She gasped and sat up too quickly. A sharp, tearing pain shot through her lower body. She squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lower lip until it bled again.

She looked down at her wrists. The silk ropes were gone, leaving behind dark, purple rings of bruised flesh. She was no longer wearing the thin slip. Someone had dressed her in a fresh, white cotton nightgown.

She scanned the massive bedroom. Sunlight poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows.

Her eyes locked onto an older woman standing silently by the heavy oak door.

The woman stepped forward. Her posture was rigidly straight.

"I am Martha Webb, the head maid," she introduced herself formally. Her voice lacked any human warmth.

Celestia pulled the heavy duvet up to her chin, her hands shaking.

"Where are my clothes?" Celestia demanded. Her voice was hoarse.

Martha looked down her nose at the trembling girl. "Your personal belongings, including your identification and cellular device, have been securely confiscated and locked away in the estate's vault per the standard contamination and security protocols," she stated flatly. "You will only wear the approved garments provided to you."

She then lifted a silver tray from a side table and offered Celestia a glass of warm water.

Celestia swung her arm out and slapped the tray away.

The glass flew across the room. It shattered loudly onto the thick Persian rug, water soaking into the expensive fibers.

Martha did not flinch. She simply raised a hand to her collar and pressed a small button.

"I need my cell phone," Celestia said, her breathing erratic. "I need to call the New York police immediately."

Martha looked at her. A mix of cold pity and deep annoyance flashed in her eyes.

"There are no phones allowed for candidates," Martha stated flatly.

Celestia threw the heavy duvet off her legs. She ignored the shooting pain in her core and sprinted barefoot toward the bedroom door.

She grabbed the brass handle. She twisted it frantically, pulling with all her weight.

The door was locked solid from the outside.

She banged her fists against the thick wood.

"Help! Let me out!" she screamed. She pounded until her knuckles bruised and her voice cracked into a pathetic wheeze.

Martha calmly walked over to a mahogany desk. She picked up a thick, leather-bound folder embossed with a gold crest.

"These are the terms of your surrogacy contract," Martha explained, holding the folder out. "You are here to bear an heir for Mr. Sinclair."

Celestia stopped banging on the door. She turned around, staring at Martha in sheer disbelief.

"You have the wrong person!" Celestia screamed, her chest heaving. "I never signed anything!"

Martha opened the folder. She pointed a manicured finger to a signature line at the bottom of a page filled with dense legal jargon.

Celestia stumbled forward. She looked closely at the dotted line.

Her own signature was perfectly forged in black ink.

A blinding fury took over her senses. Celestia snatched the heavy document from Martha's hands.

She ripped the thick paper into tiny pieces. She threw the shredded contract directly into Martha's face.

Martha remained entirely stoic. She calmly brushed the paper fragments from her pristine uniform.

She pressed the button on her collar again.

The electronic lock on the bedroom door clicked open. Two massive, armed security guards stepped into the room. Their hands rested near the holsters on their belts.

Celestia backed away slowly. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The guards easily blocked the only exit.

"The rules on this island are simple," Martha coldly explained. "Absolute obedience to Mr. Sinclair, or there will be severe consequences."

Celestia looked at the armed men. She looked at the forged signature on the floor.

The terrifying scale of the operation she was trapped in finally became clear. This wasn't a random kidnapping. This was a highly funded, meticulously planned prison.

A wave of intense nausea hit her stomach. The reality of her captivity sank into her bones.

Celestia's knees buckled. She collapsed backward, landing heavily on the edge of the large mattress.

Martha turned to the open door. She ordered the maids waiting outside to bring in the fertility-boosting breakfast tray.

A maid scurried in, placing a tray of steaming food on the table.

Celestia turned her face away. She adamantly refused to look at the food. Her stomach churned with disgust.

"Starving yourself will only anger Mr. Sinclair," Martha warned.

Martha turned on her heel and left the room. The guards followed. The heavy door slammed shut, and the lock clicked loudly into place.

Chapter 2

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