Chapter 4 A DESPERATE DECISION

I tightened my grip on my worn leather bag, my knuckles whitening as his outrageous words echoed in my ears. Did I hear him right?

"You're insane," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. My eyes narrowed on the tall, maddeningly composed man standing in front of me. "I don't even know you."

He shrugged like my reaction was just a minor inconvenience. "For now," he said casually. "But that's hardly an insurmountable problem."

I blinked, completely thrown. "You can't just go around asking strangers to be your surrogate," I hissed, casting a quick glance over my shoulder. The street was quiet, but the thought of anyone overhearing this absurd conversation sent a flush of embarrassment crawling up my neck.

"Of course not," he replied smoothly, as though he were discussing the weather. "There are steps-further discussions, genetic testing, terms to negotiate-"

"No," I cut him off, taking a step back. "I'm not negotiating anything with you. I don't even know your name!"

"Ah." He tilted his head slightly, and I could see the faintest flicker of amusement in his piercing blue eyes. "Is that the issue? My apologies for the oversight."

Before I could respond, he extended his hand toward me, a perfectly charming smile lighting up his annoyingly perfect face. "Armani," he said. "Armani Ashford. A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Rena Foster."

How the hell did he know my name? My pulse quickened, though I refused to let him see it. His confidence was infuriating, and yet... the name suited him. Armani. It had a smooth, almost regal quality to it. Shaking off the thought, I turned on my heel and started walking, my pace brisk.

"Wait," he called after me, his footsteps echoing as he followed. "I'm serious. If you meet my criteria, I'll pay for your father's treatment."

My feet stopped before my brain caught up. The air felt sucked from my lungs as his words sank in. I turned slowly, meeting his gaze again. "What did you just say?"

His expression softened, the smirk fading into something more earnest. "I'm not trying to take advantage of you," he said, his voice quieter now.

"How do I even know you have that kind of money?" I challenged, folding my arms across my chest. The cash he'd handed me earlier-a ridiculous wad I hadn't even counted-was still in my pocket, but it wasn't enough to erase my doubt.

"I'll provide any verification you need," he said confidently, without so much as a pause. "Before we sign any contracts, of course. And your expenses will be fully covered during the pregnancy." His lips curved into a faint smile, one that almost looked genuine. "I want you to be comfortable. Even luxurious. And..." He paused, letting the moment hang between us. "You'll need to dress the part."

I arched an eyebrow. "The part of what? A walking incubator?"

That earned me a laugh-low and rich, the kind that would've been attractive if I didn't find him so utterly infuriating. He shook his head, still smiling. "I'm getting ahead of myself," he admitted. Then his eyes locked onto mine, steady and unflinching. "Rena, I think we can help each other."

There was something in his tone-low, persuasive-that made my stomach twist. His desperation should've been a giant red flag, but I couldn't seem to move. I stood there, rooted to the spot, his words churning in my mind.

I shouldn't have been entertaining this. I knew that. And yet, as much as I wanted to dismiss him, my thoughts betrayed me.

My father's face filled my mind, unbidden. The way he looked now-hunched in his wheelchair, his spirit crushed under the weight of his pain and limitations. I could still hear the doctors' words ringing in my ears: the experimental spinal surgery could give him back his life. Could. But the cost? Astronomical. Far beyond anything I could earn in a lifetime, let alone in time to save him.

My thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess as I trudged down the sidewalk, Armani's outrageous offer still ringing in my ears.

Really? a cruel voice in my mind whispered. Anything? Isn't this exactly the kind of miracle you've been waiting for?

I shook my head hard, trying to dislodge the thought. It was ridiculous. I didn't know this man. I had no idea why he'd chosen me of all people for such a bizarre proposition. The promise of over a million dollars-more money than I could even comprehend-felt like some twisted joke the universe was playing on me. I had to be the most gullible person alive to even entertain the idea for a second.

My phone buzzed in my bag, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. Juggling my books and my bag, I fumbled to grab it. One glance at the screen, and my stomach clenched. Donald. Again.

With an annoyed sigh, I shoved the phone back in my bag without answering.

"I really need to go," I muttered under my breath, frustration creeping into my voice. "Donald's going to kill me if I'm late again."

As if on cue, my eyes flicked up just in time to see my bus pulling away from the stop across the street.

"Damn it!" I cursed, breaking into a jog. But the bus was already gone by the time I made it halfway down the block.

"Great. Just great," I muttered, pulling up the bus schedule on my phone. Twenty minutes until the next one. Donald was going to lose it.

"My offer still stands."

I froze at the sound of that smooth voice, the faint Montovian accent unmistakable. Turning, I found Armani standing behind me, looking every bit as composed as he had earlier.

I let out a frustrated sigh. "Look, sir," I began, trying to keep my tone polite. "Your offer is... generous. But you're asking for a lot. This isn't a decision I can just make on the fly."

He smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with something I couldn't quite place. "I wasn't referring to that offer." His voice held a hint of amusement. "I meant my offer to drive you to work."

"Oh." The response slipped out before I could think. I blinked at him, momentarily thrown off guard. Every instinct screamed at me not to get into a car with a stranger, especially one who had just asked me to be his surrogate. But desperate times, right?

And if he was dangerous, wouldn't he have come up with a more convincing cover story than this madness?

"Fine," I said cautiously. "A ride would be... helpful."

For the first time, his perfectly polished demeanor cracked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual self-assuredness. "Right this way, my lady," he said, gesturing toward the corner. "Your carriage awaits."

I snorted, rolling my eyes as I followed him. "I'm not a lady. Trust me."

"Of course not," he replied with a teasing grin. "You've already told me you're a librarian. Although I must say, you don't fit the librarian stereotype."

I frowned, glancing at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave a casual wave of his hand. "You know. Old, hunched over, wearing a tight bun and glasses the size of teacups. Though, if I may..." His gaze flicked to my face, lingering just a second too long. "Your big eyes and round face do have a certain owl-like quality. Very striking. Noble, even."

I blinked at him, caught somewhere between flattered and insulted. "Uh... thanks?"

"Owls are beautiful creatures," he said smoothly, clearly noticing my hesitation. "Take it as a compliment, my little owl."

Little owl? I cleared my throat, desperate to change the subject. "I really need to get to work."

"Of course," he said, gesturing toward a sleek black Mercedes parked at the curb.

I hesitated, my fingers tightening around my bag. Then, with a sigh, I climbed into the passenger seat.

The car's interior smelled of leather and something citrusy, subtle but undeniably expensive. I stared out the window as we drove, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. My mind churned with thoughts until, finally, I couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to need time," I blurted out, breaking the quiet.

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Time to consider?"

"Yes," I said, my voice firmer now. "This is... a lot. I need more information. And time to think."

"That's fair," he said, nodding. "What time do you finish work?"

"Nine," I replied automatically.

"Perhaps I can take you to dinner afterward," he suggested smoothly. "We can discuss everything in detail. You'll have the entire day to gather your thoughts and questions, and I'll address them all."

I hesitated, chewing on my lip as we pulled up in front of the library. It was just dinner, I reasoned. Nothing more. A chance to get answers-or a chance to back out.

"Dinner," he pressed, his gaze steady.

Finally, I nodded. "Okay. Dinner."

He smiled, handing me my bag as I stepped out of the car. "Until then, Ms. Foster."

As I walked into the library, my phone buzzed in my bag again. Thinking it was another call from Donald, I ignored it. But when it buzzed a second time, I pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

It was the hospital.

my fingers tightening around the phone as the word Urgent stared back at me.

I ducked into the staff break room, my hands trembling as I swiped to answer the call. "Hello?" My voice came out hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Ms. Foster?" The voice on the other end was clinical, detached-the kind that rarely delivered good news. "This is Dr. Haynes from Greenfield Medical Center."

"Yes, I'm here," I managed, my throat tightening. "What's wrong? Is it my father?"

There was a pause that stretched too long, and I felt the ground beneath me shift. "Your father's condition has taken a turn. He experienced some complications this morning, and while we've stabilized him for now, his mobility has worsened."

I pressed a hand to my mouth, tears pricking at my eyes. "What does that mean?" I whispered.

"It means," Dr. Haynes continued gently, "that the spinal surgery is no longer just an option. It's necessary if we want to preserve his remaining motor functions."

A cold wave of dread washed over me. "But... I don't have the money yet," I stammered. "You know that. Isn't there something else-some kind of payment plan?"

Another pause. When he spoke again, his voice carried an edge of sympathy I didn't want to hear. "I'm afraid this kind of procedure isn't something we can arrange payment plans for. I'm sorry, Ms. Foster."

The call ended, leaving me staring blankly at the phone. My father's life-his chance at living without pain, without losing more of himself-was slipping away. All because of money.

I sank into the nearest chair, my body trembling with frustration and helplessness. How was I supposed to fix this? My paycheck from the library barely covered rent and groceries, let alone a surgery that cost more than I'd ever see in my life.

Armani's words came rushing back like a tidal wave, drowning out my better judgment. "I'll pay for your father's treatment." His confidence, his certainty, the way he'd presented the offer like it was the most logical solution-it gnawed at me now.

Was I really considering this? Was I really about to entertain the idea of signing away nine months of my life to a man I'd just met?

I squeezed my eyes shut, but my father's face filled my mind again. His tired eyes, the lines of pain etched into his features, the resignation in his voice when he told me not to worry about him.

"I don't want to be a burden, Rena," he'd said, though we both knew there was no way I could ever let him fend for himself.

A knock at the break room door jolted me back to reality. It was Donald, his familiar scowl plastered across his face.

"Foster," he barked. "You're late. Again."

I swallowed hard, shoving my phone into my pocket. "Sorry," I muttered, brushing past him and into the main floor of the library.

The day passed in a blur, my thoughts a chaotic swirl of worry, guilt, and desperation. By the time my shift ended, my resolve was shaky at best. I stepped outside into the cool evening air, my nerves jangling like a live wire.

Armani was waiting for me.

He stood leaning casually against the sleek black Mercedes, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp as they locked onto mine. As I approached, he straightened, his lips curving into that infuriatingly self-assured smile.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice low and smooth.

I hesitated, the weight of the decision crushing down on me. "I have questions," I said firmly, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me.

"Of course," he replied, opening the car door for me. "Let's discuss everything over dinner. I'll answer whatever you need to know."