Carrying The Billionaire's Child

Three weeks ago

Sebastian Vale hated hospitals.

They smelled of antiseptic and hopelessness, two things he had spent his entire adult life eliminating from his world. But Richard Chen was dying, and Richard Chen was the only man who had ever believed in him when he had nothing.

So Sebastian came.

He walked through the sterile corridors of Metropolitan Hospital's cancer ward, his presence drawing stares from nurses and patients alike. People always stared. Wealth had that effect, it made you impossible to ignore.

“Mr. Vale.” A nurse nodded respectfully as he passed.

He didn't acknowledge her. His attention had snagged on something else entirely.

A girl sat in the waiting area outside the oncology wing, reading aloud to an elderly man in a wheelchair. Her voice was soft, patient, and she smiled as she turned the page, a real smile, not the calculated ones Sebastian saw at every business dinner and charity gala.

The old man was scowling. “That's a terrible book.”

“ You said that about the last three books, Mr. Peterson,”  the girl replied gently.

“Because they were all terrible.”

She laughed, and the sound was… unexpected. Light. Genuine.

Sebastian found himself slowing.

The girl looked tired. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her clothes were worn but clean, carefully maintained. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and continued reading, undeterred by the old man's complaints.

“Who is that?” Sebastian asked the nurse who had greeted him.

The nurse followed his gaze. “Oh, that's Elara. Elara Moore. She volunteers here a few times a week. Reads to the patients, brings them books from the library. Her mother is on this floor too, so she… well, she stays close.”

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. “Her mother.”

“Cancer,” the nurse said quietly. “Stage four. The girl works two jobs, volunteers here in between. It's… sad, really. She's so young.”

Sebastian watched as Elara stood, carefully adjusting the blanket over the old man's legs even as he grumbled at her. There was something about the way she moved, gentle but exhausted, kind but breaking.

He drove  the image away and continued to Richard's room.

But later, as he left the hospital, he saw her again.

She stood near the vending machines, phone pressed to her ear, her free hand clenched into a tight fist. Her smile was gone. In its place was something raw and desperate.

“Yes, I understand,” she said quietly into the phone. “Thank you for your time.”

The call ended.

For a long moment, she simply stared at the dark screen, her shoulders sagging.

Sebastian recognized that posture. He had worn it himself once, years ago, when every door had slammed in his face.

Desperation.

She slid down the wall and sat on the cold hospital floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Around her, the hospital moved on without pause. 

No one stopped. No one noticed.

No one but Sebastian.

He pulled out his phone and made a call.

“I need information on someone,” he said. “Elara Moore. She volunteers at Metropolitan Hospital.”

His assistant didn't ask why. “I'll have it by tomorrow.”

Sebastian ended the call and looked back at the girl one last time.

She was still sitting there, alone, invisible to everyone around her.

Something about that image stayed with him longer than it should have.

Present Day 

Elara learned very early that being good did not always pay off.

It only meant people felt entitled to take advantage of her, all the time.

She stood in the same hospital corridor where she had sat three weeks ago, phone pressed to her ear, listening to another polite rejection.

“We've decided to go with another candidate,” the woman on the other end said. “But we appreciate your interest.”

“Thank you,” Elara whispered, though the words tasted bitter.

That made five.

Five interviews. Five hopeful smiles. Five rejections.

She ended the call and stared at the blank screen, waiting foolishly for it to light up again. For someone to call back and say there had been a mistake. That someone had finally chosen her.

Nothing happened.

Her reflection stared back at her from the darkened phone screen, pale, hollow-eyed, barely recognizable.

The surgery was scheduled for next week. The hospital had been patient, but patience had limits. Without the payment confirmed by tonight, her mother's name would be removed from the surgical list.

Tonight.

Elara closed her eyes and she tried to breathe through the panic.

She had sold everything she owned. She had begged. She had applied for loans she would never qualify for. She had done everything except the one thing she had sworn she would never do.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

Elara frowned and opened the message.

Unknown: I hear you're looking for money.

Her breath caught. She glanced around the empty corridor, suddenly paranoid.

Elara: Who is this?

The response came immediately

Unknown: Someone who can solve your problem. Meet me tonight. Grand Vale Hotel. 9 p.m.

Another message followed.

Come alone.

Every instinct warned her to ignore it. But desperation was louder than fear.

And desperation made her reply.

Elara: How do I know this isn't a scam?

Unknown: Check your account.

Elara's hands shook as she opened her banking app.

A deposit notification stared back at her.

$5,000 - Pending

Her heart stopped.

Unknown: Consider it a down payment. Come tonight, and I'll transfer the rest. Don't come, and I'll reverse it.

Elara stared at the screen until her vision blurred.

Five thousand dollars. Just for showing up.

It was too much. Too easy. Too dangerous.

But her mother was dying.

At nine o'clock, Elara stood in the lobby of the Grand Vale Hotel, clutching her worn handbag like armor. Everything around her gleamed marble floors, crystal chandeliers, people dressed in luxury.

She didn't belong here.

A waiter in a crisp uniform approached. “Miss Moore?”

She flinched. “Yes.”

“This way, please.”

He led her through the lobby, past curious stares, into a private lounge. The door closed behind her with a quiet click.

The man waiting inside stood when she entered.

Elara's breath caught.

He was tall, dressed entirely in black, his presence commanding and cold. Dark eyes swept over her, assessing, calculating, unreadable.

She knew that face.

Sebastian Vale.

Everyone knew that face.

“You're late,” he said.

*I'm sorry,” Elara whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Sit.”

She sat.

Sebastian remained standing for a moment, studying her with the same intensity she had seen in photographs of a billionaire, self-made, ruthless. The man who had built an empire from nothing and crushed anyone who stood in his way.

Why was he here?

“My name is Sebastian Vale,” he said, though she already knew. “I don’t like wasting time, so I will be direct.”

Elara's hand twisted in her lap.

“I know about your mother,” he continued evenly. “I know her condition. I know how much the surgery costs. And I know you don’t have the money.”

Heat rushed to Elara’s face. “How did you…”

“I make it my business to know things,” Sebastian added. “No repayment. The money is yours.”

She could barely breathe. “What's the catch?”

His expression didn't change. “You spend the night with me.”

The room tilted.

Elara stood abruptly, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “No.”

Sebastian remained seated, calm. “Sit down.”

“I won't…” Her voice cracked. “I won't sell myself.”

“Everyone sells something,” Sebastian replied coolly. “You’re just pretending you don’t.”

Tears burned behind her eyes. “There has to be another way.”

“There isn't”. His tone was final. “You have already tried everything else. That's why you're here.”

Elara's hands shook. “Why me?”

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes, too quick to name.

“Because you need the money,” he said simply. “And I need…” He trailed off, then finished, “Company.”

It was a lie. She could hear it in the pause.

But she was drowning, and he was offering her a lifeline made of poison.

“I need time,” she whispered.

Sebastian checked his watch. “You have until midnight. After that, the offer is gone.”