The Interview

Damien’s call came at 10:47 PM.

“Mia Chen?” His voice was formal, controlled, with an edge underneath that made her sit up straighter. “This is Damien Cross. I understand you’re being considered for our surrogacy arrangement. I’d like to move the interview forward. Can you come to my office tomorrow instead of waiting until Friday?”

It wasn’t a request. It was a statement.

“I… tomorrow might not…” Mia started.

“Tomorrow at two PM. My assistant will send you the address. Be there.”

He hung up before she could respond.

The Cross mansion sat on a cliff overlooking the city, all glass and carefully cultivated landscaping. It wasn’t merely large; it was impossibly vast, the kind of place featured in architectural magazines.

Mia’s used Honda looked pathetic pulling up to the gate.

The security guard didn’t even ask her name. A woman in a gray uniform was waiting at the entrance. “Ms. Chen? Please come this way.”

The interior was immaculate. Everything was white or cream or soft gray. No clutter. No mistakes. Just perfection.

Dr. Reid was already there, standing in what appeared to be a private study. With him was a couple.

The woman was stunning. Victoria Cross had blonde hair styled in the kind of way that required a specific salon. She smiled when Mia entered, and it was the smile of someone who’d never had to worry about money in her life.

The man was harder to read.

Damien Cross stood by the window, hands in his pockets, watching Mia with an intensity that made her want to check if she’d buttoned her shirt correctly. He was in his early thirties, with dark hair cut expensively short. His suit was tailored to perfection. But it was his eyes that stopped her, gray, sharp, intelligent. When they met hers for a fraction of a second, Mia felt like he was cataloging her. Assessing her. Deciding something.

Then Victoria moved, breaking the moment.

“Mia,” Victoria said warmly, crossing the room to take both of Mia’s hands. “I’m Victoria. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” Mia managed.

“Please, sit.” Victoria gestured to a cream-colored sofa. Mia sat, hyperaware of her jeans and damp shoes. Damien remained by the window. But she could feel his attention on her like a physical weight.

“Dr. Reid has told us wonderful things about you,” Victoria continued, settling across from Mia. “You’re studying nursing?”

“Yes. Final year of my graduate program.”

“How impressive. And your brother?”

“He was in an accident. He’s recovering.”

“I’m so sorry.” Victoria’s expression shifted to something that looked like genuine sympathy. “That must be difficult for you.”

Mia felt herself relaxing slightly. Victoria seemed kind. Worried, even. There was a fragility to her that made Mia want to protect her somehow.

“It has been,” Mia admitted. “But he’s getting better every day.”

“Great.” Victoria glanced toward Damien, who was still watching them. “You know, when Damien and I got married, one of the things we discussed first was having a family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, really. To be a mother.”

From across the room, Damien shifted his weight. Just slightly. But Mia noticed.

“And we’ve tried everything,” Victoria continued, her eyes glistening slightly. “Treatments, surgery, specialists. But my body just… it won’t cooperate. Damien has been so patient with me, so supportive, but I know he wants this too. A child. A family.”

Mia felt a flutter of sympathy. She couldn’t imagine the disappointment of wanting something so badly and having your own body betray you.

“That’s why we’re so grateful to you for being willing to help us,” Victoria said. “Not everyone would be strong enough to do something like this.”

Then Damien moved.

He walked from the window to the sofa, but instead of sitting, he stood at a carefully neutral distance. When he finally spoke, his voice was clipped, businesslike. But there was something underneath it. Something watchful.

“The contract is straightforward,” he said. “Nine months, compensation as discussed, complete confidentiality. After delivery, no contact. You’ll sign away all parental rights and legal claims to the child.”

It wasn’t cruel, exactly. It was transactional. But Mia noticed something. His gray eyes weren’t on Victoria. They were on Mia. Studying her reaction. Testing her.

“I understand,” Mia said.

“Do you?” His eyes met hers directly, and she felt pinned by the intensity of his gaze. There was a question underneath the question. Do you really understand what you’re agreeing to? Or are you just desperate enough to agree to anything?

It felt like a test. But also like something else. Like he was trying to warn her.

“You understand that you’ll carry our child for nine months and then have no relationship with that child for the rest of your life?” he continued.

Victoria’s hand found his arm. “Damien,” she said softly, almost reproachfully. A wife correcting her husband. But there was tension in her grip. Possessiveness. “She understands.”

But Damien didn’t immediately step back. He held Mia’s gaze for just a moment longer, long enough that she saw something flicker in his expression. Not cruelty. Not coldness. Conflict. And something that looked almost like guilt.

“I do,” Mia said firmly. “I understand completely.”

Damien nodded slowly, and only then did he turn away, walking back to the window. But something had shifted. His shoulders were slightly more tense. His hands curled into fists in his pockets, then deliberately relaxed.

Victoria resumed the interview, asking detailed questions about Mia’s health, family, and background. She was warm, maternal, everything a desperate woman hoping for a child should be.

After an hour, Dr. Reid announced that they wanted to move forward and scheduled Mia to move into the mansion a week later. Victoria immediately offered to cover a top-tier home health aide for Kevin, ensuring Mia had no concerns. It was remarkably generous, the kind of offer that made refusing impossible.

Victoria walked Mia to the door, placing a hand on her arm. With genuine tears in her eyes, she confessed how much this meant, saying Mia was making an impossible dream come true. Mia’s reply, “I’m happy to help,” was heartfelt.

But as Mia turned to leave, she caught sight of Damien one last time. He was still by the window, watching her go. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second.

And in that moment, Mia saw something in his expression that made her chest tighten.

It looked like an apology.

She drove away, unable to shake the image of his face, the weight of his gaze, the sense that he was a man caught in something he couldn’t escape.

When she got home, she found another note slipped under her door.

This one simply read: Call me. Please. This is important.