Chapter 3

The Devil’s Bargain

Lora’s POV

The fluorescent bulbs in Dr. Chen’s office hummed, a high-pitched buzz that pierced my skull. I sat stiffly in the plastic chair, my fingernails digging crescents into my palms.

“Pregnant.”

The word lingered between us like smoke, thick and choking. My chest tightened. Each breath was shallow, uneven, like inhaling through a narrow straw.

“How long?” My voice felt foreign, detached, as if I were watching someone else speak.

“Three weeks,” Dr. Chen replied softly. His tone scraped against me like sandpaper. “Considering your response, I take it this was unintentional?”

Intentional?

 A bitter, wild laugh scraped my throat. My life had never followed any plan. The divorce. My mother’s illness. That night at Murphy’s Bar when I drowned myself in cheap whiskey and woke up in a stranger’s bed.

My hands instinctively rested on my stomach. Smooth, still familiar…something growing there, something I hadn’t wanted, something beyond my control.

“I want to abort.” The words ripped from me, abrupt and final. “I can’t… I can’t keep going.”

Dr. Chen clasped his hands on the desk, face calm, professional, detached. “If that’s your decision, Miss Jade, you’ll need to come tomorrow. Tests first. Consent forms…”

“Tomorrow.” I rose sharply. The chair scraped the floor, making my teeth ache. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

I staggered down the hospital corridor. The white walls closed in, suffocating me. Nurses moved past in muted scrubs, their voices muffled as though I were underwater. One more day, I thought. One more day, and this nightmare would end.

But I needed to see my mother.

The elevator ride felt like sinking into hell. My reflection stared back….hollow eyes, lifeless hair, shadows under my cheeks. A ghost of myself.

The doors opened with a ding. I forced my legs forward toward the billing office. My stomach twisted. What would they ask for this time? Five thousand? Ten? Money I didn’t have.

The clerk looked up, her hands hovering over the keyboard. And then…she smiled.

“I bring news.” She said, the smile growing wider on her face. 

“The balance on your mother’s account has been fully cleared. Every cost, including the operation scheduled this week, was paid.”

The world tilted. I grabbed the counter for support. “What? That can’t be right. Carla Jade. Room 412. Please verify.”

Her fingers tapped steadily. “Verified. Ten thousand dollars, settled completely three days ago.”

Ten thousand.

I could barely comprehend it. More than I earned in a year. More than I had ever seen at once.

“Who…who covered this?” My voice shook.

“The donor wishes to remain anonymous,” she said, sympathy evident in her eyes.

I stepped back. My mind raced. Someone had intervened. Someone had performed a miracle. But miracles didn’t exist…not for someone like me. Who?

The question trailed me home, into my quiet apartment, where I spent the night staring at a water-stained ceiling. Who did this? And what do they expect in return? Everything came at a cost. I knew that now.

Morning arrived too soon. My body felt like lead as I dragged myself out of bed. Meeting at ten. Three hours to determine if I could even proceed. Three hours to survive.

Clothes went on automatically—jeans, sweater, canvas jacket. My hands trembled as I tied my laces. I caught my reflection and quickly looked away.

The hospital was twenty minutes on foot. I moved through the streets like a sleepwalker, barely noticing life around me. Cars honked, people hurried. The world went on, indifferent to my unraveling.

I was halfway down the hallway when I collided with someone. Hard.

Strong hands steadied me. Solid. Familiar. Unsettling.

I looked up. It was him.

The man from Murphy’s Bar. The one I had tried to erase from memory. Tall, with sharp features and piercing ice-blue eyes that seemed to see every fragment of me. His suit screamed wealth. His hair, perfect. His presence…unmistakable.

“Miss Jade,” he said, calm, deliberate. “We need to discuss something.”

My mouth opened, closed. Nothing emerged. Heat flushed my cheeks. He knows. He knows I’m pregnant. The child…is his.

“Somewhere more private,” he said, releasing my shoulders but staying close. “The café across the street. Five minutes.”

It wasn’t a request.

I followed, paralyzed, heart hammering against my ribs. He was already seated, two cups of coffee waiting.

I sank into the chair opposite him, hands clenched in my lap.

“You covered my mother’s expenses.” I said, not a question but a statement.

“Yes.” He replied. 

One word. No explanation. No apology.

“Why?” I whispered. “Ten thousand dollars…how can I ever repay you?”

“I don’t want your money,” he said, gaze locked on mine, unflinching.

Then he leaned closer. “I want you to marry me.”

The words hit like a blow. My chair scraped the floor as I jolted back.

“What? You’re…crazy.”

“A contract marriage,” he said, calm. “Twelve months. Legal. Businesslike. You’ll receive fifty thousand dollars per month during the agreement.”

Fifty thousand? Per month?  My mind couldn’t even process the number.

“Why me?” I asked. “You could choose anyone. Why…”

“Because you need me.” His stare was sharp, hunting. “Your mother is dying. You have no money, no security, no future.”

“But, I lose my freedom? And myself?” I asked, not sure I even needed the freedom anyways. 

“Yes,” he said simply. “I’m buying your cooperation. Your obedience. One year of your life for security. Your mother gets the care she needs. You…” His eyes scanned me coldly. “…finally stop drowning.”

I held my belly, feeling the little life I hadn’t asked for. I saw my mother, fragile in her hospital bed. I saw the baby, condemned before it had begun. I saw myself, shattered and empty.

He extended a hand, palm up, across the table.

“One year, Lora,” he said. My name on his lips made me shiver. “Sign. Let me provide for you and your mother. Refuse, and I’ll leave you both to ruin.”

I stared at the hand, at the costly watch, the rough edges of a man who was more than wealth.

This was real. A lifeline. But the price…my freedom, my pride, my identity.

What’s left of those anyway?

I closed my eyes, shaking. Then I placed my hand over his.

His fingers closed around mine, firm, possessive.

“Yes,” I whispered. Dust on my tongue. “I’ll marry you. One year.”

His lips curved faintly. Almost a smile. “Welcome to the Grayson family, Mrs. Lora.”

The words felt like a rope tightening around my throat.