Chapter Three: The Conditions

Amira hadn’t slept.

The room was too still. Too clean. It smelled like polished glass and sterilized air—nothing like her cluttered apartment back in the city where the walls creaked and the coffee pot hissed. Here, the silence pressed in like a weight.

The white sheets felt expensive. The mattress hugged her like it had memorized her body already.

But her body didn’t belong to her anymore.

A soft knock startled her upright.

She pulled the robe tight around her, heartbeat stuttering.

The door creaked open and a woman stepped in—mid-forties, trim, expression neutral. Dressed like someone who didn’t just work here, but belonged.

“Good morning, Miss Wells. I’m Evelyn. Mr. Voss’s household manager.”

Household manager. Not maid. Not assistant.

Prison warden.

Amira cleared her throat. “Morning.”

“You’ll find a full wardrobe in the dressing room,” Evelyn continued, walking in like she owned the air. “Everything tailored to your measurements. Breakfast is served in the east solarium by eight. Dr. Isaacs will meet you at ten for your first health check. After that, Mr. Voss has requested your presence in the blue parlor.”

“Requested,” Amira echoed. “That sounds… optional.”

Evelyn gave a polite smile. “It isn’t.”

Amira stood slowly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Can I call someone?”

“Phone privileges are restricted,” Evelyn said. “You’ll be provided with a secure line for emergencies.”

“And who defines an emergency?”

“Mr. Voss does.”

Amira almost laughed. “Of course he does.”

Evelyn tilted her head. “I understand this is an adjustment. But everything in this house has a reason. Structure creates safety.”

“Safety for who?”

Evelyn didn’t answer. She simply turned and walked out.

By 10:00 a.m., Amira sat stiffly on an exam table in a private medical wing tucked behind a sliding panel near the west corridor. Dr. Isaacs—cool, composed, and far too observant—tapped notes into a tablet.

“Blood pressure’s good. Slight elevation, probably stress-related.”

“Gee, I wonder why,” Amira muttered.

Dr. Isaacs didn’t react. “You’ll be on pre-natal supplements effective immediately. I’ll need daily logs of fluid intake, meals, and rest.”

“You expect me to track my sleep?”

“Yes.”

“And if I snore wrong, do I get punished?”

The doctor finally looked up. “No one wants to punish you, Miss Wells. But you signed a contract. It includes standards.”

“Standards.” She scoffed. “Like a breeding program.”

Dr. Isaacs set the tablet down. “This isn’t a prison. But it’s also not a vacation. You’ve been trusted with something most women will never experience: full medical, financial, and legal backing for a healthy surrogacy. There are expectations.”

Amira swung her legs. “And if I decide your expectations are too much?”

The doctor’s tone didn’t waver. “Then Mr. Voss will respond accordingly.”

She felt her skin prickle.

“I’d like to speak to him,” she said finally.

“You will,” Dr. Isaacs replied, handing her a small white bottle. “But I’d recommend you eat first. Low blood sugar makes conversations with Dominic… difficult.”

She found him in the blue parlor just after noon.

The room was too elegant for words—glass sculptures, books that looked untouched, and a grand piano she suspected no one played. Dominic stood near the fireplace, dressed in a gray cashmere sweater and tailored slacks, flipping through something on his phone.

When she entered, he didn’t look up.

“You settled in?” he asked casually.

“Is that what we’re calling this?” she shot back.

He smiled slightly. “You’re still angry.”

“No. I passed angry at 3 a.m. I’m somewhere between violated and confused now.”

“Progress.”

She walked toward him, arms crossed tight against her chest. “I have questions.”

“I assumed you might.”

“Why can’t I leave the estate?”

“For your safety.”

“That’s bullsh—”

“Language, Amira,” he interrupted gently. “You’re not in your apartment anymore.”

She blinked. “You really think you get to police how I talk now?”

“You’re not here to rebel. You’re here to carry my child. That requires discipline.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m livestock.”

Dominic finally looked at her. Calm. Icy. “You signed a contract, knowing what it meant.”

“I didn’t know I’d be locked in a mansion with cameras in every corner.”

“You’re not locked in,” he said smoothly. “The doors open. But if you walk out, you walk away from everything—your sister’s care, your compensation, your future.”

Amira’s jaw clenched. “You’re sick.”

“I’m realistic.”

She walked to the window, trying to breathe through the pressure in her chest. Outside, the estate stretched wide—manicured lawns, motionless fountains, security like shadows in the hedges.

“You have a very strange idea of family,” she whispered.

Dominic came up behind her. Not close, but close enough to feel.

“I have no family,” he said softly. “That’s why this matters.”

She turned to face him. “Why not adopt?”

He gave a dry laugh. “Because I want my blood. My name. My legacy.”

“And what happens when this baby grows up and finds out you bought their mother like a bargain?”

His eyes darkened. “I didn’t buy a mother. I bought a vessel.”

The words hit like a slap.

Amira stepped back, stunned. “You didn’t just say that.”

“You agreed to it,” he said, voice colder now. “You don’t get to rewrite the terms because you woke up with guilt.”

She stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You want obedience.”

“I want reliability.”

“I’m not a soldier.”

“No,” Dominic said, stepping closer. “You’re something far more valuable.”

Amira looked up at him—this man who wore cruelty like cologne, power like a second skin.

She hated him.

But god help her, she was trapped.

That night, dinner was silent.

Evelyn served grilled salmon and asparagus with a bottle of prenatal-approved mineral water. Amira ate slowly, eyes drifting to the empty chair across the table.

He hadn’t come.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or insulted.

Halfway through her plate, her tablet lit up with a message.

DOMINIC: We’ll review the nursery options tomorrow. 9 a.m. sharp. Don’t be late.

She typed back quickly:

AMIRA: Are you always this controlling?

The reply came instantly.

DOMINIC: Only when it works.

She slammed the tablet shut.