The Contract

The studio-like room she was taken to had white walls, a white floor, and a stark white screen stretched tight across one end. A softbox light glared from the corner, humming quietly. The atmosphere had shifted. It was no longer medical or clinical. It was something else, almost like a casting call. Or a lineup.

Dr. Strathmore had changed into a lab coat, her expression unreadable as she directed Lili to stand against the screen.

“Face forward first, please.”

The flash popped.

“Turn to your left.”

Another flash.

“Now to your right.”

Lili obeyed, trying not to fidget, trying not to think about how exposed she felt in her thrift store dress and scuffed flats. The poses weren’t suggestive, but they weren’t exactly flattering either. Something about the starkness of it made her feel less like a person and more like… a body. A product.

Still, she kept her chin lifted. If this was what it took to get out of debt, she could stand a few awkward photos.

When it was over, Dr. Strathmore gestured for her to follow. They moved efficiently through the next steps: a full physical exam, blood work, hormone panels, and an ultrasound. Lili answered dozens of questions about her health, her family, her menstrual cycles, her mental state.

The egg donation screening was standard, Dr. Strathmore explained. But since there was now interest in the private surrogacy arrangement, the clinic would run the full range of tests.

By the time it was all done, Lili felt wrung out. She sat on the edge of the exam table, legs dangling, pulse sluggish. Her arms ached from the blood draws, and she was starving.

She’d just pulled her dress back over her head when the doctor returned, her heels clicking lightly on the tile.

Dr. Strathmore held a large, heavy-looking folder in both hands.

“The client,” she said, “would like to proceed with an introduction.”

Lili blinked. “Really?”

The doctor gave a small nod. “As soon as possible.”

Relief bloomed in Lili’s chest like light flooding a locked room. “Okay. Yes. That’s—great.”

Dr. Strathmore didn’t smile. She set the folder on the counter between them.

“Are you available tomorrow morning?”

Lili nodded. “Yes. Absolutely.”

The doctor maintained her composure, her tone sharpening just slightly. “Then I need you to take the rest of today to read through this carefully.” She tapped the folder. “Non-disclosure agreement, several waivers and the contract. Standard, but thorough. You’ll need to sign it before any meeting takes place.”

Lili nodded again, reaching for the folder.

“Don’t skim it,” Dr. Strathmore added. “I mean it. Read every page. You need to understand exactly what you’re walking into.”

That gave her pause. “Is it… dangerous?”

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” the woman replied. “But it is unusual. And binding.”

Lili swallowed and clutched the folder tighter. “Okay.”

“At 9 a.m. tomorrow,” the doctor continued, “a black town car will be waiting outside your home. If you get in the car it's taken as agreement, and you must take the signed contract with you. If you don’t… no harm done.”

She nodded slowly. “Understood.”

Dr. Strathmore’s expression softened a fraction. “Go home, Miss Vale. Rest. Think. And if you’re ready… we’ll see you soon.”

Lili left the clinic clutching the folder to her chest, the city buzzing beyond the tinted glass doors. A strange mix of nerves and adrenaline coursed through her.

***

The elevator in her apartment building groaned like it resented being used. The walls were scuffed, the carpet threadbare. It was a far cry from the clinic’s serene elegance. Lili trudged down the hall, mail tucked under her arm. Mostly bills, all bad.

Her apartment was small and tidy, filled with secondhand furniture and string lights she’d hung to make it feel less like a box. She dropped the mail on the counter and started heating up leftover stir fry from two nights ago, already flipping through the envelope from the clinic.

The contract was thick. She curled up on the worn sofa with her food and began to read.

It started out as expected: non-disclosure clauses, exclusivity language, terms around confidentiality and anonymity.

Then it got weirder.

The First Parties reserve the right to withhold the aforementioned donation, or terminate the agreement at any time should the Third Party’s behavior be deemed unsatisfactory.

Unsatisfactory? According to who?

Penalties will be enforced in the case of tardiness, contract deviation, or the engagement of any sexual relationships outside the agreement period.

Lili blinked. “Seriously?” She frowned, rereading the clause.

In the event of early termination, the Third Party must submit to comprehensive pregnancy testing for a period of two months following final contact with the First Parties.

That felt… excessive.

And then: The Third Party must remain available on-call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, throughout the contract term.

“What?!” Lili sat up. “Do they expect me to quit my job?”

No. No, surely not. She could juggle that. If she explained to Janet, her manager at the flower shop, maybe she could get a flexible schedule. Mornings, weekends. Something.

She flipped the page and froze.

Initial compensation to be disbursed upon confirmation of agreement and receipt of the signed contract. Amounts to be confirmed.

Upfront payment. Her heartbeat quickened.

But then…

Required attire to be adhered to during all in-person meetings.

Lili stared. “What the hell?”

Maybe it was a medical thing. Some weird clinic policy? It had to be. She shook her head and flipped to the next section.

By the time she closed the folder, her food was cold and her brain ached. But the numbers were undeniable. That first check alone could erase a huge chunk of her debt.

She set her alarm.

The next morning, Lili stood in front of her closet, chewing her lip. Most of her skirts were buried at the back, but she found one. Soft grey, high-waisted, a little shorter than she usually wore, but it could pass as vintage from a distance. It hugged her hips and hit mid-thigh.

She threw on a crisp white button-up, the same one she usually wore to work at the florist, and checked herself in the mirror. It would do.

Just before 9 a.m., she stood by the window, folder in hand, watching for the car.

It was already waiting.