Surrogate for My Cold-Hearted Ex

Maya Rivers pressed her palms flat against the chipped wooden counter, forcing her hands to stay still even though they trembled. The faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the hospital corridor behind her, clinging to her clothes like an unwelcome shadow.

She hated hospitals. Hated the endless waiting, the white walls, the tired faces. But most of all, she hated watching her sister grow weaker every day.

“Miss Rivers?” The receptionist called her name, glancing up with a polite but practiced smile. “You can go in now.”

Maya inhaled slowly, gathering her courage before she stepped into the small, glass-walled office. A woman in her forties sat behind a sleek desk, her navy-blue suit too sharp, too pressed, as though she never once had to worry about laundry piling up or overdue bills waiting on the table.

“Please, have a seat,” the woman said smoothly. “I’m Mrs. Grant. I handle client–surrogate contracts for the agency.”

Maya sat down, folding her hands in her lap to keep from fidgeting. Her throat felt dry, but she forced herself to nod. She couldn’t afford nerves. Not now.

“You understand the terms, yes?” Mrs. Grant slid a file toward her. “Our intended parents are always high-profile individuals, so anonymity is critical. You will not know their names. They will not know yours. Your only role is to carry the child and, upon birth, relinquish all parental rights. In return, you’ll be compensated very generously.”

The words sounded rehearsed, as though Mrs. Grant had said them a hundred times before. But to Maya, they weren’t just words. They were oxygen. They were hope.

She thought of Emily, her younger sister, lying in that hospital bed upstairs. Just twenty-five years old, but cancer had stolen her hair, her strength, her laughter. The treatments worked, but the bills were endless. Insurance only covered so much.

Maya had already sold her car, maxed out her credit cards, and given up her teaching job to care for Emily full-time. She was drowning, and this—this contract—was her lifeline.

“Yes, I understand,” Maya said, her voice steadier than she felt.

Mrs. Grant studied her for a moment, as if measuring her resolve. “It isn’t an easy path, Miss Rivers. Pregnancy comes with risks. Emotional attachment is the most dangerous of all. That’s why we require this confidentiality.”

“I won’t get attached,” Maya promised quickly, though the words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She wasn’t sure she believed them. How could you not love a life growing inside you?

Still, she would do it. For Emily.

Mrs. Grant handed her a pen. “Then sign here, and we’ll begin the medical process immediately.”

The pen felt heavy in Maya’s hand. For a second, she hesitated. This was more than a contract—it was a choice that would change her life forever.

She imagined Emily smiling again, free from tubes and pain. That vision was enough. She pressed the pen to paper, scrawling her name across the line.

“Maya Rivers.”

Her stomach tightened the moment the ink dried, but Mrs. Grant’s approving nod gave her no chance to second-guess.

“Congratulations,” she said briskly. “You’ve just taken your first step into surrogacy.”

The clinic was pristine, almost cold, as though no human touch ever lingered too long. Maya changed into the pale-blue gown they gave her, clutching the thin fabric around her body. She sat on the exam table, legs dangling, trying not to stare at the rows of medical equipment.

Dr. Patel entered, warm-eyed and professional. “Maya? I’ll be your physician throughout this process. We’ll start with a simple IVF transfer today. Nothing to worry about—it’s quick and painless.”

Maya nodded, though her heart raced. She wasn’t afraid of the procedure itself. She was afraid of what it meant. That she was officially stepping into a life she hadn’t chosen but desperately needed.

As the doctor and nurses moved around her, she closed her eyes. This is for Emily. This is for her chance to live.

Days turned into weeks, and soon came the news that made her knees buckle with relief:

The procedure had worked.

She was pregnant.

Maya pressed the clinic’s envelope against her chest as she left, whispering a silent prayer of thanks. The money hadn’t come in yet, but once it did, she could pay Emily’s next round of treatments. For the first time in months, hope didn’t feel like a lie.

Back at home, Maya busied herself with soup pots and medicine bottles, fussing over Emily like always. But when her sister drifted to sleep, Maya sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at the contract.

No names. No faces. No questions.

The intended father was just a shadow in her imagination. Maybe some faceless businessman, too busy to raise a child on his own. Or maybe a grieving widower, desperate to carry on a legacy. Whoever he was, she told herself it didn’t matter. She would never know him. He would never know her.

That was the deal.

So why did she feel like she had just made a bargain with fate itself?

Across the city, in a high-rise office that overlooked glittering towers and a restless skyline, Adrian Knight stared at the report on his desk.

“The surrogate transfer was successful,” his assistant said, shifting nervously under his sharp gaze. “She’s… pregnant.”

Adrian leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin. For the first time in years, something like relief flickered across his face. He had waited too long for this moment. An heir. A child to carry his name. A future that wasn’t just numbers, contracts, and empires.

“Good,” he said simply, though his tone left no room for conversation. “I want updates every week.”

“Yes, Mr. Knight.”

When the door closed, Adrian exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against the polished surface of his desk. This was it. The one thing he couldn’t buy with billions of dollars—the one thing he had almost given up on.

He didn’t care who the surrogate was. The agency promised confidentiality. All that mattered was the child. His child.

And maybe… just maybe, it would silence the emptiness he had carried since the divorce.

Two months later, Maya sat in the clinic’s waiting room again, her palms clammy against her jeans. The nausea had started, morning sickness twisting her stomach in ways no tea or crackers could soothe. She rubbed her belly absentmindedly, even though there was barely a bump.

A nurse called her name, and she followed down the familiar hallway. She expected the usual checkup, maybe a quick scan. But when she entered the consultation room, Mrs. Grant was already there, her expression unusually tight.

“Is something wrong?” Maya asked immediately, panic rising in her throat.

“No, not wrong,” Mrs. Grant said carefully. “But there’s… a complication with confidentiality.”

Maya froze. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Grant slid a paper across the desk. Her hands, usually so steady, hesitated for just a second.

“The intended father has requested to meet you.”

Maya’s pulse thundered in her ears. “But—that’s against the rules! The contract—”

“Yes, but under certain circumstances, exceptions can be made. And in this case, the father insisted. He… recognized your name when the medical files crossed his desk.”

Her stomach plummeted. “Recognized me?”

Mrs. Grant nodded grimly. “Maya, the intended father… is Adrian Knight.”

The room spun. Her breath caught in her lungs. She gripped the edge of the chair, sure she had misheard.

Adrian.

Her ex-husband.

The man who had accused her of betrayal, ripped her heart out, and left her with nothing but scars.

And now—

She was carrying his child.