IVF

Skyler

Now, before you misunderstand that last statement, let me make something clear.

Bri Tylan is the love of my life.

She has been for as long as I can remember.

Bri and I have known each other since we were teenagers. We grew up as neighbours, and our families were familiar with each other long before either of us understood what it meant to fall in love.

Bri practically had unrestricted access to our home. She would walk in without announcing herself, raid our kitchen, complain about whatever was bothering her and somehow convince everyone that she had done us a favour simply by showing up.

I used to pretend she was a nuisance.

She knew I was lying.

We became friends first. Then best friends. The sort of friends who knew each other’s habits, fears and embarrassing childhood stories. She knew when I was angry even when I said nothing. She knew when I needed space and when I needed someone to stay.

When things were difficult, Bri was there.

When I had something worth celebrating, she was there too.

Somewhere along the way, our friendship changed. It wasn’t a sudden declaration or some dramatic moment in the rain. It was a gradual realisation that the person I wanted to tell everything to was also the person I couldn’t imagine spending my life without.

By the time we reached college, I knew what I wanted.

I remember the evening I asked her to be with me. We’d spent the better part of the day arguing about something completely insignificant. I can’t even remember what it was now. What I remember is sitting beside her afterwards, watching her talk, and thinking that I could listen to that voice for the rest of my life.

So I told her.

I told her I didn’t want us to keep pretending that we were simply friends. I told her I wanted a future with her, not a temporary arrangement or a relationship that would eventually become another memory.

I wanted everything.

She laughed at me first. Then she cried. Then she kissed me.

And that was that.

We grew together. We built a life together. We had our disagreements, our difficult periods and the occasional argument that lasted longer than either of us cared to admit. But through it all, Bri remained my favourite person.

Five years ago, I married her.

If someone had asked me then what I wanted from life, I would have given them a remarkably simple answer.

A successful company. A peaceful home. Bri beside me.

I had no interest in making our marriage a public spectacle. I didn’t need the world to understand what we had. I knew it, and she knew it. That was enough.

So why didn’t I tell her I was awake?

It wasn’t because I didn’t trust her. I couldn’t imagine a world in which I deliberately withheld something this important from the woman I loved without a reason.

But this situation was different.

If I told Bri, she would inevitably become part of the investigation. Even if she promised to remain silent, one careless remark, one unusual reaction or one misplaced conversation could expose everything.

And if the person behind the accident discovered that I was awake, they might decide that the easiest way to eliminate the problem was to eliminate everyone close to me.

I wasn’t prepared to take that risk.

The same applied to my mother.

Mrs Tylan has never been a woman who takes kindly to uncertainty, particularly when it concerns her family. She is protective, sometimes excessively so, and I know what my condition has done to her. The thought of adding the burden of this investigation to everything she’s already carrying is something I’d rather avoid.

I will tell them when I can guarantee their safety.

Until then, they have to believe what everyone else believes.

That their son and husband is still lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

There is, however, one issue that has complicated my marriage for some time.

Bri and I have been trying to have a child.

For five years, we’ve hoped, waited and tried again. We’ve had consultations, medical examinations and more difficult conversations than either of us ever anticipated having.

Eventually, we received the diagnosis.

I am medically capable of fathering a child. Bri, however, has a fertility condition that makes conceiving and carrying a pregnancy impossible.

It wasn’t easy for either of us to accept.

I remember how quiet she became after the final consultation. She tried to reassure me, insisting that we could explore other options and that it didn’t have to change anything between us.

But I knew her.

I knew how much she wanted to be a mother.

And I knew how much it hurt her to feel that she couldn’t give us the family we’d imagined.

We discussed alternatives, but I never wanted her to feel that she had failed me. She hadn’t. Not once.

I married Bri because I wanted her, not because I expected her to produce an heir.

Unfortunately, not everyone in my family shares that understanding.

My mother has never been particularly fond of Bri.

She’s never openly admitted to wanting our marriage to end, but she has made her reservations known on several occasions. She believes there’s something about Bri that doesn’t sit right with her. She’s described her as dishonest, questioned her intentions and suggested that her family background has something to do with her interest in me.

Bri’s family is wealthy in their own right. They’re not strangers to the world we occupy, so I’ve never understood my mother’s fixation on the possibility that she’s a social climber.

I’ve defended my wife every single time.

I know Bri. I know the woman I grew up with, the woman I fell in love with and the woman I chose to marry. My mother’s suspicions have never been enough to make me question that choice.

At least, not until the accident.

When the doctors initially explained that I might remain unconscious for an extended period, my mother began considering the future of the company.

I understand her concern.

The Tylan family has spent generations building its business empire. Ty​lan Holdings isn’t simply a collection of companies; it’s a legacy, an institution with interests across several industries and a succession structure that cannot be left to uncertainty.

I am the expected successor.

If I were to remain incapacitated indefinitely, the question of who would inherit my position would become increasingly complicated.

My mother wasn’t wishing me dead. She was preparing for the possibility that I might not recover in time to fulfil my responsibilities.

And in her mind, one thing was non-negotiable.

The Tylan family needed an heir.

If I couldn’t take control of the company, my child would eventually have to carry that responsibility.

That was how the Heir Programme came into existence.

A confidential arrangement designed to identify a suitable woman who could undergo fertility treatment and carry my child.

My mother was determined to find someone healthy, medically suitable and willing to enter into a contractual agreement. The selection process would involve background checks, psychological assessments, fertility examinations and several other evaluations.

The woman would receive substantial compensation, carry the child and, after fulfilling the agreement, be free to leave with her payment.

A business arrangement.

Clinical. Structured. Transactional.

I wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about it.

In fact, I hated the idea.

If I couldn’t have a child with Bri, I had no desire to have one with another woman. I wasn’t interested in creating a family outside my marriage simply because the company required an heir.

But I was also lying in a hospital bed, pretending to be a man who couldn’t open his eyes.

I couldn’t exactly march into my mother’s office and tell her to abandon the programme.

Besides, I had no intention of allowing the company to become vulnerable because of my medical condition. I understood the responsibility attached to my position, even if I disagreed with the methods being used to secure its future.

The programme was expensive.

My mother had allocated fifty million dollars for the entire arrangement. To anyone outside our financial circle, that would be an extraordinary sum. Within the context of the Tylan family’s wealth and the scale of what was at stake, however, it was a manageable expenditure.

Money had never been the obstacle.

The arrangement itself was.

The selected woman’s eggs would be used alongside my sperm, with IVF to create an embryo that she would carry. It was a decision my mother had already made, and the medical and legal teams were working through the details.

And while my mother was busy securing the future of the Tylan family, I was trying to uncover the person who had nearly taken mine away.

There were too many unanswered questions.

Too many people with access to information they shouldn’t have had.

And one thing I knew with absolute certainty:

Whoever had arranged my accident had not acted alone.

I intended to find every person involved.

But first, I needed to understand the decisions being made in my name.

The heir programme was already underway.