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The billionaire’s virgin surrogate - Chapter 9



Chapter 9


Damian’s POV

The penthouse windows stretched from floor to ceiling, a wide sweep of glass overlooking the New York skyline. The city glowed beneath Damian’s feet, skyscrapers standing tall and one could see colourful lights from all the windows.

Inside, Damian sat at the bar counter, a tumbler of whiskey untouched beside him. He loosened his tie, leaned back, and closed his eyes. His father’s words wouldn’t leave him.

No heir. No inheritance.

It was absurd, because he had built Blackwood Enterprises with his own sweat, his own ruthless drive and determination. The acquisitions, the billion-dollar deals, the name Blackwood stamped across the world—that was all him, not his father. He worked hard for everything, every single thing that the Blackwoods Enterprise consists of. 

And yet, his father still pulled the strings.

His jaw tightened as he reached for the glass. The whiskey burned his throat, sharp and unforgiving.

He hated ultimatums. Hated chains.

But chains were all his father knew how to forge. That was the only weapon he knew how to use against Damian. 

He remembered being sixteen again, sitting across from Gregory at the long mahogany dinner table. The chandelier overhead cast cold light on the polished plates. His mother’s chair had already been empty by then, her soft laughter long gone from the halls.

Gregory had cut into his steak with precision, then looked up at his son with eyes like steel.

“Emotions,” his father had said, “are for weak men. Love makes you careless, women will bleed you dry. If you want to rule, you cut those things out before they cut you.”

Young Damian had stared at his plate, fork heavy in his hand. He hadn’t answered, but something inside him had clenched that night, hard and permanent.

Now, years later, Gregory’s voice still haunted him.

Damian’s phone buzzed against the counter. He glanced down, frowning at the message that appeared.

It was another message from his father:

“Since you didn't come as requested today”, “Dinner tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Damian’s grip on the phone tightened, the screen glowing against his cold expression.

The empire he thought he built and owned was beginning to feel less like his own, and more like a cage.

The night stretched long after Reed left. The house was back to being silent, and the whiskey’s burn was no longer enough to drown his father’s words.

Dinner tomorrow.

The message glowed on his phone screen.

He loosened his tie and removed the suit, leaving only the shirt, paced the penthouse, each step echoing against the marble. The city hummed beyond the glass walls, unconscious of the battle tearing inside him.

Gregory never invited. Gregory summoned. And tomorrow was no invitation—it was an order.

Damian stopped before the window, his appearance staring back. Cold gray eyes, a jaw set like stone, shoulders heavy with a weight he refused to admit he carried.

“No heir. No inheritance.”

The ultimatum rang in his ears until sleep became impossible.







Chapter 10
Gregory’s POV

The following evening, Gregory’s estate glistened under the golden wash of chandeliers. The dining table stretched endlessly, lined with silverware that gleamed under the candlelight.

Gregory sat at the head, cane leaning within reach,like a quiet king awaiting his son.

When Damian finally entered, tall and imposing in his tailored suit, Gregory’s eyes narrowed with quiet satisfaction.

“You’re late,” Gregory said, voice even, though the reproach was sharp.

Damian slid into the chair opposite him, unbothered. “Traffic.” He replied flatly. 

Gregory smirked. “Traffic doesn’t exist for Blackwoods. Don’t waste my time with excuses.”

Dinner was served. Silence filled the air except for the sound of silver against earthenware. Gregory let the silence stretch, knowing Damian hated the waiting game.

Finally, he leaned back, eyes locking on his son. “Thirty-four,” he said.

Damian’s jaw ticked. “You’ve reminded me enough.”

“Not enough, it seems.” Gregory set his fork down. “You have one year. One year to prove yourself. Or everything you think is yours—” he gestured around the room, the estate, the empire beyond its walls—“will vanish.”

Damian’s hand tightened on his glass. “I built that company.”

“With my foundation,” Gregory snapped. “Don’t confuse sweat with ownership. Blackwood Enterprises is more than business—it’s blood. Legacy. And without an heir, you’re nothing but a temporary custodian.”

Damian’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t answer.

Gregory’s lips curved faintly. He had struck the nerve he wanted.

He remembered holding Damian as a boy, hardened even at eight years old, refusing to cry when he scraped his knee against the rough floor. Gregory had been proud then, proud that he had raised a son strong enough to hold back tears.

But Margaret, his late wife, had disapproved. She had held the boy afterward, whispering, “Don’t let him turn you into a stone, Damian. You’re human. You have feelings.”

Gregory had watched, silent, letting her softness soothe the boy, but deep down he had scoffed. Feelings broke men. Feelings destroyed empires.

And now, decades later, Damian stood across from him, hard as stone, just as Gregory had molded him.

But stone without blood crumbles to dust. He had no need to check on his son to know Damian would resist him, to know Damian would reach for old comforts rather than bend to his will.

Gregory’s lips curved, not in anger, but in patience.

Resistance was expected, resistance was necessary.

But in the end, all men broke.

And Damian was no exception.





           

           Chapter 11 – Gregory’s Trap

Gregory's POV 


The Blackwood estate was quiet except for the continuous tick of the grandfather clock in Gregory Blackwood’s study. Massive plush curtains blocked the morning light, casting the room in muted shadows. It was exactly the way Gregory liked it—controlled, deliberate, timeless.

He sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a glass of aged brandy in hand though the sun had barely risen. The low glow from the fireplace danced against the deep lines of his face. To the world, Gregory was a retired billionaire, the mastermind who had built Blackwood Enterprises from nothing but grit and cruel decisions. To Damian, however, he was still the cold, harsh father who believed emotions were a disease.

The door opened without a knock. Damian stepped in, tall and confident, his broad shoulders cutting a sharp figure against the dim light. His tailored suit clung to his muscular frame, and his icy gray eyes were hard as steel. He hadn’t come for pleasantries.

“You asked to see me,” Damian said flatly, closing the door behind him. His voice carried no warmth—only irritation.

Gregory took a slow sip of his brandy before setting the glass down with a quiet clink. “Sit down, Damian.”

“I’ll stand.”

“As you wish.” Gregory tilted back in his chair, studying his son like a predator circling prey. “I won’t waste your time. You’ve wasted enough of mine already.”

Damian raised a brow. “This should be good.”

“You’re thirty-four.” Gregory’s tone was razor sharp, each word intentional. “In exactly ten months, you’ll be thirty-five. And unless you have an heir by then, you’ll inherit nothing.”
“We've had this discussion countless times and you seem to be acting stubborn”.

Damian let out a sharp laugh, skeptical. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like a man who jokes?”

“You’ve lost it.” Damian shook his head, a mocking smile tugging at his lips. “This company—Blackwood Enterprises—runs because of me. I’ve doubled our assets in the last five years, expanded into Europe, crushed competitors you couldn’t even touch in your prime. And now you’re telling me I’ll lose everything if I don’t… breed?”

Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “Legacy, Damian. That is what matters. Not expansion. Not numbers on a spreadsheet. Blood. The Blackwood line must continue.”

“Blood?” Damian’s voice dripped with disgust. “You’re treating your grandson like a business asset.”

Gregory slammed his palm on the desk, the sound echoing through the room. “Don’t you dare lecture me. You are standing where you are because I built this empire with blood, sweat, and ruthlessness. Do you think softness built this?” His hand swept across the room, gesturing at the oil paintings, the antique shelves, the fortune written into every detail.

Damian’s jaw tightened. “And what if I don’t want a family? What if I don’t want a child to be another pawn in your sick chess game?”

“Then you walk away with nothing,” Gregory replied coolly.

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Damian’s breathing slowed, his fists clenching at his sides. He wanted to walk out, slam the door, never return—but a part of him knew Gregory never made empty threats.

Finally, Gregory reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a thick envelope. He slid it across the polished wood toward Damian.

Damian didn’t move. “What’s this?”

“Your only solution.” Gregory’s voice was calm, almost casual. Too casual.

Damian snatched the envelope, tore it open, and scanned the papers inside. His icy eyes darkened. It was a contract—sterile, clinical, legal. It outlined terms for surrogacy, with details of a private agency attached. Confidentiality clauses. Medical stipulations. Even financial settlements.

Damian’s laugh was bitter. “You want me to pay a stranger to carry my child?”

“I want you to secure your legacy.”

“This is madness.”

“No, son.” Gregory leaned forward, his expression hardening into something dangerous. “This is survival. You think power comes from money? From your skyscrapers and your headlines? Power comes from bloodlines. From heirs. The Blackwood name must not die with you.”

Damian’s grip on the papers tightened until the edges crumpled. “You disgust me.”

“Perhaps.” Gregory sat back, calm. “But I’ve lived long enough to know one truth: men like us don’t get to choose happiness. We get to choose power—or extinction.”

Damian’s teeth clenched. He hated the way Gregory always spoke in absolutes, as though the world bent to his philosophy. He hated even more that part of him, the part that had grown up under Gregory’s cold shadow, still felt the weight of his father’s words.

He tossed the papers back onto the desk. “I don’t need a woman. I don’t need a child. And I don’t need your money.”

Gregory’s lips curled into a chilling smile. “Keep telling yourself that. But remember this, Damian: when the clock strikes your thirty-fifth birthday, your empire dies unless you produce an heir.”

The grandfather clock ticked louder in the silence, each second a reminder of time slipping away.

Damian turned toward the door, fists clenched, fury simmering beneath his cold exterior.

“Run, if you like,” Gregory called after him. “But you can’t run from time.”

Damian froze for just a heartbeat, his jaw tight. Then he pushed the door open and walked out, the slam reverberating through the building.

Gregory leaned back in his chair, the faintest smirk touching his lips. He reached for his phone, dialing a number from memory.

The line clicked. “Yes?” a voice answered.

Gregory’s eyes glinted with ruthless satisfaction. “She’s perfect. Make the arrangements.”

Gregory hangs up, staring into the fire as if he can already see the Blackwood heir being born, while Damian storms out into the night, unaware that his father has already chosen Evelyn Carter for him.







              Chapter 12 – The Envelope
    
Damian's POV 

The city shone with bright colourful lights outside Damian's penthouse window, but he barely noticed. Manhattan at night was a spectacle, colourful lights bleeding into the sky, car horns echoing through the avenues, the restless heartbeat of power and greed. It was the kind of view men killed for, the kind of view he had built his empire to own. 

And yet, all he could see was that envelope. 

It sat on the table like a curse, its thick ivory paper folded neatly, mocking him. His father's words played on repeat in his head. 

Damian poured himself a drink, the crystal glass reflecting the city lights as he swallowed a mouthful of his scotch. The burn in his throat was nothing compared to the turmoil in his chest. Gregory had no right to dictate his life. He wasn't some weak child waiting for scraps. He had earned his place, bled for it, clawed his way through hostile takeovers and ruthless negotiations. 

And yet?

He sank into the leather couch, his fingers drumming against the glass and his eyes still fixed on the envelope. His father was cruel, manipulative, calculating, but he wasn't stupid. Gregory wouldn't risk something this serious without leverage. 

The “envelope” wasn't just a threat. It was a plan already set in motion. 

Damian knew his father too well. 

He cursed under his breath, standing abruptly and pacing across the room. His reflection glared back at him from the walls, tall, broad shouldered, every inch the billionaire CEO who commanded fear in every boardroom across the world. But in that reflection, he saw something he doubted. 

He grabbed the envelope off the table and tore it open again, glancing through the contents. The documents were detailed, legal jargons, confidentiality agreement, health requirements, even stipulations about the clients preferred method of conception. He sneered, Gregory knew exactly what buttons to press. 

Damian slammed the papers shut and threw them onto the couch. His phone buzzed. 

It was Reed. 

“Tell me you're drinking”, Reed's voice echoed when Damian answered. 

“I'm drinking”, Damian muttered, downing the rest of his glass. 

" Good. Because if I were you, I'd be black-out drunk right now. Your father called me”.

Damian froze. “He what?”

Reed sighed. “He wanted to make sure u understood the legal ramifications. Damian, the clause us airtight. If you don't produce an heir in the next couple of months, the inheritance skips you. It goes to the foundation board. 

Damian's grip tightened on the phone. “He wouldn't dare”. 

“Oh, he'd dare”, Reed says dryly. “This is Gregory were talking about. He's probably already picked out the wallpaper for your kids nursery, you know him”. 

Damian paced the room, rage simmering. “This is insane. I don't need his money. I don't need his company”. 

“You don't need it”, Reed agreed. “But your life is built around it. Walking away now would be like cutting off your own arm”.

Silence stretched between them. Damian stared out at the skyline, jaw clenched. 

Reed lowered his voice. “What’s in the envelope he gave you?”

Damian exhaled loudly. “A brochure. A surrogate clinic brochure”. 

There was a quick pause before Reed chuckled bitterly. “Of course. Classic Gregory. Efficient, clinical, no room for emotions. He probably picked someone already”. 

The words sent shivers down Damian's spine. That what exactly what Gregory had hinted at. 

Reed added “You don't have to do this, you know. There are ways around it. Loopholes. Hell, fake a marriage, fake a kid”.  

“No”. Damian cut him off sharply. “I don't fake. I don't lie. And I don't bend”. 

Reed sighed. “Then what's your move?”

Damian's gaze drifted back to the envelope, lying there like a ticking time bomb. 

“I don't know yet”, he admitted. 

“Figure it out fast”, Reed said. “Because knowing Gregory, he's already five steps ahead”. 

When the call ended, Damian stood there for a long time, his thoughts all over the place, staring at the papers. His father's voice echoed in his head “You can resist me, Damian. Bug you can't resist time”. 

With a frustrated shout, he hit the envelope off the couch, papers scattering across the floor. He was done with Gregory's games. 

But as he turned away, one page slid free, landing right beside him, catching his attention. He froze. 

It wasn't legal jargons. It wasn't the surrogate clinic brochure. It was a profile. A woman's profile. 

Name: Evelyn Carter 
Age: 25
Status: Single
Background: Clean. Healthy. Debt-burdened. 

There was even a photograph clipped to the corner, the photograph looked like it had been taking during an event, maybe a charity event. And, the woman in the picture? She wasn't aware, she didn't know someone hac taken pictures of her. 

Damian bent over, lifting the page slowly. The lady wasn't dressed in a glamorous way. Just a candid shot of a young woman standing in front of a table arranging artworks. Her hair pulled back, eyes downcast, her smile faint but genuine. 

Something about it stopped him. 

She didn't look like any of the women he knew. Not like Vanessa, not like the models and socialites who threw themselves at him during events. Evelyn Carter looked ordinary. Vulnerable. Real. 

Damian's throat tightened. He hated the way his chest reacted, the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of her. He told himself it was just a reaction of being surprised, just curiosity. 

But deep down, he knew better. 

He folded the profile slowly, slipping it back into the envelope carefully. His father wasn't making mouth. Gregory already had a candidate lined up if he doesn't take the surrogate option. 

And if Damian didn't act fast, the decision would be made for him. And, that decision could be marriage. 

The clock in his mind clicked louder, reminding him of Gregory's words. 

Damian stared at the envelope concealing Evelyn's profile one last time, his icy eyes narrowing. For the first, the ruthless CEO felt the ground shift beneath him. He whispered into the silence, “Who the hell are you?”







             Chapter 13 - Evelyn's Struggles 

Evelyn's POV 

The sounds of dishes and the hum of voices filled the small Midtown diner, but to Evelyn Carter, the sounds faded into the background noise. She stood behind the counter in her faded uniform, forcing a polite smile as she filled a customer's coffee cup. Her hands aches from hours of nonstop work, her feet screamed inside cheap sneakers, and the clock above the kitchen door seemed seemed deliberately slow, mocking her with every slow tick. 

It had been like this for weeks. Double shifts, no rest, no break. Work was the only way to keep the collectors at bay, even if it meant she barely had to rest. 

“Evelyn, table five is complaining again”, Carmen called out from across the room, he'd dark curls bouncing as she moved between tables with her usual sass. “Something about the soup being too salty. Or maybe they're just salty”. 

Evelyn let out a weary laugh, grateful for her friend's humor. “I'll handle it”. 

Carmen grinned. “Of course you will. You always do”. 

Evelyn made her way to table five, apologizing to the grumpy businessman seated there. He looked her over like she was a piece of garbage. She swallowed the hurt she felt, smiled and offered to replace the soup. That was her job. Smile. Serve. Survive. 

When she returned to the counter, Carmen was waiting with two envelopes in her hand. One had the restaurant's logo, and the other one? Evelyn recognized it instantly. 

Her stomach chunned. 

“Another one?” she whispered softly, her voice trembling. 

Carmen's playful expression had vanished. She lowered her voice. “Loan collector. They dropped it off just now”. 

Evelyn collected the envelope with shaking fingers. She didn't need to open it to know what it was, another overdue notice. Another threat. Her parents’ debts had followed her about like a curse, swallowing every penny she had made. No matter how hard she worked, it was never enough. 

Her throat tightened as she shoved the envelope into the pocket of her apron. “I can't keep doing this, Carmen”. “I’m tired”. 

Carmen reached across the counter, squeezing Evelyn's hand. “Then stop killing yourself. There are other ways”. 

Evelyn shook her head. “Like what? Another job? I'm already drowning”. 

Carmen hesitated before pulling a folder from her apron. Evelyn's eyes widened as she recognized it, the same flyer Carmen had been pushing for weeks. 

The surrogacy agency. 

Evelyn's stomach twisted. “No”. 

“Yes”, Carmen answered. “Evie,” she called fondly. “Listen, you're young, you're healthy, and they pay more money than you'll ever make waiting tables. One year, maybe less, and you'll be free, your debt is gone. You can start over”.  

“I’d be renting out my body”, Evelyn said,her voice cracking. 

“You’d be saving your life”, Carmen answered. 

Evelyn shoved the flyers back into Carmen's hands.  “It’s not me. I can't.” 

“Can’t or won't? There's a difference” Carmen asked softly. 

Evelyn didn't answer. 

The rest of the shift dragged on slowly, Evelyn moving through motions like a ghost. By closing time, she was running on fumes. She and Carmen left the restaurant together stepping into the cold night air. Bidding each other a good night and parting ways. 

The city light blurred as Evelyn walked on slowly, exhausted. Her apartment wasn't far, but it felt like miles to Evelyn. 

At the entrance of her apartment building, there was a man dressed in a cheap suit, waiting. Evelyn froze. 

“Miss Carter?” His voice was clipped, businesslike. 

Her pulse spiked. She didn't need to ask who he was. Debt collector, she knew. 

“I – I already made a payment”, she stammered, searching her purse for the crumbled receipt. 

He held up a hand. “Not enough. Never enough, is it?” His eyes looked her up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. “You’ve got thirty days. Pay in full, or we escalate”. 

Her hands shook as she clutched the receipt tighter. “I'm trying.”

“Try harder”, he responded rudely l, before walking away into the night. 

Evelyn stood, dumbfounded, heart pounding , humiliation burning in her cheeks. 

Carmen's words echoed in her mind. “You'd be saving your life.”

In her tiny apartment, Evelyn sat on the edge of her bed l, staring at the flyer Carmen had slipped into her bag. Her rent was overdue. Her parents' loan collectors were on her neck. She was trapped. 

Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, “Nine months, and I'm free”. 

Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Carmen. “Think about it. Please”. 

She scrolled to her contact list, the agency's number was still there. Intact. 

Evelyn curled up, clutching the flyer. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine it. Nine months,  a faceless man's child, money in her account, and freedom. 

Her eyes closed, exhaustion pulling her under. 

But even in her sleep, the flyer haunted her, its logo stamped across her vision, promising salvation at cost she didn't know if she could bear. 

The next morning, Evelyn walked past the agency building on her way to work. She told herself she wouldn't go in. She told herself she was stronger than everything happening to her. But as she paused at the glass doors, her heart pounding loudly, she didn't notice the black SUV parked across the street. 

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