Discover Novels Library Profile

The billionaire’s virgin surrogate - Chapter 14


Chapter 14

 
Damian's POV 

The Blackwood enterprises boardroom was silent, except for the occasional click of the pen against the paper on the polished mahogany table. Damian sat at the head of the table, surrounded by senior executives, their eyes glancing nervously between him and the documents spread in front of them. 

“Expansion into Dubai is approved”, Damian said, his voice flat. “The contract will be finalized within the week. If there are any objections, State then now”. 

No one spoke. No one ever did. 

Damian signed the papers with practiced precision, the icy control in his movements making it obvious that the meeting was over. The executives rushed out, murmuring their goodbyes, relieved to escape his presence. 

When the last per son moved out and shut the door close, Damian leaned back into his chair, exhaling slowly. He should have felt satisfaction, like he always did after signing a deal. But today, victory tasted hollow. His mind wasn't on the Dubai deal. It was on Gregory, his father. 

And the envelope. 

With a growl of frustration, he shoved the thought aside, packing his papers. He was halfway to his office when Reed Dawson appeared, resting casually against the door frame like he owned the place. 

“You look like hell”, Reed said jokingly. 

“I feel worse”, Damian muttered, brushing past him. 

Reed followed closely, hands in his pockets, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m guessing Daddy Dearest paid you another visit?”

Damian sat in his leather chair, loosening his tie. “Visit, ambush, ultimatum, take your pick”. 

Reed raised a brow. “And let me guess, you told him where to shove it”. 

“Of course”. 

Reed smirked. “So what's the problem? Why do you look like someone stole your favorite yatch?”

Damian sighed, uninterested. Instead, he opened the drawer of his desk and picked the envelope containing her profile. He tossed the envelope across the table. Evelyn Carter's photograph slid out, her soft smile staring up at them. 

Reed blinked. “Well, hello”. He picked it up, studying the details. “She's different.”

“Different?” Damian asked. 

“I mean she's not your usual type”, Reed said shrugging. “No designer gown, no champagne in hand. Just a simple dress. Real. Grounded”. 

Damian's jaw tightened. “She’s not my type because she's not my anything”. 

Reed leaned forward, smirking. “Then why keep her picture?”

“I didn't keep it, it feels out”. Damian snapped. 

“Sure it did”. Reed leaned back, amused, spinning the photo in his hand. “Gregory is not stupid. If he picks her, he sees something. The question is, what do you see?”

Damian snatched the photo back, his icy glare marking the end of the conversation. He shoved the picture back in the envelope and tossed it back into the drawer. 

“I see manipulation. That's all”. He replied. 

Reed stared at him, studying him for a long time, then sighed. “Damian, you've spent your whole life proving you're not like your father. But the truth is, he's got you by the throat on this one. You want the company? You need an heir. Simple”. 

Damian stood abruptly, pacing the office like an animal on heat. “I built this empire. Not him. Not his rules. Me. And I'll be doomed if I let him dictate my life”. 

Reed raised a brow. “Then what's your plan?”

Damian didn't answer. He walked to the window, staring at the sky. 

“I don't know yet”, he admitted. 

But even as he said it, his mind went back to the picture in his drawer. The image he had been unable to erase from his memory. 

Later that night, Damian returned to his penthouse. He had freshened up, poured himself a drink and sat at his desk. His eyes had gone to the drawer, the drawer he had kept Evelyn's profile when he got back from his office. 

He stared at the closed drawer. His hand twitched, wanting to pull out the profile again. 

Instead, he forced himself back to work. Contracts. Reports. Numbers. Safe things. 

But just as he was getting focused, his phone buzzed. It was a message from his father. 

“She was seen in front of the agency, staring. She's probably considering the surrogate agency. Tick-tock”. 

Damian froze, his heart beating fast and loud. His father's investigators were already watching Evelyn Carter. Gregory wasn't bluffing, he never does. He was moving pieces on the board already. 

Damian's jaw clenched. He hated games. He hated being outsmarted. But most of all, he hated knowing that the only choice he had refused to make was about to be forced on him. 

For the first time in years, Damian felt something he didn't recognize. 

Panic. 

Damian threw the empty glass across the room, shards of glass scattering across the room as the cup hit the wall. “If Gregory thinks he's controlling this, he's damn wrong”, he muttered. But even as he said it, he could recall his father's words clearly — “You can resist me, Damian. But you can't resist time”. 







           Chapter 15 - Vanessa's Victory 

Vanessa's POV 

Vanessa had never liked waiting. Waiting meant giving another person the advantage, and she'd spent her whole life taking advantages before anyone else could. In her world, hesitation was weakness, and weakness gets you buried. 

And lately, Damian had been ignoring her, making her wait. 

At first, she had brushed it off. He was busy, he always was. Running the Blackwood Enterprises, fighting his father's decisions, catching flights round the world to sign billion-dollar deals. But Vanessa knew Damian better than he had ever imagined she did. His attitude had changed, his silence had changed, his touches, once possessive and addictive had turned cold and uninterested. 

Vanessa could feel it, she could taste it. The distance. The indifference. The possibility that he was already slipping out of her grip. 

She wasn't about to let that happen. 

Not to her. Not after everything she had done to get this high.  

Tonight would be different. Tonight, she was going to remind Damian why he had never been able to dismiss her. 

The penthouse gates opened with a click as the guard stepped aside, eyeing her but saying nothing. Damian had not invited her, he rarely ever did. But he never sends her out, he never denied her, either. 

She walked in like she owned the place, going straight to the building and heading to the elevator. She was dressed in a silk black dress, clinging to every curve, her heels clinking sharply against polished marble. Her hair fell in soft, calculated waves around her shoulders, her lips painted in a shade of red that always left marks on Damian's memory. 

The elevator clicked open, and there he was. 

Damian stood by the window, overlooking the busy roads of the city. His broad back to her, hands in his pockets. 

“You're late”, he said, his voice cold. 

A small, satisfied smile tugged at Vanessa's lips. He expected me. 

“I didn't know I was invited”, she purred, settling her clutch on the table as she walked towards him with deliberate grace. 

“You weren't.”

Finally, he turned. 

Gray eyes like ice. A face carved like marble. He was hot, annoyingly hot,but harder than anyone she had ever known. And harder till now, because he was moving away. 

Vanessa let her smile widen. “Then this is a surprise. Aren't you happy to see me?”

“I don't like surprises”, he said simply. 

You don't like loosing control, she thought, moving closer. 

“You've been avoiding me”. 

“I've been busy”. 

“With what? Contracts? Board meetings? Or maybe…” she tilted her head, letting the thought dangle. “... something your father's cooked up?”

His jaw clenched, his gaze hardened, a dangerous flicker flashing through the coldness. 

“Careful, Vanessa”. 

The warning only excited herore. He still reacted to her. He still saw her as danger, as something he needs to guard against. That meant one thing, she still had power. 

She stopped in front of him, letting the warmth of her body press against his cold one. “Damian,” she whispered, softly, “you’re sound so tight you're about to break. I can help with that. I've always been the one to help you”. 

His eyes stared into hers for a long moment, then looked away, back to the window. He didn't push her away, but he didn't pull her closer either. 

So she took what she wanted. 
Her hands slid I his chest, feeling the tension vibrating beneath his muscles. She leaned into him, her lips brushing across his jaw, down to the corner of his mouth. 

“You don't have to think”, she mumbled. "Not about heirs. Not about your father. Just…feel”. 

Something in him shifted. His hands, rough and sudden, grabbed her waist, dragging her to him. His lips crashed onto hers with force — not tender, not loving, but hungry. 

Vanessa moaned into his mouth, happy. This was the Damian she knew. The one who burned behind that icy looks. The one who needed her. 

“Yes", she breathed between the kisses, tangling her fingers in his hair. “That's it, don't hold back". 

His grip tightened, he kissed her harder, almost violently, as if punishing himself for giving in, as if punishing her for making him lose control. Vanessa loved every second of it. This wasn't romance. This was raw, desperate, addictive. This was proof that he couldn't walk away from her. 

Damian lifted her into his arms suddenly, carrying her across the penthouse without breaking the kiss. The door to his bedroom slammed open under the weight of his shoulder, and then she was on the bed, her body sinking into the sheets worth more than her childhood home. 

Clothes became an obstacle. His shirt buttons flew open, her dress straps slid from her shoulders. His body pressed on hers, heavy and consuming. 

Every touch was hard. Every kiss was ruthless. It wasn't affection, it was released. 

And Vanessa marvelled in it. 

She arched her back, giving herself fully, her lips parting with soft, deliberate sounds that fed his need. “That's it, Damian", she whispered against his skin. “Use me. Forget everything else. I'm the only thing that makes sense". 

His answer was wordless, his mouth against her throat, his hands everywhere, urgent and rough. He didn't love her, Vanessa knew that. But tonight, he needed her, he was hers tonight. And that was enough. 

Because needing her meant she still had control. 

Hours burned into heat and sweat. Damian thrusted into her again, and again, relentless, as if punishing the world through her body. And Vanessa matched his energy, clawing his back, crying his name, binding himto her with every stroke, every movement. 

When it was over, she lay tangled in the sheets, her chest rising and falling, her hair damp and wild. Damian had already pulled away, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her. His shoulders were broad, tense, the muscles cut with shadows under the city’s glow.

He said nothing.

Vanessa smiled lazily, stretching out like a satisfied cat. She trailed a finger across the sheet where his hand had been, savoring the heat still left behind.

“Well,” she said softly, almost smug, “I think we both needed that.”

Damian didn’t answer. He stood, reaching for the shirt he’d discarded, pulling it over his shoulders with sharp, precise movements.

Vanessa propped herself up on one elbow, watching him dress with a mixture of irritation and amusement. “You’re not even going to lie down? Stay a little longer?”

His eyes flicked toward her, colder than ever. “Don’t push it.”

Her smile faltered for half a heartbeat, but she recovered quickly, leaning back into the pillows. “You can play the ice king all you want, Damian. But you always come back to me. Always.”

Damian buttoned his cuffs, silent. He walked to the window again, staring out at the glittering city below. His reflection in the glass looked like a man carved in steel. Unmoving. Untouchable.

Vanessa, still naked in his bed, let her smirk grow. He hadn’t sent her away. He hadn’t denied her body. That was victory enough.

But she didn’t see what he held in his hand.

Damian’s fingers slipped into his pocket, brushing against the folded file photo he hadn’t been able to throw away. Evelyn Carter’s quiet smile looked back at him from the paper. Innocent. Uncomplicated. The opposite of Vanessa’s carefully painted world.

His chest tightened with something he refused to name.

Behind him, Vanessa shifted in the sheets, humming with smug satisfaction. She thought she’d won.

But Damian’s eyes stayed fixed on Evelyn’s photograph, burning a hole into his palm as he whispered under his breath — too low for Vanessa to hear —

“This changes nothing.”






          Chapter 16 –Evelyn's POV 

Evelyn Carter pressed her hands against the counter of the diner, staring down at the chipped laminate as if it could swallow her whole. The lunch rush had ended hours ago, but her nerves hadn’t quieted. They never did anymore.

The bell over the door jingled, and her stomach twisted before she even looked up.

It wasn’t a customer. It was him again.

The debt collector.

He filled the doorway with broad shoulders and a facial expression that made her skin crawl. Two others trailed behind him, one cracking his knuckles, the other chewing gum loudly as though boredom was the only thing keeping him alive.

Carmen froze mid-wipe with a rag over one of the booths, her dark eyes darting to Evelyn. Not again.

“Well, well,” the collector drawled, walking toward her with deliberate slowness. “Miss Carter. Don’t tell me you forgot about us.”

Evelyn forced her voice steady. “I told you—I just need more time.”

“You’ve been saying that for months.” He leaned against the counter, close enough that Evelyn could smell the stale tobacco clinging to his jacket. “Time’s up.”

Her throat tightened. She thought of her parents, the crushing debts they’d left behind, the letters piling up like vultures on her doorstep. She thought of the agency brochure folded in her purse, like a poisonous cure.

Carmen stepped forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hey, this is a diner, not your office. Back off.”

The man’s gaze slid to Carmen, cold and amused. “Cute. But unless you’ve got twenty grand tucked in that apron, stay out of this.”

Evelyn’s heart hammered so loudly she could barely hear herself speak. “Please. I’m trying. I’ve picked up extra shifts—”

“Shifts won’t cover interest.” His voice dropped, sharp as a blade. “People like you don’t dig themselves out. You just… get buried.”

The words hit her like a slap. Her knees wobbled.

The second man cracked his knuckles again, loud in the empty diner. “Maybe she needs incentive.”

Carmen stiffened. “Touch her and I’ll call the cops.”

For a long moment, the tension pressed down like a weight. Then the collector smiled, slow and cruel. “Relax. We’re not unreasonable. You’ve got… What, a week? After that, sweetheart, we stop being polite.”

They left with the bell jangling cheerfully behind them, as though nothing had happened.

Evelyn crashed against the counter, trembling.

“Evelyn,” Carmen whispered, rushing to her side. “You can’t keep living like this. They’re going to hurt you.”

“I just…” Evelyn’s breath hitched. “I don’t have any other choice.”

“Yes, you do.” Carmen grabbed her purse and yanked out the folded agency flyer. “This. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than being crushed. Better than ending up in a hospital because some thug decided to make an example of you.”

Evelyn stared at the paper. The clean logo. The neat print promising safety, security, compensation. She hated that it looked like hope.

She whispered, “It feels wrong.”

“What’s wrong is you dying under debt that isn’t even yours.” Carmen’s voice softened, pleading now. “You’re young, you’re healthy, you’re smart. You could walk away from all of this if you just… took the step. No one even has to know.”

Evelyn’s fingers clenched around the flyer.






Across the street, through the wide diner windows, a man in a dark coat adjusted his camera lens, snapping photo after photo. Gregory Blackwood’s investigator had a perfect angle. He’d caught everything — the confrontation, Evelyn’s trembling, the way Carmen shoved the agency flyer into her hand.

He lowered the camera, pulling out his phone. “She’s close,” he murmured into the receiver. “She’ll fold soon.”

On the other end, Gregory’s voice was cool and pleased. “Good. You guys shouldn't lose her.”

That night, Evelyn sat in her cramped apartment, lights dim, the city noise bleeding through the cracked window. Bills spread across the table like vultures, red-stamped FINAL NOTICE glaring at her from every page.

She pressed her forehead to her hands, whispering, “I can’t do this anymore.”

The knock startled her. Sharp, impatient.

She opened the door to find Carmen holding two paper cups of coffee and a bag of takeout. “Don’t tell me you haven’t eaten.”

Evelyn tried to smile, but it came out crooked. “Not really hungry.”

“Tough.” Carmen marched in, setting everything down with theatrical force. “Drink the coffee, eat the food, and sign the damn papers.”

Evelyn blinked. “Carmen—”

Her friend cut her off. “Look at me. You deserve better than this life. You deserve a chance to breathe. And maybe this isn’t forever. Maybe it’s just… the bridge to something better.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and raw. Evelyn’s chest ached with the truth of it.

Finally, with trembling hands, she pulled the agency application from her purse. Her pen hovered, the tip staining the paper with a tiny dot of ink.

Her parents’ debt. The collectors. The gnawing fear.

Her hand shook as she signed her name.

The next morning, Evelyn walked into the agency’s sleek lobby, her nerves so raw she felt hollow. The receptionist smiled warmly, as if this were any ordinary appointment, as if Evelyn weren’t selling pieces of herself just to survive. 

“Hello, how can we help you", the coordinator asked with a heart warming smile. 

Evelyn responded “I'm signing up to be a surrogate". 

She followed the coordinator into a glass-walled office, answering questions about her health, her history, her family. Every answer felt like another brick sealing her fate.

“Wonderful,” the woman said, flipping through the forms. “You’re a perfect candidate.”

Evelyn tried to smile, but her chest tightened. “So what happens now?”

“Now,” the coordinator said smoothly, “we match you with a client.”

Her pen scratched one final signature across the contract.

It was done.

Leaving the agency, the sunlight felt too bright. Evelyn pulled her coat tighter, hurrying down the steps — and froze.

Across the street, an older man in an immaculate suit leaned against a car. He wasn’t looking at her directly, but she felt the weight of his gaze.

The man tipped his head faintly, almost like a predator acknowledging its prey. Then he stepped into the waiting car, the door closing behind him with a muffled thud.

Evelyn’s heart hammered.

She had no idea who he was, no idea that her life had just collided with someone's plans.

But deep down, she felt it.

Something had shifted.

Something irreversible.

That night, Gregory sat in his study, sipping brandy as his investigators laid the photos across his desk. Explaining how they had followed her secretly and saw her entering the agency.

Gregory’s lips curled in satisfaction. “Excellent. She’s the one.”

Investigator 1 hesitated. “Sir… are you sure? She looks… ordinary.”

Gregory’s eyes flashed. “Ordinary is exactly what Damian needs. No attachments. No complications. Just an heir.”

He lifted a photo of Evelyn, studying the nervous determination in her eyes. “She’ll do nicely.”

Evelyn lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling, Carmen asleep on the couch after insisting on staying over.

She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering into the dark. “What have I done?”

The city hummed outside, restless and merciless.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

With shaky hands, she picked it up.

“Welcome, Miss Carter,” the message read. “Your first appointment has been scheduled. Please prepare to meet your intended parent.”

She scrolled down, her breath catching.

The name glared back at her like fate itself:

Damian Blackwood.

Her phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor.

The room spun around her, Carmen still snoring softly in the other room, oblivious.

Evelyn pressed her palms into her eyes, tears spilling.

She had no idea what kind of man awaited her.

No idea that she had just stepped into a world built on power, control, and betrayal.

But she was already caught.

The screen of Evelyn’s phone still glowed on the floor, Damian’s name burning bright.







     Chapter 17 – Gregory’s Manipulation

 Gregory’s POV

The city gleamed beneath the early afternoon sun, a jungle of glass and steel that reflected power back to those who already had it. Gregory Blackwood sat rigidly in the backseat of his town car, his cane resting across his knees, his gloved hands folded neatly on top of it. His driver maneuvered smoothly into the circular driveway of New Horizons Family Agency, a discreet but reputable establishment known for handling delicate matters for the elite.

To most, it was just another sleek glass-front building tucked between law offices and boutique clinics on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. But for Gregory, today, it was the key to securing his dynasty.

The car slowed to a stop. Gregory stepped out, the polished tip of his cane striking the pavement with a sharp tap. Heads turned automatically — not because anyone knew him personally, but because Gregory carried himself like someone the world was meant to obey. His tailored charcoal suit clung perfectly to his tall frame, his silver hair combed back with precision, his icy eyes alert.

Inside the lobby, the receptionist looked up from her desk and nearly fumbled her pen. “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to New Horizons. How may I help you?”

Gregory’s smile was courteous, almost warm, but there was steel beneath it. “I am Gregory Blackwood. Perhaps you’ve heard of me.”

The receptionist’s lips parted. “Blackwood… Enterprises?”

“The same.” Gregory tapped his cane once against the marble floor. “I’m here because I’ve recently taken a personal interest in your work. The service you provide — giving families a chance at continuity, at legacy — is… admirable.”

The woman blinked rapidly, taken aback by the weight of his presence. “That’s very kind of you, sir.”

“I’d like to make a contribution.” Gregory gestured slightly, and his assistant — who had followed two steps behind — handed the receptionist a slim leather folder. She opened it and her breath caught. Inside was a check large enough to fund the agency’s programs for years.

“Oh my goodness,” she murmured. “Mr. Blackwood, this is—”

“Consider it an investment,” Gregory interrupted smoothly, his gaze flicking briefly to the polished brass plaque on the wall that read New Horizons: Building Families, Securing Futures. “Your mission aligns with my own values. Family must always come first. Always.”

The receptionist flushed under the intensity of his stare. “I… I’ll inform Dr. Pierre immediately. He oversees our donor relations as well as the medical side of things.”

“Please.” Gregory’s tone left no room for delay.

Moments later, Dr. Allen Pierre entered the lobby, his white coat crisp, his salt-and-pepper hair combed neatly back. He carried himself with quiet confidence, though the flicker in his eyes when he saw Gregory betrayed surprise — and unease.

“Mr. Blackwood,” Allen said, extending his hand. “This is unexpected. We’re grateful for your generosity.”

Gregory clasped his hand firmly, his grip strong despite his age. “Doctor, I’ve been following your work for some time. Discretion, professionalism — qualities too rare in today’s world. You run an admirable establishment.”

“Thank you.” Allen gestured toward the glass-walled hallway. “Perhaps we could talk in my office?”

Gregory inclined his head. “Lead the way.”


                Dr. Allen’s Office

The office was understated but elegant, lined with medical diplomas and framed photographs of smiling babies held by glowing parents. Gregory’s gaze flicked briefly across them before settling into the leather chair opposite Allen’s desk.

Allen placed the check on the desk gently, as if it might combust. “This contribution will help us tremendously. Our research wing has been struggling to expand.”

“Good.” Gregory leaned forward slightly, his hands resting on the carved silver head of his cane. “I meant every word I said, Allen. Family is the cornerstone of civilization. Without heirs, without legacy… a man’s empire turns to dust.”

Allen inclined his head slowly, though there was a faint tightness around his mouth. “Yes, I’ve read of your… philosophy.”

Gregory’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Philosophy? No, Doctor. It is truth. Blood carries more than genetics. It carries destiny. Which brings me to why I am here today.”

Allen straightened, instinctively bracing himself. “Go on.”

“My son,” Gregory said, his voice lowering to a measured cadence, “is thirty-four. He has one year — one year — to produce an heir, or the company I built with my hands will be handed to scavengers who know nothing of Blackwood grit. Damian is brilliant, ruthless, and cold as steel — the perfect Blackwood in every respect. But he lacks one thing. An heir.”

Allen’s brow furrowed. “Mr. Blackwood, I sympathize, but your son’s personal life isn’t—”

“I am not here to discuss his personal life.” Gregory’s tone sliced through the air. “I am here because I have decided that your agency will play a role in ensuring my legacy. I want you to show me the profiles of your newest candidates.”

Allen’s eyes widened. “That’s… that’s against protocol. Confidentiality is the foundation of this agency. Clients review profiles, not donors.”

Gregory chuckled softly, the sound dry and sharp. “Protocols are for ordinary men, Allen. Look again at that check. Do you think I gave it merely to see my name on a plaque? I have invested in your mission. I expect a return.”

Allen swallowed. He had dealt with wealthy benefactors before, but Gregory Blackwood radiated a different kind of pressure — the kind that made rules feel flimsy and negotiable.

“Please,” Gregory said, softening his tone, though his eyes remained hard. “I merely want to ensure that the young woman chosen for my son is… suitable. Damian is particular. He cannot risk entanglements with women who would use him for status or manipulation. He requires someone simple. Someone… clean.”

Allen hesitated. “Mr. Blackwood—”

“Do not insult me with excuses.” Gregory’s voice dropped to a deadly whisper. “You know as well as I do that your agency bends rules for donors. I am not asking. I am directing.”

Silence thickened between them.

Finally, with visible reluctance, Allen opened a secure drawer and withdrew a slim folder. He slid it across the desk. “These are the newest applications. But this is irregular, and I can only—”

Gregory raised a hand, silencing him. “Irregular is another word for progress.”

He opened the folder, his expression a mask of detached interest as he leafed through profiles. A teacher. A nurse. A graduate student. His eyes flicked over each one with feigned care. He knew what he was looking for, even if he pretended not to.

And then he found her.

Evelyn Carter.

Her photo was clipped neatly to the top of her file. She wasn’t glamorous. She wasn’t styled or polished like Vanessa Hart, or the glittering women who usually hovered around his son. She was… ordinary. A diner waitress with tired eyes and soft curves. But in that ordinariness, Gregory saw exactly what he needed.

He tapped the photo with his finger. “This one.”

Allen blinked. “Evelyn Carter? She’s only just applied. The evaluation process isn’t even complete.”

“All the better.” Gregory’s lips curved faintly. “Fresh. Untouched. No complications. My son doesn’t need affection. He needs a womb strong enough to carry his heir, and a woman too desperate to bargain.”

Allen’s jaw tightened. “You can’t reduce a person to that.”

Gregory’s gaze turned glacial. “Watch me.”

For a moment, Allen looked like he might protest further. But then his shoulders slumped. The check still lay between them, its weight heavier than stone.

“I’ll… make a note,” he said quietly.

Gregory rose to his feet with fluid grace, tucking the cane against his side. “Good man. History remembers those who serve destiny. And make no mistake, Allen — this girl is destined to be part of my family’s story.”

He slipped Evelyn’s profile back into the folder, but not before letting his gaze linger on her photo once more. “Evelyn Carter,” he murmured. “Yes… she’ll do nicely.”


                      Evelyn’s POV

That same afternoon, Evelyn wiped down tables at the diner, trying to focus on the streaks of water instead of the knot in her stomach. The agency paperwork was done, her signature inked, but the name Damian Blackwood still echoed in her mind like a warning bell.

“Evie, you okay?” Carmen asked fondly, balancing a tray of dirty plates.

Evelyn forced a smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

But her eyes strayed to the window, to the world outside. She had no idea that across town, a man in a tailored suit had just chosen her like a piece of cloth, sealing her fate without her knowledge.


                   Dr. Allen’s POV

After Gregory left, Dr. Allen sat alone in his office, the folder open in front of him. Evelyn Carter’s profile stared back at him, her photo paperclipped to the corner.

She looked so young. So vulnerable.

Allen rubbed his temples. “What have I done?” he whispered.

His gaze lingered on Evelyn’s photograph, and a chill ran through him.

“She has no idea what she’s walking into.”







            Chapter 18 – Evelyn Signs

 Evelyn’s POV

The hum of the diner’s fridge was the only sound between them. Evelyn sat at one of the empty booths, phone in hand, staring at the message for the hundredth time. The glowing screen burned her eyes, but she couldn’t stop looking.

Welcome, Miss Carter. Your first appointment has been scheduled. Please prepare to meet your intended parent.
Client: Damian Blackwood.

The name looked unreal, like something cut from a newspaper headline.

Carmen slid into the booth across from her, carrying two mugs of coffee. “You’ve been staring at that thing for an hour. What’s up?”

Wordlessly, Evelyn turned the phone toward her.

Carmen read it, then blinked. “Damian Blackwood? As in… Blackwood Enterprises? Billionaire playboy with a stick permanently lodged up his—”

“Carmen.” Evelyn’s whisper was sharp, but her hands shook as she pulled the phone back. “I thought it would be some couple, someone struggling to have kids. Not… not him.”

Carmen leaned back, eyes narrowing. “Well, damn. Some women would kill for this.”

Evelyn’s head snapped up. “Kill? Carmen, this isn’t a joke. This is—” She lowered her voice. “This is terrifying. I’ve seen his face on magazines. Cold. Untouchable. He doesn’t even look… human.”

Carmen sobered, her smirk fading. “Hey. I’m just saying what people would think. But me? I don’t like it either. Men like that… they don’t play fair. They don’t see people like us as people. Just pawns.”

Evelyn pressed her hands against her temples. “So what do I do? Back out? I already signed the application. Today they want me to finalize it.”

“And if you don’t?”

“The penalties. The debt. The collectors.” Her stomach twisted. “I don’t have a choice, Carmen.”

Carmen reached across the table, squeezing her hand. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t let them break you. You’re stronger than you think. Don’t let his name scare you out of your own skin.”

Evelyn swallowed hard and nodded. But as she tucked her phone away, the name Damian Blackwood still pulsed in her mind like a curse.



                   Gregory’s POV

The lobby smelled faintly of polished wood and citrus disinfectant. Gregory walked in as though he owned the place, cane tapping once against the marble with each step.

The receptionist nearly jumped from her chair. “Mr. Blackwood. What an honor. Twice in one week—”

“Yes, yes.” Gregory waved her chatter aside, his eyes already fixed on the hallway. “Dr. Pierre. I need a word.”

Minutes later, Allen’s office door shut behind him with a soft click. The doctor looked older than yesterday, dark circles under his eyes, as though one night had aged him a year.

“Mr. Blackwood,” he said flatly. “I suppose this isn’t another donation visit.”

Gregory sank into the leather chair with a satisfied sigh. “Ah, but my generosity lingers, does it not? That check of mine buys me more than gratitude. It buys me efficiency.”

Allen folded his arms. “Miss Carter is here today. Intake, evaluations. You don’t need to interfere.”

Gregory’s smile was thin, cutting. “Don’t I? I chose her, Doctor. And I expect my choice to be respected.”

Allen’s voice hardened. “We are supposed to be impartial.”

Gregory leaned forward, cane balanced across his knees. “Impartiality is for philosophers. I am a father. My son is obstinate, cold, incapable of choosing wisely for himself. If he will not take a wife, then he will take a surrogate. And she will be Evelyn Carter.”

Allen’s jaw clenched. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re treating her like… like stock.”

“Precisely,” Gregory said softly. “And fine stock she is. Desperate. Unattached. Healthy. She will not trouble us with emotions. She will deliver an heir, and then she will disappear.”

Allen looked away, disgust shadowing his face. But Gregory knew resistance when he saw it, and this was not resistance. This was surrender disguised as protest.

“I will be in the hall,” Gregory said, rising. “I want confirmation when she signs.”

He tapped his cane once and strode out, leaving Allen with the suffocating weight of complicity.


                        Evelyn’s POV

The nurse guided her down the hallway into Dr. Allen’s office. Evelyn’s palms were damp, her chest tight, but she forced herself to sit when the doctor gestured toward the chair.

“Miss Carter,” he said gently. “Thank you for coming back. I know this process is difficult.”

Evelyn nodded mutely.

He explained the procedures again — the health monitoring, the psychological evaluations, the confidentiality agreements. She listened, but her mind kept circling the name in that text.

Finally, she blurted, “My intended parent… it’s Damian Blackwood, isn’t it?”

Allen’s eyes flickered, just for a second, before he composed himself. “Yes. Mr. Blackwood has chosen this path to secure his family’s future.”

Evelyn’s breath hitched. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Allen folded his hands on the desk. “You should know… once you sign, withdrawing is not simple. There are financial penalties. Legal implications.”

Her heart pounded. The debt collectors’ faces flashed before her eyes. The final notices stacked on her table. The way Carmen had looked at her this morning, equal parts proud and scared.

“Do you still wish to proceed?” Allen asked quietly.

Evelyn closed her eyes. She thought of her parents, the crushing weight they had left her with. She thought of the cold voice of the collector: Time’s up.

When she opened her eyes, tears blurred the papers in front of her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

Allen slid the contract toward her. “Read carefully before you sign.”

The words blurred together: compensation… confidentiality… exclusive agreement. She barely absorbed them. All she saw was the number. Enough to erase the collectors. Enough to breathe again.

Her hand trembled as she lifted the pen.

The silence was so thick she could hear her pulse in her ears.

Her signature curled across the page.

It was done.


                  Gregory’s POV

From the frosted glass panel of the office door, Gregory glimpsed the young woman’s silhouette bending forward, pen in hand. The faint movement of ink on paper was as good as a seal.

A smile touched his lips.

He turned away, cane tapping briskly. “She’s mine now,” he murmured.


                      Evelyn’s POV

The folder felt heavy in her hands as she stepped out into the lobby. Carmen leapt from her chair. “Well? Did you—”

Evelyn lifted the folder, her voice barely audible. “I signed.”

Carmen pulled her into a fierce hug. “You’re going to be okay, Evie. This will save you.”

Evelyn hugged back, but her chest felt hollow, as though the ink had drained something vital from her.

She didn’t see the man standing in the shadows near the exit, his eyes cold and triumphant as he watched her leave.




Outside, the winter sunlight was blinding. Evelyn clutched her purse to her chest, the signed contract tucked safely inside. She told herself she had secured freedom. She told herself it was survival.

Across the street, Gregory leaned against his car, the wind tugging at his coat.

“You’re bound to us now, girl,” he murmured, his voice lost in the roar of traffic. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Back inside, Dr. Allen sat slumped at his desk. With a weary sigh, he slid Evelyn Carter’s file into a folder labeled with a single name:

Damian Blackwood.

The match was official.

And Evelyn’s fate was sealed.





Please Log In or Sign Up to continue reading.

No account? Sign Up

Unlock all Chapters with 3$

Proceed to payment to unlock all chapters and continue reading.

Tags:
Previous Post Next Post

You Might Like 😎

See All