Chapter 5

For three days, I hid the pill under my tongue and spat it down the toilet whenever they weren't looking.

Seeing me "docile" from the meds, Ethan happily reported to Victoria: "She’s stable. Dr. Carter's prescription is working."

On the fourth day, a black SUV arrived to pick me up.

"Victoria wants you at a private gathering to meet some friends," the driver said.

Ethan opened the car door for me, whispering, "Don't say anything stupid."

The gathering was at a VIP lounge in a private club. Crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows, and plates of high-end molecular gastronomy.

Five women were seated around a long table, all dressed in designer outfits.

Victoria sat at the head of the table. When she saw me, she got up and wrapped her arm around mine.

"Everyone, let me introduce her," she said, looking around the room. "This is our carrier. Her medical stats are perfect. I had to screen over a dozen candidates before finding her."

She patted my shoulder, like a breeder showing off a prize horse.

The woman sitting closest to me reached out and touched my stomach.

"Oh, Victoria, you have such good taste. Narrow waist, wide pelvis. She’s built for easy labor."

"How far along is she?"

"Almost nine weeks," Victoria answered for me. "The numbers are beautiful. Dr. Carter says she's exceeding expectations."

They talked about me like I was a piece of fine art on display. They critiqued my skin, guessed my diet, and asked Victoria how much she was paying for a "vessel" like me.

I sat there, gripping the edge of my chair, saying nothing.

Halfway through, I excused myself to use the restroom.

Just as I reached the door of the powder room, I heard Victoria’s voice coming from the adjacent lounge.

She was on a call. The door was cracked open.

"I had Dr. Carter manipulate the parameters for the first three runs. He kept the embryo viability under thirty percent. The implantation rate was practically zero."

My feet glued themselves to the tile floor.

"Exactly. We only used the premium batch on the fourth try. I needed her to suffer a few failures first. It breaks their spirit, makes them desperate and grateful. When it finally succeeds, they think it's a miracle... No, Adrian doesn't know. He thinks we went through a legitimate agency in California."

I threw my hand over my mouth.

Three times. Three years.

The terror of being wheeled into the OR, the despair of seeing a single line, the nights I spent crying until I threw up in the bathtub—it was all a setup.

It wasn't because my body was broken. It was because she wanted me to suffer. She was testing my breaking point, breaking my spirit until she knew I was completely broken before she implanted the real embryo.

Quality control.

She wasn't just controlling the embryo. She was controlling me.

She was grinding my soul into dust until I was completely obedient.

I backed away down the hallway and slid down the wall to the floor. I was shivering, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

When I returned to the lounge, Victoria had already hung up. She noticed my pale face and squinted slightly, but her smile returned instantly.

"You look pale, dear. Should I have the driver take you home?"

I didn't answer. My eyes fell on a dark blue designer coat hanging on the rack next to her. The initials *AV* were embroidered inside the collar. Adrian's coat. This was a private club; Adrian probably came here often.

A business card was sticking out of the pocket.

As I walked past the rack, my fingers darted out.

I slipped the card into my sleeve.

That night, Ethan fell asleep early. His phone was charging on the nightstand, face down.

I lay in the dark for a long time. Once his breathing became deep and heavy, I slipped out of bed.

The card in my palm was sweaty and crumpled. It had Adrian’s private number on it.

I grabbed Ethan's phone. I pressed my thumb to the sensor—he had registered my print as a backup years ago and had forgotten to remove it.

I opened Snapchat. I searched for Adrian’s name. Their last message was from three days ago. Ethan had sent: *“Everything is on track. Don't worry.”*

I quickly typed a message:

*“Mr. Vance, this is Chloe, Ethan’s wife. Victoria is using my womb to carry your child without my consent. Please help me.”*

Sent.

Delete chat history.

I put the phone back exactly as it was.

I crawled back into bed, my heart hammering against my ribs.

Ten minutes later, the screen lit up in the dark.