Blood and consequences

I wake up in Angelo Cross’s bed, and I’m covered in blood.My hands are shaking as I lift them to the dim morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Red. Dark red. Too much of it. It’s on my palms, under my fingernails, soaked into the white silk sheets beneath me.I’m six months pregnant. The baby, our baby kicks hard against my ribs like she knows something’s wrong.My shoulder throbs with pain that makes my vision blur. I touch it carefully and feel the rough edge of bandages wrapped tight around torn skin. A gunshot wound. Someone shot me.But I don’t remember how I got here.I don’t remember whose blood this is.The penthouse is silent except for the sound of my breathing too fast, too loud, panicked. Angelo’s side of the bed is empty but still warm. He was here recently. Close enough to touch. Close enough to kill.Did he do this to me?No. That doesn’t feel right. Angelo’s many things cold, ruthless, dangerous but he wouldn’t hurt the baby. Our baby. Would he?My phone sits on the nightstand, screen cracked like someone stepped on it. I reach for it with trembling fingers and see the date: November 15th. Three days from now is the gala. The night everything is supposed to end.But something went wrong.Something went horribly, violently wrong.I need to think. I need to remember. But my head feels stuffed with cotton and my thoughts keep slipping away like water through my fingers.The last thing I remember clearly is three months ago. Standing in a coffee shop, desperate and broke, when a handsome stranger with a cruel smile offered me half a million dollars to destroy his brother.That stranger was Austin Cross.His brother is the man whose bed I’m currently bleeding in.And I said yes._ _ _ _ THREE MONTHS EARLIERThe hospital smells like death and disinfectant.I hate it here. Hate the fluorescent lights that make everyone look like corpses, hate the machines that beep like countdown timers, hate the way the nurses look at me with pity because they know we can’t afford another round of treatment.Mom, Linda is asleep in her bed, so thin I can see the shape of her skull beneath papery skin. Stage four. Cancer is winning. We’re running out of time and money and miracles.My phone buzzes. Another debt collector. I silence it and add their number to the list of people I’m avoiding. The list is getting long.“Mia Lawrence?”I look up. A man stands in the doorway of the hospital room, and he doesn’t belong here. Designer suit that probably costs more than my rent, dark hair styled perfectly, smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Handsome in a dangerous way, like a knife wrapped in silk.“Who’s asking?” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake Mom.“Austin Cross.” He extends his hand. I don’t shake it. “I have a business proposition for you. Can we talk somewhere private?”Every instinct screams that this man is trouble. But I'm having trouble wearing an expensive watch, and my bank account has seventeen dollars in it.“Five minutes,” I say.We ended up at a coffee shop three blocks from the hospital. Austin buys me a latte I don’t drink and slides a folder across the table.“My brother is Angelo Cross. You might have heard of him.”I have. Everyone has. Billionaire CEO, ruthless businessman, the kind of man who destroys companies before breakfast. His face is on magazine covers and business articles. Cold gray eyes and a reputation for being untouchable.“What does this have to do with me?”“He needs a surrogate.” Austin’s smile sharpens. “Someone to carry his child for nine months. The pay is excellent fifty thousand monthly, plus five hundred thousand at birth.”My heart stutters. That kind of money would save Mom. Pay off every bill. Give us time.“Why me?”“Because you’re perfect. Smart, beautiful, desperate enough to say yes but not so desperate you’ll ask questions.” Austin leans forward. “And because I need someone close to him. Someone who can get me information.”There it is. The catch.“You want me to spy on your own brother?”“I want you to help me take back what he stole from me. Our father left everything to Angelo, the company, the money, the legacy. I got nothing.” His voice turns bitter. “Help me destroy him, and you get the money. All of it. Your mother lives. You walk away clean.”I should say no. Should throw the coffee in his face and walk away.Instead, I hear myself ask, “What kind of information?”Austin’s smile is pure victory. “Financial records. Passwords. Business deals. Anything I can use to prove he’s been cooking the books, stealing from shareholders. Once I have evidence, I’ll take him down legally. You’ll be long gone by then.”“And if I get caught?”“You won’t. Angelo’s too arrogant to suspect anyone. He thinks he’s untouchable.” Austin pulls out his phone and shows me a bank transfer screen. “Say yes, and I’ll wire you fifty thousand tonight. Enough for your mother’s next treatment. All you have to do is sign his surrogate contract and get close.”I look at the number on his screen. Fifty thousand dollars. A lifeline.“I need to think about it.”“You have twenty-four hours.” Austin stands, straightening his suit. “After that, the offer expires. And Mia?” He pauses at the door. “Your mother has about three months without treatment. Maybe less. Think fast.”He leaves me sitting there with cold coffee and a choice that feels like selling my soul.My phone rings. The hospital. Mom’s coding.I run._ _ _ _ _By the time I reach her room, the nurses have stabilized her. But the doctor pulls me aside with the look that means bad news.“We need to start the next round immediately. Without it, she has weeks. Maybe a month.”“How much?”“Eighty thousand for the full treatment.”I close my eyes. I don’t have eighty thousand. I don’t have eight hundred.That night, I text Austin Cross: *I’m in.*The money hits my account at midnight. I stare at the number on my screen fifty thousand dollars and feel something inside me crack.I don’t know it yet, but I’ve just made a deal with the devil.And his brother is so much worse.Three days later, I’m sitting in Angelo Cross’s office for the surrogate interview, and the moment he sees me, his eyes lock onto the heart-shaped birthmark on my left ear.His smile is slow and terrifying.“Perfect,” he says. “You’re exactly who I’ve been looking for.”I have no idea what he means.But I’m about to find out.