All Chapters of Surrogate For The Mafia Lord: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Armani’s POVI might be the worst man alive.The weight of my deception settles over me like a heavy cloak, suffocating, inescapable. Rena—bright, fierce, utterly trusting—signed the contract without hesitation, without even reading the last clause that binds her to me for the next twenty years.Twenty years.She has no idea.A sharp pang of guilt twists in my chest, but I push it down, force myself to watch her instead. She’s smiling—genuinely smiling—for the first time since we arrived, her shoulders finally at ease, her posture lighter. There’s no trace of regret in her face. If anything, she looks… relieved.I tell myself that’s enough. That she made her choice.“Shall we, then?” Her fingers brush my arm as she nudges me toward the door. “Your parents are waiting.”Her touch is warm, grounding, but I feel miles away from the moment. My legs move, but my mind races, tangled in a thousand what-ifs.I should tell her. Right now. Before she steps into that dining room, before she face

My eyes flick anxiously to the timer on my phone screen. Two minutes and seven seconds left—only about ten seconds less than the last time I checked, though it feels like an eternity has passed. The bathroom's bright overhead lighting seems unnecessarily harsh today, highlighting every imperfection in my reflection as I try to avoid looking at what sits on the counter.On the other end of the expansive bathroom counter, partially obscured by an ornate soap dispenser that probably costs more than my old monthly rent, sits the pregnancy test I just took. The small plastic stick holds answers that could permanently alter the trajectory of my life. I've made a solemn promise to myself not to glance at it until the full three minutes have elapsed. The package insisted on waiting that long for accurate results, and I'm clinging to those instructions like a lifeline. It's easier this way—having a rule to follow, a specific time to wait.Or so I keep desperately telling myself as each second

RenaIt feels so overwhelmingly natural, so profoundly right kissing Armani, as though our lips were designed by some cosmic architect specifically to fit perfectly together.Our marriage certificate might be nothing more than an elaborate business transaction on paper, our wedding vows merely hollow words recited for show, but absolutely nothing about this kiss feels artificial or contrived. It warms me from the deepest core of my being outward, making my heart swell with unexpected emotion and my skin tingle with heightened sensitivity everywhere his body makes contact with mine. His strong arms tighten possessively around my waist, holding me securely against his broad chest, and though every fiber of my being wants desperately to sink further into his embrace, to continue exploring these intoxicating feelings and exquisite sensations that have ignited between us, I cannot completely forget what prompted me to impulsively leap into his arms in the first place—the life-altering disc

ArmaniRena nearly jumps out of her skin when I rest my hand on her shoulder. The sudden contact sends a visible shiver through her slender frame. The ancient fortune teller across the weathered oak table taps her gnarled finger deliberately on the ornate card before her, its edges worn from countless readings."But because the card is upside down, you see, it means there will be a protector," the crone explains, her voice carrying the weight of mysterious knowledge. Her rheumy eyes, surprisingly sharp, look up at me through silvery lashes. She nods with knowing confidence. "Perhaps Lord Armani himself?""Of course," I respond smoothly, though I have absolutely no comprehension of what mystical nonsense she's peddling. The cards spread before us are adorned with faded symbols and cryptic imagery that mean nothing to me.Rena gives a nervous, fluttering laugh before rising from the velvet-cushioned chair. "Thank you. This was...fun." Her voice betrays her unease, the word 'fun' hanging

RenaI feel like I'm trapped in a strange dream, one that shifts between fantasy and reality with disorienting frequency.On the one hand, I'm living a life most people can only dream of—I'm married to a Montovian lord, carrying his baby, spending my days in the lavish Del Valle estate with its sprawling gardens, ancient tapestries, and staff attending to my every need. Each morning I wake to silk sheets and breakfast served on antique china; each afternoon I stroll through gardens tended by generations of royal gardeners, each evening I dine on cuisine prepared by chefs trained in the finest European traditions. But despite the luxury all around me, the crystal chandeliers and marble staircases, the centuries-old artwork, and the custom-tailored wardrobe, it's difficult to forget that I'm only playing a part in an elaborate production. I'm an actress who never auditioned for this role, yet somehow found herself thrust onto center stage. Dealing with press releases and interviews only