All Chapters of The Billionaire’s Surrogate : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

EMMA’S POVI am seated alone and the bartender is polishing a glass in a slow, circular motion. Every few seconds, he glances toward the crowd, which is quite necessary, after the quick arrest.I drag a finger across the rim of my glass, tracing where beads have gathered. My drink is untouched, the ice halfway melted.I don’t even like being here.But I needed a place where no one would ask me questions and where everyone minds their own sins.I take a small sip and it burns my throat mildly, reminding me that I’m still awake.The last twelve hours have felt like a week.I can still see Alex’s face earlier today, that cold, unreadable look he gets whenever something doesn’t go his way. We were in his office. A meeting that started professional and ended with me slamming the door just so I wouldn’t say something I’d regret.He has that effect on me: pulls me in, drags something raw out of me, then leaves me gasping like I ran through fire.And yet, here I am, thinking about him.I hate

ALEXANDER’S POVThe hallway becomes quiet the moment I step in.It’s almost funny, how a place that runs with a bit of noise suddenly forgets how to breathe when I walk by. The small conversations die quickly and footsteps get slower. Some lower their eyes, others pretend to be busy.They think I don’t notice the side glances and the nervous half-smiles. But I do. I always do.“Good morning, sir,” a young man in bow tie says too quickly as he walks by.I nod once, acknowledging him. Everything feels quite awkward. And it smells like the Jonah Hale situation.Everyone’s heard. Jonah’s arrest last night was bound to crawl its way into every corner of this building by morning. The man who smiled his way through meetings, who swore his loyalty, was caught dirty. And I enjoy the glances. It is soothing to know that everyone has in mind that they can be caught.I push my office door open, and breathe in the mild scent of lemon polish and remnant of my lingering cologne. My secretary is insi

EMMA’S POVThe day moves faster than I expect, just as the previous days.It’s been orders, deliveries and last-minute checks. I can’t remember the exact time I had lunch but before I know it, it is evening— the night before the event.John and I stand outside the shop, watching as a van backs into the narrow driveway. He waves the driver to stop while I double-check the lists on my clipboard. Roses, lilies, orchids; all of them freshly cut, and boxed.“Keep the doors open,” I tell him. “They need air. We can’t have them sweating out before we even get there.”John nods and hops into the van to adjust a crate. “Got it. We’re set, ma’am.”I roll my eyes a little. “John, stop calling me ma’am. It’s weird, right now.”He grins. “Alright, boss.”“That’s worse,” I mutter, but I’m smiling.We load up the van and start toward The Willoughby’s establishment. The ride is quiet except for the boring sound of the engine and the soft scent of damp flowers.My mind slowly wander off to the deal I

ALEXANDER’S POVI stand outside the house, my hands tucked into my pockets, watching the empty driveway. My anticipation grows even more as the lights from the gate throw long shadows on the wet pavement and I hear the low sound of a car engine from a short distance. It’s the sound I’ve been waiting for all day.A black Prado comes in slowly through the gates, with the tires hissing against the damp floor. The car stops in front of me, and before the driver even gets out, I can already hear the muffled giggles coming from inside.The door swings open.“Daddy!”Bernice bursts out first. She is as bright as sunlight and her ribbons bounces as she runs. Her little skirt swishes around her knees, and her sandals look like soft gummies, pressing through the pavement. Bernard tumbles out next, half buttoned, half messy, grinning like he’s been saving it up for this moment.They’ve grown so much. Just a few months and it feels like years.I crouch down as they reach me, and suddenly I’m lost

EMMA’S POVAfter Alex leaves, I just stand there, frozen in the middle of the children’s room, watching the nightlight paint the walls with its soft gold. I can hear the faint tick of a clock somewhere and I feel how much I’ve missed this feeling.They look smaller than I remember, tucked under their blankets, cheeks pressed into their pillows with their hands open. Bernice’s hair is in little twists tied with ribbons, clutching a stuffed bear, and Bernard sleeps with his mouth slightly open and his foot peeking out of the blankets.It’s strange, how much a few months can change a person. Or two little people. They look taller, rounder in the cheeks, older in that almost imperceptible way children age when you’re not there to see it.I whisper, “You’ve grown,” and my voice breaks before I can catch it.For a while, I just sit on the edge of the soft couch by the window, my bag beside me, and my coat still on. It’s not until I take off my shoes and pull my knees up that I realize how t