate. "It's strange. Knowing what's happening inside me, but not feeling connected to it."
Luca didn't respond right away. Then he said, "You don't have to feel connected. You just have to follow through."
Elena's jaw tightened slightly. "That's easy for you to say."
He looked up then, meeting her eyes. "It's not easy. It's necessary."
She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
They finished the meal in silence.
As the server cleared the plates, Luca stood. "You'll be monitored again in two days. Brittany will adjust your schedule if needed."
Elena nodded. "Okay."
He paused at the doorway. "Rest well."
Then he was gone.
Elena sat alone at the table, the candle flickering between them still burning.
She wasn't sure what she wanted from him.
But she was starting to feel something.
And that scared her more than the injections.
She sat quietly, fork in hand, chewing slowly. The candle between them flickered, casting soft shadows across the linen tablecloth. The silence was heavier now, not uncomfortable, but full of thought.
She glanced at the empty seat across from her.
Luca.
He was composed, clinical, and yet… something about the way he'd caught her earlier, the way he'd insisted she go to school in his car—it lingered. Not tenderness. Not warmth. But something protective. Something deliberate.
She didn't know what to make of him.
He didn't ask questions about her past. He didn't offer comfort. But he watched. He listened. And when he spoke, it was with purpose.
Elena took another bite of chicken, then set her fork down.
Tomorrow she'd be back on campus.
The thought made her stomach twist—not from nerves, but from uncertainty. Would they stare? Whisper? Would the rumors follow her from screen to sidewalk?
She imagined stepping out of Luca's car, the sleek black vehicle pulling up to the university gates. She imagined the looks. The assumptions.
But she also imagined walking in with her head high.
She wasn't a sugar baby.
She was a daughter.
She was a vessel.
She was surviving.
Elena reached for the fruit bowl, picked out a slice of mango, and ate it slowly.
Tomorrow would come.
And she would face it.