Chapter 2: A Contract Signed in Shadows

The contract was sixty-two pages long.

Cold. Clinical. Thorough. It laid out everything from hormone treatments to delivery options to financial disbursement dates. No names. No history. No human warmth. Just transactions.

Amara stared at it like it was a cliff edge.

Her hands, still slightly clammy from earlier, hovered over the first page. Somewhere in the fine print, her identity was reduced to “biological vessel.” Her body, a line item. Her role, a means to an end.

And that end was seated across from her. Liam Blackwood.

The same man who had once whispered her name like it was poetry. The man who now didn’t even recognize her voice.

He sat perfectly composed, his charcoal-gray suit pristine, not a wrinkle or thread out of place. He tapped his pen once, twice, then let it rest between his fingers like he was already bored.

There was no hesitation in his expression. Just casual disinterest, like he was finalizing a new real estate acquisition, not negotiating the terms of fatherhood.

“You’ve read the agreement?” he asked, voice flat and even.

Amara nodded. “Yes.”

Liam didn’t ask if she had questions. He didn’t offer her water. He didn’t ask her name.

She reached for the pen.

Line by line, she signed. Her signature curved neatly next to checkboxes and legalese that declared she had no parental rights, no post-delivery contact, and no emotional claim to the child growing inside her.

Only once did her hand pause — on the clause outlining psychological evaluations. “In the event that the surrogate displays signs of emotional attachment…” it read.

She blinked hard and signed anyway.

"For the record," Liam said, as she handed back the pen, "I wasn’t originally planning to use a surrogate. I wanted to wait. But my mother’s condition is… progressing. She wants to meet her grandchild before the end of the year.”

He said it without emotion. No crack in his voice. No grief. Just the cold precision of a man managing time like inventory.

Amara said nothing.

He didn’t know that her mother had died when she was thirteen. That her brother was fighting stage three lymphoma. That she’d spent the last four months choosing between overdue rent and food.

Instead, she nodded.

“You’ll receive the first payment within twenty-four hours,” he continued. “Your health insurance, housing stipend, and personal security detail will be arranged through my office.”

“Personal security?” she repeated, startled.

He finally looked at her — really looked. “You’ll be carrying a Blackwood heir. I don’t take chances.”

The way he said it made her skin prickle.

She looked back down at the signed contract. Her name now sat alongside his on the final page. It felt surreal. Final. Binding.

“This is just a transaction,” she whispered to herself.

He must’ve heard her.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Exactly.”

He rose to his feet and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve like the meeting had concluded. “My assistant will contact you with your schedule. I expect punctuality and discretion.”

Amara stood too fast. Her knee bumped the edge of the table and her chair squeaked loudly as it scraped against the polished floor. Liam didn’t flinch.

She hated that.

He was already walking to the door when she blurted, “Wait.”

He paused and turned slightly, one eyebrow raised. “Yes?”

“You said you weren’t planning to use a surrogate. Why…” she hesitated. “Why me?”

Liam tilted his head a fraction. For the first time, she saw something flicker in his eyes — interest? Calculation? It vanished too quickly to identify.

“I trust Dr. Ahn’s judgment. She said your file stood out. Healthy. Quiet. No complications. Clean record.” He paused. “And you agreed not to ask questions.”

Right. Of course.

Because she was the ideal candidate on paper — not because she was a person, not because she once mattered.

Amara forced a smile. “Of course.”

He gave a curt nod and left without looking back.

The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled around her like a weight.

She sat back down, suddenly exhausted. Her body folded forward slightly, her elbows resting on the table as she pressed her fingers to her forehead.

This was real now.

She had signed away every right to a child that hadn’t even been conceived yet. And the father—Liam—had no idea she had once meant something to him. That five years ago, they had tangled sheets and whispered names and shared something that, to her, had never stopped echoing.

He didn’t remember. And she hadn’t reminded him.

A buzzing sound broke the silence — her phone vibrating in her purse. Probably the hospital billing office again. Or her landlord. Or her brother asking if she had eaten.

She didn’t check it.

If she looked at anything right now, she might fall apart.

Because the truth was this: she was walking into a lie and calling it salvation.

She told herself it was just nine months. A heartbeat on loan. A second chance to rewrite the story for someone else, even if her chapter with Liam had ended before it ever began.

But deep down, beneath the cool exterior she had forced herself to wear, Amara knew this wouldn’t stay clean.

Not with Liam.

Not with her history.

And definitely not with a secret this big.