Chapter 3

I was fully dressed before sunrise.

As I was tying my sneakers, his voice drifted from the bedroom doorway.

"Going somewhere?"

"Getting groceries."

"There's some pork chops in the fridge. I'll make you stew for lunch."

His tone was exactly the same as yesterday. He was even sweeter, as if the spreadsheet of fourteen women and the three failed "quality checks" had never happened.

I grabbed my bag and walked out. He didn't stop me.

But when I got downstairs, a white Porsche was idling at the curb.

The window rolled down, revealing a face so heavily filtered it looked like airbrushed plastic. She smiled at me.

"Chloe, right? Get in. Let's get some breakfast."

Victoria.

She was wearing a loose knit dress, her stomach showing a slight, perfect bump—the classic second-trimester look. Her twenty million followers watched that belly "grow" every single day on Instagram.

"No."

"Your mother’s care bill for this month hasn't been signed off yet," she said, tapping her steering wheel. "Want to take a look at it in the car?"

My feet froze.

Three seconds later, I opened the passenger door and climbed in.

She didn't take me to a cafe. Instead, she drove into the underground garage of a commercial building and killed the engine. The car fell silent, save for the low hum of the AC.

"Since this is our first official meeting, let me introduce myself," she said, pulling a Chanel compact from her bag to touch up her lipstick. "I'm the client for this project."

"Project?"

"Yes. The one in your belly," she pointed at my stomach with her manicured, glittering nail. "Your body is the vessel. My husband provided the sperm, I provided the egg, and Ethan handles the logistics and daily maintenance. Clear division of labor. Everyone plays their part."

I wanted to laugh, but my jaw was too tight.

"You call this a project?"

"What else would you call it? Did you think you were in a romance novel?" She snapped her compact shut. "Don't flatter yourself, Chloe. You're just a container. A highly rated, high-functioning container."

She unlocked her phone and slid it in front of my face.

It was a live camera feed of my living room.

"You spent forty-three minutes in the study last night. You went through his laptop and found the matrix," she said, her voice as flat as a weather report. "Your reaction was a bit slower than I expected. I thought you'd start questioning things after the second failed cycle."

"You put cameras in my house?"

"It’s not your house. I bought that condo," she tilted her head. "I had the cameras installed during the renovation. I check in every now and then to monitor your diet and sleep. After all, you are carrying my baby."

She swiped to her Instagram profile. Her latest post was from this morning—a mirror selfie of her holding her "pregnant" belly. The caption read: *“Week 19! Baby kicked today!”*

Millions of likes. The comments were flooded with: *“You’re so glowing, Victoria!”* and *“The luckiest mom ever!”*

"You're not pregnant," my voice shook. "That stomach is fake."

"Medical-grade silicone. Custom-made. It feels incredibly real," she patted her stomach like it was a new Hermès bag. "Why would I actually ruin my body? Do you know how much money I make per live stream? If I ruin my figure, who pays my bills?"

She restarted the engine.

"I’ll drop you back. Be a good girl and stay put. I see every step you take."

I stared out the windshield, my hands gripping the seatbelt.

"And if I refuse to cooperate?"

She didn't turn her head.

"In your mother’s room at Meadowview, in the second drawer on the right, there's a bottle of aspirin. High-dose blood thinners are very dangerous for the elderly. One extra milligram can change everything. You wouldn't want an accident to happen to her, would you?"

"Are you threatening—"

"I’m helping you make the right choice."

She pulled up to the gate of my apartment complex and turned to look at me.

"Just give me seven months, Chloe. Hand over the baby, take your payout, and your mom stays at Meadowview. We all win. Let's keep it classy."

I opened the door and stepped out.

"And what if I don't want to be classy?"

Her lips curved into a perfectly rehearsed smile.

"Then you and your mother will lose everything."