Two

Naomi’s Pov

The cold needle of the medical clinic is nothing compared to the cold lump of fear sitting right in the middle of my chest.

I am lying on a sterile white examination table with paper crinkling under my weight, staring up at the bright ceiling lights while the nurse gently tells me to relax. My hands are clenched into tight fists at my sides, my knuckles pressing so hard against the thin hospital gown that my fingers are turning blue.

I keep telling myself over and over again that I am doing this for Dad’s restaurant, for Claire, and for a fighting chance at a normal life. But as the doctor walks into the room with a silver tray and a small, carefully sealed tube, every single alarm bell inside my head starts screaming to run away.

"You're doing wonderful, Naomi," the doctor says, his voice much too cheerful for a room that smells like rubbing alcohol and pure anxiety. "Just a few deep breaths, and we'll have this whole embryo transfer finished before you even realize it's happening."

I close my eyes tightly and take a shaky breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs. I think about the bank manager's face, the final notice sitting on the kitchen counter, and the way Claire tried to smile through her tears last night. That is my anchor. That is what keeps me glued to this table.

"Okay, Naomi, we are all done," the nurse says softly a few minutes later, patting my shoulder with a reassuring hand. "Take your time getting up. You can rest here for as long as you need."

The days that follow the transfer are the longest, most agonizing days of my entire life. Every single time I feel a tiny cramp or a strange flutter in my stomach, my heart stops. I am constantly terrified that my body is going to reject the baby and ruin everything. I keep the secret locked deep inside my heart, not even daring to tell Claire because I don't want to get her hopes up for nothing.

Then, exactly two weeks later, I am sitting in the small office of the agency's medical wing, staring down at a digital test sitting on the glass desk between me and the nurse practitioner.

Two bright, unmistakable pink lines stare right back at me.

"Positive," the nurse says with a bright, beaming smile, clapping her hands together softly. "Congratulations, Naomi. You are officially pregnant."

For a few seconds, the whole world completely stops spinning. A strange, overwhelming wave of warmth washes right over my tired shoulders. I place my trembling hand flat against my stomach, feeling an odd, heavy sense of wonder. There is a tiny new life growing inside of me. Against all odds, the hardest gamble of my life has actually worked.

"Does this mean..." I start to say, my voice choking up with sudden emotion. "Does this mean the money goes through?"

"The first half of your compensation has already been wired directly to your designated account," the nurse confirms with a gentle nod. "You did it, Naomi. You saved your family's diner."

When I get home that afternoon, I run straight into the restaurant and hand the printed bank notification to Claire. When she reads the numbers on the page, she bursts into tears, throwing her arms around my neck so hard we almost knock over a tray of empty water glasses. We spend the rest of the evening laughing and crying together in the empty dining room, feeling like a massive mountain has finally been lifted off our shoulders. For the first time in over a year, I sleep all the way through the night without waking up in a panic.

A week passes in a happy blur of relief. I start picking out comfortable clothes, eating better food, and letting myself actually believe that the worst is behind us. The surrogate agency sends me a massive folder containing all the paperwork, medical schedules, and details about the intended father.

His name is Ethan Kingsley.

According to the agency profile, Ethan is a wealthy businessman from one of the most powerful and wealthy families in the entire country. But he wanted a family without the mess of dating, marriage, or public drama. The paperwork explicitly states that he wants complete privacy, meaning I will never have to meet him face-to-face, talk to him on the phone, or worry about him interfering in my life. He just wants his child, and I just want to secure my family's future. It sounds like the perfect, clean arrangement.

I am sitting at the kitchen table drinking a glass of warm milk when my cell phone suddenly rings on the counter, startling me out of my thoughts. It is an unknown number with a local area code. Thinking it is just another supplier or a routine check-in from the agency's medical coordinator, I swipe the screen and press the phone to my ear.

"Hello? This is Naomi Ellis," I say, pulling my hair back behind my ear.

"Miss Ellis? Hello, this is Clara from the Elite Surrogacy Agency," the voice on the other end says. But something sounds completely wrong. Her voice isn't cheerful or professional like it usually is. It is shaky, quiet, and laced with absolute terror.

"Clara? Is everything okay?" I ask, my stomach instantly dropping back into my shoes. "Is there something wrong with the lab results?"

There is a long, heavy pause on the line, like the woman is trying to find the courage to say something impossible. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely a whisper.

"Naomi... I don't even know how to tell you this. I am so, so sorry to have to tell you over the phone."

"Tell me what?" I demand, standing straight up from my chair, my heart hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs. "Clara, please, just tell me what happened."

"It's about the intended father. Ethan Kingsley," she stammers, a sob catching in her throat. "There was breaking news on the morning report about an hour ago. His private plane... it went down over the mountains early this morning. There were no survivors, Naomi. Ethan Kingsley is dead."

The phone almost slips right out of my sweaty hand and crashes to the floor. The kitchen walls seem to spin in a wild, dizzy circle. My breath disappears completely. Dead? The man whose child is growing inside of me right now... is dead?

"No," I breathe out, shaking my head even though she can't see me. "No, that has to be a mistake. That's impossible. We just signed the papers! He's supposed to be completely private, he's supposed to stay away—"

"It's true, Naomi, it's all over the news," Clara interrupts, crying softly now. "And because of the contract and the estate... I'm so sorry, but you need to know that you aren't just dealing with our agency anymore. Someone from the Kingsley family is already on their way to see you."