“I’ll pay you to carry my child. No names. No attachments.” Amara agrees to be a surrogate to save her brother’s life. She doesn’t expect the client to be Liam Blackwood—the cold billionaire who stole her heart in college and forgot her face. Now, she’s carrying his child while hiding a past he doesn’t remember. But secrets have a way of unraveling, and Liam’s getting closer to the truth… One contract. One baby. One chance to rewrite everything.
View MoreIt wasn’t the kind of clinic you found on G****e.
No website. No sign. No receptionist offering lemon water in glass tumblers. Just a private elevator in the back of a boutique office building, and a text message containing a code. Amara paused outside the consultation room, fingers white-knuckling the strap of her purse. Her stomach twisted. She’d rehearsed at least a dozen ways to turn back. But they all unraveled the moment she remembered the voicemail: "If your brother’s chemo isn’t paid by Friday, we’ll have no choice but to stop treatment." That was it. That was all it took to cross the line between survival and sacrifice. The door opened with a soft hiss. A tall woman in a white coat and wire-rimmed glasses stepped into the hallway. Her expression was clinical. Not cold, just… detached. Like she'd seen a hundred women in Amara’s position and didn’t need to remember any of their names. “You’re here for the surrogacy consultation?” the doctor asked. Amara nodded, her voice locked in her throat. She didn’t know what she expected—maybe something colder. A steel hallway. A sterile clipboard. But the room was warm. Soft lighting, gold sconces, and walls lined with deep mahogany panels gave the illusion of comfort. Like someone had tried to make desperation look luxurious. She sat alone for five minutes. The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to measure each second of her dignity. The doctor returned, no smile in sight. “Anonymous arrangement. No contact after delivery. Full medical coverage. Payment wired in four phases. Do you consent to the terms?” Amara exhaled slowly. “I do,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. The doctor tapped her tablet. “Then meet the intended father.” The words barely registered before the door behind her opened. She turned. And the air left her lungs. He walked in like he owned the oxygen in the room—and he probably did. Tall, clean-cut, with a charcoal-gray suit that looked like it was tailored by hand. His jawline was sharp enough to be dangerous. But it was his eyes that stunned her—the same stormy gray eyes she hadn’t forgotten since that night five years ago. No. It couldn’t be. Liam Blackwood. Billionaire. CEO of Blackwood Industries. And the man who took her virginity in a one-night mistake that felt like fate... until he forgot she existed. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She froze, praying he wouldn’t recognize her. But he didn’t. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t know. He took two steps closer and extended his hand, cool and formal. “I’m Liam,” he said. “I assume you’ve read the contract?” She felt like the floor might give out beneath her. This wasn’t happening. Not him. Not now. Amara swallowed hard and reached out. She had to lie. She had no choice. “Yes,” she said. “And I accept the terms.” Their hands touched. It was nothing. A shake. A formality. But her skin remembered more than it should have. The warmth of his body. The roughness of his jaw against her neck. The sound of his breath when he whispered her name like it was sacred. Except… he didn’t even remember her name. “I’ll leave you to finalize the paperwork,” the doctor said, oblivious, before slipping out again. The silence was thick. Amara pulled her hand away and turned toward the tablet, scrolling through the clauses. She couldn’t read a single word. Everything blurred. Liam crossed the room and leaned against the windowsill, his profile clean and unreadable. He hadn’t changed. If anything, he looked sharper. More put-together. Like success had carved away anything soft. “Is this your first surrogacy?” he asked, voice like polished steel. She nodded again, careful not to speak too much. Her voice might crack, or worse, betray her. He seemed satisfied. “I expect privacy and discretion. The media doesn’t need to know about this arrangement, and I don’t like surprises.” Too late for that, she thought bitterly. Her phone buzzed in her bag. She didn’t check it. She couldn’t afford to feel anything right now—not fear, not rage, and definitely not the heat crawling up her spine from being near him again. Because no matter how calm she looked on the outside, Amara was back in that motel room—seventeen, wide-eyed, breathless, and stupidly in love with a man who vanished before the sun came up. He’d called her beautiful. He’d kissed her like he meant it. Then he disappeared without a name, a number, or a second glance. But now? Now she’d be the stranger carrying his heir.Liam had never visited his father unannounced before.But then again, nothing about their relationship had ever followed normal rules. It was always a slow collision—one giving, the other withdrawing. When he rang the bell to Elliot Blackwood’s estate just outside the city, the silence before the door opened felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.Elliot answered in a robe, half-asleep, holding a mug of black coffee and a tablet in the other hand.“Liam,” he said, clearly surprised. “To what do I owe the Sunday apocalypse?”“I need a name.”Elliot’s brow furrowed. “You’re not here for a visit?”“No.”A long pause. Elliot opened the door wider.“Then come in.”---Inside, the house smelled of cigar smoke and cedar. The kind of place that aged in mahogany and secrets.Liam paced while Elliot sat and watched.“You worked with Sebastian Vale, didn’t you?” Liam asked.E
The rain came without warning—soft at first, then steady, cloaking the city in a blur of silver. Inside Liam’s penthouse, the windows fogged gently, muting the skyline like a painting behind frosted glass.Amara sat on the floor of the nursery, a half-assembled crib beside her, screws scattered like crumbs. She wasn’t crying, but her hands shook every time she tried to pick up the Allen key. Liam had offered to build it. She said she wanted to do it herself.She wasn’t sure why.Footsteps padded softly across the hall. Liam leaned against the doorway, watching her in silence for a few seconds before kneeling beside her.“You okay?” he asked.She exhaled through her nose, still not looking up. “Why does building a crib feel harder than surviving a toxic relationship?”Liam smiled faintly. “Because this one matters.”She nodded slowly, fingers curling into her lap. “I was thinking… we never really talked about what he did.
The silence between Amara and Liam had changed. It wasn’t heavy with dread anymore—it was taut with possibility. Like walking barefoot on cracked glass. Each word, each glance, a test of how much weight their fragile truth could hold.The morning sun streamed through the sheer curtains, casting slow-moving shadows on the bedroom floor. Amara sat cross-legged on the bed, sketching absentmindedly in the corner of a worn notebook. She hadn’t picked it up in weeks. The lines were hesitant but alive.Liam entered with two mugs of tea, one hand steady, the other wrapped around the chipped ceramic like it anchored him.“I made the mint one for you,” he said softly, offering it to her.She took it with a quiet nod. “Thanks.”He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he hovered, unsure, then slowly lowered himself to the floor, his back to the bed.They sipped in silence for a moment. Amara watched the steam curl upward and disappear.“
Amara had always known silence could scream. But tonight, it was whispering.The lights were dimmed in Liam’s penthouse. She sat at the kitchen table, mug of mint tea untouched, staring at the window. Not through it—at it. At her reflection. Hair pulled back, dark circles under her eyes, skin paler than usual. Pregnancy fatigue had nothing on emotional fatigue.Her phone buzzed once. Then again.She didn’t want to look.It buzzed a third time.Liam was in the other room talking to the security team, trying to triple-check the apartment’s privacy settings. The last time he let his guard down, someone ended up dead. And Amara almost lost herself.She picked up the phone.Unknown number.Her heart beat faster.The text read: "You can hide in his arms, but you can't outrun what you gave away."Bile rose in her throat.She stared at the words. Then deleted the message. Not out of denial—but
Amara hadn’t left the bed all day.The curtains were drawn, the room dim, cloaked in the dull hush of late afternoon. Her phone vibrated twice, then went still again. She didn’t check it. Couldn’t. Not yet.The nausea wasn’t new. Neither was the fatigue. But the weight on her chest this time had nothing to do with the baby growing inside her. It was guilt. Tangled and dense.She curled on her side and placed a hand on her stomach. Eight weeks, maybe nine. The first trimester was almost over, but she felt more off-balance now than she had when she first learned about the pregnancy. And today—today, it felt different. As if her body was trying to speak louder than she’d let it.When the knock came, she thought about pretending to be asleep.But Liam didn’t wait. He opened the door quietly, stepping in like a man walking into a sacred space he no longer owned."You okay?" he asked gently.Amara nodded but didn’t turn. "Just tired."He sat beside her on the edge of the bed. "Is it the pre
Amara stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror of the hospital, fingers gripping the edge of the sink. Her eyes were bloodshot, dark circles blooming like shadows beneath them. She hadn’t slept. Not really. Not since the chapel. Not since the envelope.She splashed water on her face. It did nothing to steady her.The reflection didn’t lie—she was fraying. Bit by bit. She was supposed to be the strong one. The one who could compartmentalize, push through. For Max. For Liam. For the baby.But the truth was that she was barely holding it together.She dried her face and walked back into Max’s room.He was awake.“Hey,” she said softly, managing a smile.“Hey,” he croaked, his voice weak. “You look like you fought a war.”She pulled up a chair beside him. “I think I’m still in one.”He gave a small grin, then winced. “You don’t have to stay here all day, Mara. I’m good. Just tired.”“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”He hesitated. “Liam came earlier.”“I know.”“He told me..
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