CHAPTER 3

AVA

The walk back to my apartment felt like a dream—one where the air was thick, my legs felt heavy, and my thoughts refused to settle. The city lights blurred past me, but my mind was stuck on Mr. Colton’s expression, the way his intense gaze had studied me, the way his deep voice had demanded to know more.

I had told him.

I couldn’t believe I had actually told him about the men, about their plan to ruin him. I had betrayed them, thrown away the chance at financial freedom, at a life where Nathan could never reach me.

And yet, as I turned the key in my apartment door, a strange sense of relief washed over me.

I collapsed onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, and let out a frustrated chuckle. What was I thinking? Why did I tell my boss about all this? It’s not like I’m even related to him—why should I care about his reputation? I had such a good opportunity to change my life, and yet here I am, feeling like I just blew it.

And Mr. Colton… He didn’t even thank me for sharing the news. He just dismissed me like my words meant nothing. Ugh, I feel so stupid. I groaned, rolling over in anger, then ended up falling onto the floor with a grunt. For a moment, I just stayed there, the weight of everything sinking in. It’s hard not to cry when everything feels so messed up. I guess I’m stuck in this life—it's not that I hate it, but Nathan makes it so difficult to bear.

A knock at the door sent my heart slamming against my ribs.

Not Nathan. Please, not Nathan.

I stood slowly, my breath shallow, and approached the door. My fingers trembled as I gripped the knob and pulled it open just enough to see who it was.

A man dressed in a dark suit stood just so close to my doorstep. His sharp features were unreadable, his presence sending a chill through me.

"Mr. Colton requests your presence," he said, his voice clipped and professional.

I blinked. "Right now?"

He nodded once.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

Was he angry? Was he grateful? Had I made a mistake by warning him?

I glanced at the clock and it was almost 5 in the morning. The realization hit me like a wave. I had barely slept, and now I was being summoned at this godforsaken hour. My mind was racing as I adjusted my coat, trying to steady my shaking hands. I couldn’t afford to second-guess myself now.

The man stood still, his gaze unwavering, like a statue waiting for me to make the next move. I took a deep breath and forced myself out and locked my door before following him toward his car.

What had I gotten myself into? Why had I trusted my instincts to warn Mr. Colton? I couldn’t shake the doubt creeping in—had I made the right choice? Did he even appreciate the risk I took?

I slid into the driver’s seat and he started the engine. The car hummed to life, and the low rumble filled the silence between us. I stared out the window, watching the city pass by, my thoughts a blur. Each mile felt like it was taking me further into the unknown, my heart pounding in my chest.

The drive felt longer than it should have, my nerves tightening with every mile we covered. Finally, the car slowed as we pulled into the hotel parking lot. I wasn’t sure what I was walking into, but the uncertainty only made my pulse race faster.

The man parked the car smoothly, his expression as unreadable as ever. He turned off the engine and, without a word, stepped out of the car. I was already pushing open the door before he could reach it, my nerves forcing me to move before my mind could catch up.

I shut the door softly, standing there for a second, trying to gather myself. He was already waiting, his gaze locked on me as I closed the distance between us. Without a word, he led me toward the elevator. The soft click of his footsteps matched my rapid heartbeat, each step making it harder to ignore the tension building in my chest.

When we reached the elevator, I couldn’t help but glance at him. "Why are we heading to a higher floor?" I asked, my voice unsteady. "Isn’t Mr. Colton’s office on a lower floor?"

The man’s gaze remained fixed ahead as he pressed the button for the 17th floor. "Mr. Colton’s waiting for you in the guest room," he said, his voice calm, almost too calm. "This is where you'll meet him."

I frowned, trying to piece everything together. The guest room? That wasn’t where I thought I’d be seeing him. I had expected something more official, more… business-like. My heart was pounding in my ears now, the anxiety growing with every floor we passed. What exactly was waiting for me up there?

As I stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in with the man I had spent the last several hours worrying about. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a floor lamp casting long shadows across the space. It wasn’t a typical guest room—it was lavish, almost like a penthouse suite, with a sleek leather couch, a marble coffee table, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sleeping city.

And then I noticed it.

The faint scent of whiskey lingered in the air, mixing with the crisp cologne that I had come to associate with Mr. Colton. My gaze flickered to the low table near the couch, where a glass sat half-full, amber liquid glistening under the soft light.

I turned my attention back to him. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and there was something different in his posture—more relaxed, but not in a comforting way. His sharp, calculating eyes were a little heavier than usual, his movements just a fraction slower.

He was drunk.

Not wasted. Not out of control. But definitely not as composed as he could be.

The realization made my stomach twist.

I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse.

"You took your time," he said, his voice smooth. He leaned back slightly, watching me, assessing me like he was trying to decide what to do with me now that I was here.

"I came as soon as I was told," I replied, keeping my voice steady even as my heart pounded in my chest.

"Sit," he said, gesturing toward the chair across from him.

I hesitated.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

But I didn’t have a choice, did I?

Slowly, I made my way to the chair and sat down, my hands gripping the arms to keep them from trembling.

"Why am I here?" I finally asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

Mr Colton took a slow sip from his glass before setting it down on a nearby table. He didn’t answer immediately, just studied me in a way that made my skin prickle.

"We need to talk," he said simply.

I swallowed hard.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say.

Mr. Colton swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the liquid move as if it held the answers he was searching for. Then, without looking at me, he asked the question I had been dreading.

"Why did you tell me?" His voice was quiet, but there was weight behind it. "The money they were offering was too much to turn down. Most people wouldn’t have said a damn thing."

My throat felt tight. I knew this moment would come, but now that I was sitting across from him, faced with the consequences of my own decision, I wasn’t sure how to explain myself.

I swallowed hard and straightened in my seat. "Because it felt wrong," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Because I knew what they were doing would hurt you, and I couldn’t just… pretend I didn’t know."

His eyes lifted to mine then, sharp and unreadable. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react. He just stared, like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe me.

I forced myself to keep going. "I thought about taking the money. I really did. It would have changed my life. But at what cost? Selling you out?" I let out a dry laugh, shaking my head. "I don’t even know why I care. Maybe I shouldn’t. But I do."

Mr. Colton exhaled slowly, setting his glass down on the table beside him. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and for the first time since I walked into the room, I saw something shift in his expression.

Something unreadable. Something dangerous.

"You made a choice," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "A costly one."

I tensed. "Did I make a mistake?"

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for his glass again, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Then he looked at me, really looked at me, as if weighing his next words carefully.

"What if I offered you a job?" His voice was calm, deliberate. "And I paid you twice what they were offering?"

I froze.

My breath caught in my throat as his words settled over me like a weighted blanket. My eyes widened, my fingers instinctively gripping the arms of the chair. For a moment, I thought I had misheard him.

Twice the money?

That was life-changing. That was… unimaginable.

But why?

I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. "What kind of job?"

Mr. Colton leaned back, his expression unreadable as he studied me. Then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he said—

"I want you to be my surrogate."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

A cold shiver rushed through me, my skin prickling. My mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. I blinked, trying to process what I had just heard.

Surrogate.

Did he just say—

I swallowed hard, my lips suddenly dry. "You… want me to carry your child?"

Mr. Colton didn’t flinch, didn’t even hesitate. "Yes.”