The car pulled into the estate's circular driveway just as the last light of day faded behind the trees. The mansion stood still, its windows glowing faintly, like it had been holding its breath.
Elena didn't wait for the chauffeur to open the door.
She stepped out quickly, her backpack slung low, her face unreadable.
She was halfway to the entrance when she saw him.
Luca.
Standing just inside the grand foyer, hands in his pockets, watching her through the glass.
She paused.
Then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
He didn't speak right away. He just looked at her—closely, like he was scanning for damage.
"How was school?" he asked finally.
Elena dropped her bag by the stairs, her shoulders stiff. "Fine."
Luca raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"
She didn't answer.
He stepped closer, his voice quieter now. "You look like someone who's been fighting all day."
Elena met his gaze, her eyes tired but steady. "I didn't fight. I endured."
He nodded slowly, as if that answer satisfied something in him.
"Did anyone approach you?" he asked.
She hesitated. "Yes."
"Anyone disrespectful?"
She looked away. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me."
Elena blinked, surprised by the sharpness in his tone.
Luca stepped even closer, his voice low. "You're under my protection. That doesn't end at the gates."
She swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.
He studied her for a moment longer, then said, "You don't have to go back tomorrow."
Elena shook her head. "I do."
"Why?"
"Because I need to remember who I was before all this."
Luca didn't argue.
He just nodded once, then turned toward the hallway.
"Dinner will be ready soon," he said. "You should eat."
Then he walked away, leaving her in the quiet.
Elena stood there, the weight of the day pressing against her chest.
She hadn't cried.
She hadn't broken.
But she was starting to wonder how long she could keep enduring.
The mansion was quiet by nightfall, its corridors dimly lit, the hum of distant conversation muffled by thick walls. Elena sat curled on the edge of her bed, her legs tucked beneath her, the glow of her phone casting soft light across her face.
Dinner had come and gone.
She hadn't gone.
She couldn't.
Her body felt heavy, her emotions unpredictable—like waves crashing without rhythm. One moment she was fine, focused, reading through her semester's e-books. The next, she felt like crying for no reason at all.
She hated it.
The mood swings were worse than she expected. The hormones were doing their job, stimulating her ovaries, preparing her body—but they were also unraveling her from the inside.
She had texted Brittany earlier: "Not feeling well. Will skip dinner."
No explanation. No apology.
She didn't owe anyone one.
Her phone buzzed with a notification—another email from her professor, another reading assignment. She opened her e-book app and scrolled through the chapters, trying to focus on the words, trying to feel normal.
But nothing felt normal.
She was reading about cellular biology while her own body was being transformed into a vessel for someone else's child.
She closed the app and stared at the ceiling.
She missed her father.
She missed her old life.
She missed feeling like herself.
But tonight, she was alone.
And that was the only thing that felt honest.
The knock was soft, but firm.
Elena didn't answer.
She was still on the bed, her phone dimmed beside her, the room lit only by the bedside lamp. Her textbooks lay open, but she hadn't turned a page in over an hour.
The door opened anyway.
Luca stepped inside, dressed in his usual quiet elegance—dark slacks, a crisp shirt, sleeves rolled just enough to suggest he wasn't here for formality.
"You didn't come to dinner," he said.
Elena sat up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face. "I wasn't hungry."
He studied her for a moment. "You're supposed to eat. The medication demands it."
"I know," she said, voice low. "I just… couldn't."
Luca stepped further into the room, his eyes scanning the scattered books, the untouched plate Brittany had left earlier.
"You're having mood swings," he said. "It's expected."
Elena gave a dry laugh. "Expected doesn't make it easier."
He didn't smile. "No. But it makes it manageable."
She looked at him then, really looked—at the way he stood, composed but slightly tense, like he wasn't used to being ignored.
"I'm not trying to be difficult," she said.
"I didn't say you were."
"But you came to check."
"I came because you're under my care," he said. "And because I don't take chances."
Elena nodded slowly, eyes drifting to the books beside her. "I'm just trying to stay grounded."
Luca glanced at the titles—biology, ethics, psychology. "You're still trying to be a student."
"I am a student."
He didn't argue.
Instead, he walked to the desk, picked up the untouched glass of water, and placed it beside her.
"Eat something before bed," he said. "Even if it's just fruit."
Then he turned to leave.
At the door, he paused.
"You're allowed to feel off," he said quietly. "But you're not allowed to fall apart."
Then he was gone.
Elena stared at the closed door.
She didn't know if that was comfort or control.
But it was something.
And tonight, that was enough.
The morning began with pain.
Not sharp, but deep—low in her abdomen, like something was pulling from the inside. Elena had woken early, dressed for campus, even packed her bag. But by the time she reached the front steps of the mansion, the cramps had worsened.
She stood there for a moment, clutching the railing, breathing through it.
Then she turned back.
Inside, Brittany was arranging breakfast on the long dining table—fruit, toast, a carafe of coffee. She looked up as Elena entered, her brow furrowing.
"Elena? You're not leaving?"
Elena shook her head, pressing a hand to her stomach. "I can't go to campus today. I've been cramping since early morning. I need to see Dr. Leoni."
Brittany's expression softened instantly. She stepped forward, concern etched across her face. "Do you want me to call the driver?"
"Yes, please," Elena said quietly. "I'd rather get there soon."
"I'll let them know," Brittany said, already reaching for her phone. "Do you need anything before you go?"
Elena hesitated. "Just… let Mr. Moretti know I'm not skipping class. I just need to be checked."
"I will," Brittany said gently. "You focus on yourself."
Within the hour, Elena was back at the clinic.
The waiting room felt colder this time. Or maybe it was just her. She sat with her coat wrapped tightly around her, her fingers pressed against her lower stomach, trying to soothe the ache.
Dr. Leoni called her in quickly.
"You're cramping?" the doctor asked, already pulling on gloves.
Elena nodded. "Since early morning. It's not unbearable, but it's constant."
"Let's take a look."
She lay back on the table, the gel cool against her skin again. The ultrasound probe moved gently, and the monitor lit up.
Dr. Leoni's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Your follicles are growing fast," she said. "That's good. But it can cause discomfort. Your ovaries are working overtime."
Elena stared at the screen. The dark circles were larger now, clustered like storm clouds.
"Is it normal to feel this much pressure?" she asked.
"Yes," the doctor replied. "It means the medication is doing its job. But we'll keep an eye on it. If the pain intensifies, we may need to adjust your dosage."
Elena nodded, her jaw tight.
Dr. Leoni handed her a small packet. "Painkillers. Mild. Safe for the cycle. Take one if needed, but rest is more important."
Elena sat up slowly, wincing.
"You're progressing well," the doctor added. "But this is the part where your body starts to feel the weight of it."
She didn't mean metaphorically.
But Elena did.
The car pulled into the estate just as the afternoon light began to fade, casting long shadows across the driveway. Elena stepped out slowly, her movements careful, her body still aching from the cramps that had followed her all morning.
She walked up the steps, her coat wrapped tightly around her, her bag slung low. The front door opened before she reached it.
Luca was standing there.
He was dressed in his usual quiet authority—dark slacks, a tailored shirt, no tie. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on her.
"I heard that you're cramping," he said. "Do you feel any better now?"
Elena paused in the doorway, surprised by the directness of his concern.
She looked into his eyes, steady and unreadable. "I met the doctor… she gave me pain relievers, so I think I'll be fine."
He nodded once, but didn't move.
She didn't wait for more.
Elena stepped past him, her footsteps soft against the marble floor, and made her way toward the stairs.
She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
She could feel his gaze following her, quiet and watchful.
And in that moment, she knew he wasn't just monitoring her progress.
He was monitoring her.
Sunlight spilled through the sheer curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the marble floor. The suite was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic below and the occasional chirp of birds outside.
Elena sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed.
Her phone was in her hand.
She wasn't texting.
She wasn't scrolling.
She was searching.
"Surrogacy process step-by-step."
"Do surrogates feel attached to the baby?" "Can you regret being a surrogate?"
"Surrogacy stories—emotional impact."
Each search opened a new window into lives she didn't know. Women who had carried children for strangers. Some spoke of empowerment. Others of unexpected sadness. A few described a quiet ache they couldn't name.
She tapped on one post: "I thought I'd be fine. But then the baby kicked."
The woman wrote about the moment she felt movement inside her. How she smiled. How she cried. How she reminded herself, *this isn't mine.*
Elena's thumb hovered over the screen.
She hadn't felt anything yet. Not physically. But something was already shifting.
She wasn't just a vessel.
She was a witness.
She was a participant.
She was a woman trying to stay detached from something that hadn't even begun.
She locked the phone and looked out the window.
The city was awake.
So was she.
But she didn't feel ready.