All Chapters of Bound to the Billionaire’s Baby: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

It wasn’t the kind of clinic you found on Google.No website. No sign. No receptionist offering lemon water in glass tumblers. Just a private elevator in the back of a boutique office building, and a text message containing a code.Amara paused outside the consultation room, fingers white-knuckling the strap of her purse. Her stomach twisted. She’d rehearsed at least a dozen ways to turn back. But they all unraveled the moment she remembered the voicemail:"If your brother’s chemo isn’t paid by Friday, we’ll have no choice but to stop treatment."That was it. That was all it took to cross the line between survival and sacrifice.The door opened with a soft hiss. A tall woman in a white coat and wire-rimmed glasses stepped into the hallway. Her expression was clinical. Not cold, just… detached. Like she'd seen a hundred women in Amara’s position and didn’t need to remember any of their names.“You’re here for the surrogacy consultation?” the doctor asked.Amara nodded, her voice locked

The hotel room smelled like lavender and sin.Amara was seventeen. Liam, twenty-two. She had borrowed her cousin’s ID and a black dress that fit like temptation. Her hair had been straightened into soft waves. Her lipstick stolen from a friend. Her courage held together by adrenaline.She hadn’t come to the bar looking for a man.But Liam Blackwood had looked at her like she was the only light in the room.She remembered the way he leaned in, the way he spoke softly so only she could hear. He hadn’t asked invasive questions. Just listened. Laughed. Bought her one drink and asked if she wanted to talk somewhere quieter.She should have said no.Instead, she’d followed him.And now here she was, in a room where the walls had watched too many regrets.Liam’s hands had been gentle. Careful. As if he knew her body was memorizing every inch of him. He kissed her like they had forever and whispered her name like he’d earned it. Not rushed. Not rehearsed.He didn’t touch her like a man who ju

“You’re glowing.”Amara smiled tightly. “I’m six weeks pregnant. I’m exhausted.”Cheryl sat across from her at a corner café. Fewer people. Less chatter. Less chance of being overheard. Amara had chosen it intentionally, craving space from the world that kept trying to guess how she felt.Cheryl leaned in, eyes sparkling with the kind of curiosity Amara had once found charming and now found quietly suffocating. “But you’re happy, right?”The women sipped their drinks. Cheryl’s face hovered between concern and forced optimism. Her vanilla latte looked too indulgent, but she sipped it like it was her job to look casual. Amara nursed a tea that tasted like disappointment.“I mean,” Cheryl pressed, “you’re living in his building now? That address is insane. A loft with floor-to-ceiling windows, skyline views… It’s like something out of Architectural Digest.”Amara stirred her tea with more force than necessary. “Yeah. It’s nice.”

The gala wasn’t just extravagant—it was a declaration of wealth. Blackwood Tower's rooftop had been transformed into a scene straight from a luxury magazine: glittering chandeliers swayed in the evening breeze, soft jazz filtered through the air, and champagne flowed like water. Waiters in white gloves weaved between guests, offering caviar-topped hors d'oeuvres and crystal glasses filled with golden effervescence. Every surface gleamed, every detail screamed deliberate excess. The skyline glittered beyond the edge like a constellation made just for them.Amara adjusted her crimson gown for the hundredth time, feeling the weight of every sequin and every gaze that slid across the room to rest on her. It clung to her like second skin, the low back and thigh-high slit leaving little to the imagination. She wasn't used to this kind of attention, not like this. Not so curated, so strategic. So... scrutinized.She wasn’t invisible tonight. Quite the opposite.Every look, every whisper in t

The sun had barely crested the city skyline when the hum of Manhattan stirred to life. Amara stood in front of her full-length mirror, dabbing concealer over dark circles that hadn’t faded since the gala. Her crimson gown hung on a hook by the door, looking like a relic from another life. She hadn’t slept well—memories of Liam’s hesitant compliment, Nathaniel’s crooked grin, and the hollow conversations around crystal flutes looped endlessly in her mind.Her phone buzzed. A message from her best friend, Tessa: "Coffee? My place. Urgent debrief."Amara didn’t need convincing. She slipped into jeans, a soft knit sweater, and boots, pulling her curls into a loose bun. She welcomed the chill as she stepped outside, hoping the wind would blow away the remnants of last night. Her heart thudded a little slower as the city swallowed her up, a soft rhythm of taxis, chatter, and promise.---Tessa’s apartment was a warm contrast to the world outside—sunligh