Chapter 3

Allison Farmer POV:

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital room flickered above me, a painful assault on my eyes. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils, pulling me back to a reality I wished I could escape. My head throbbed, and my body felt heavy, as if made of lead. A doctor, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, sat beside my bed, looking at me with a sympathetic gaze.

"Ms. Farmer," she began softly, "you're awake. That's good." She paused, then took a deep breath. "You suffered a severe stress-induced episode, compounded by extreme exhaustion and malnutrition. But there's something else." She reached for my hand, her grip gentle. "You're pregnant, Allison. You're about eight weeks along."

The world tilted. Pregnant. The word echoed in the sterile room, a shocking, impossible revelation. My stomach clenched, but this time it wasn't pain, it was a complex cocktail of fear, disbelief, and a flicker of something undefinable. Eight weeks. That meant... the night of our anniversary. The night I had tried to create a romantic evening, only for Christopher to call the police. My grandmother's music box. The tea. The lie that had become my life.

"Your condition is stable now, but the baby... the fetus is very fragile," the doctor continued, her voice grave. "You need absolute rest, no stress, and proper nutrition. Any further complications could lead to a miscarriage." She looked at me, her eyes full of genuine concern. "This is very serious, Allison. You need to take care of yourself."

I lay there, numb, staring at the ceiling. A baby. His baby. A product of a marriage built on lies, hatred, and cruelty. I touched my still-flat stomach, a strange mix of emotions washing over me. How could I bring a child into this world? Into his world? But then, a flicker of hope, a desperate, irrational thought, surfaced. This child... it could be my ticket out. My freedom.

I remembered Mrs. McDowell's words, whispered to me in confidence weeks after the wedding, a secret pact made in the quiet of her private study. "Allison, I need an heir. Christopher is... complicated. Cory is unsuitable. You, however, possess the strength and integrity this family needs. Carry my grandchild, and I will give you one billion dollars and your freedom. No questions asked. But you must not tell Christopher, or anyone else."

I reached for my phone, my fingers fumbling with the screen. I had to contact Mrs. McDowell. This was it. This was the one chance. I swallowed hard, the taste of metallic fear in my mouth.

Mrs. McDowell's voice, when she finally answered, was crisp and commanding. "Allison? What is it? I told you not to contact me unless absolutely necessary."

"Mrs. McDowell," I began, my voice trembling, "I... I'm pregnant. Eight weeks."

There was a beat of silence, then a gasp. Not of shock, but of pure delight and triumph. "Pregnant? Oh, Allison, that's wonderful news! Absolutely wonderful! My grandchild! You've done it." Her voice was filled with a joy I had never heard from her before. "This changes everything. My legal team will be in touch to finalize the arrangements. One billion dollars and your freedom, as promised. You just focus on yourself and the baby. Everything will be taken care of."

A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. Freedom. A billion dollars. It was real. I could save my grandmother. I could escape this nightmare.

But the reprieve was short-lived. Just hours later, a frantic call from the hospital shattered my fragile hope. "Ms. Farmer, your grandmother's condition has deteriorated rapidly. We need to operate immediately. It's a matter of hours now." My heart plummeted. "But... the funds. Have they been transferred?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"No, Ms. Farmer," the nurse said, her voice laced with pity. "There's no record of any payment. We can't proceed without it."

No. It couldn't be. Mrs. McDowell had promised. Christopher. He had to have released the funds, as per his part of the surrogacy agreement. He knew how urgent it was. He knew. The anger, cold and sharp, pierced through my initial despair. He had failed me. He had failed my grandmother.

I frantically dialed Christopher's number, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped the phone. It rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, his assistant answered. "Mr. McDowell is in a meeting, Ms. Farmer. He cannot be disturbed."

"It's an emergency!" I shrieked, my voice cracking. "My grandmother is dying! He needs to release the funds now!"

"I'll relay the message," the assistant said, her voice flat, devoid of emotion, and then the line went dead.

I redialed, again and again, but it went straight to voicemail. He was ignoring me. He was letting my grandmother die. The betrayal was a fresh wound, deep and festering. All the times I had sacrificed for him, all the pain I had endured, all for this. For him to abandon me now, when it mattered most.

Hours later, almost tearing my hair out with desperation, I finally got through to him. His voice was laced with an unnerving impatience. "What do you want, Allison? I told you I was busy."

"My grandmother, Christopher! She's dying! She needs the surgery! You promised!" I pleaded, my voice raw, tears streaming down my face. "The funds haven't been released! You explicitly had to sign off before Mrs. McDowell would release the full amount."

He let out a sigh, a sound of pure annoyance. "Allison, I don't recall making any such promise. And frankly, I'm tired of your dramatics. What do you expect me to do?"

"Release the money! Now! Please, Christopher! For God's sake!" I was begging, my pride shattered beyond repair.

"There's something else I need first," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "Something I've wanted for a long time. Cory. She's visiting her parents. Go pick her up. Bring her back to me. Now."

My stomach dropped. Cory. Always Cory. Even now, when my grandmother was on her deathbed, his twisted obsession still dictated his actions. "But Cory... she' s the one who lied to you about the bone marrow donation. She's the reason you hate me. She took credit for my sacrifice!" I choked out, the words bursting from me in a desperate attempt to make him see reason.

He laughed, a harsh, dismissive sound. "Lies? Allison, you're the master of lies. Don't try to pin your deception on Cory. She's my savior. You're nothing but a cruel imitation." He paused, his voice turning icy. "You want the money? Get Cory. Now. Or your grandmother can suffer the consequences."

My hands shook, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I had to. For Grandma. I closed my eyes, picturing her frail hand, her loving smile. I would do it. I would do anything. "Fine," I choked out, the word a bitter taste in my mouth. "I'll do it. Just... promise me the money will be there. Immediately."

"It will be," he said, his voice a chilling monotone. "Once Cory is safely back in my arms." He hung up.

With trembling fingers, I found the ultrasound image, the tiny, blurry outline of the life growing inside me. I attached it to a text message, then typed out a short, desperate plea. "Christopher. I'm pregnant. This is your baby. Please, don't do this. My grandmother needs you. Our baby needs you." I pressed send, a sliver of irrational hope flickering within me. Surely, this would change his mind. Surely, he couldn't deny his own child.

A few agonizing minutes later, my phone vibrated. I snatched it up, my heart hammering. His reply was a single, chilling sentence. "Allison, don't pretend that's my child. Get rid of it. Now. You're nothing but a vessel for my scorn."

My world shattered. My breath hitched, a silent scream tearing through my soul. He denied our child. He told me to get rid of it. All the pain, all the humiliation, all the years of trying to earn his love, it all crashed down on me, heavy and suffocating.

I remembered the early days, before the hatred, before Cory's poisonous lies. The stolen glances, the rare, gentle touches, the moments I had dared to dream he might actually care. I remembered the night we were married, a forced union, yes, but for a brief moment, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. He had held me close, whispered promises of a future, a fragile hope that I clung to desperately. But even then, I knew. Even then, something felt off.

Now I knew the truth. His occasional kindness, those rare moments of intimacy, they weren't for me. They were for Cory. He was trying to make me into her, to see her in me. He was trying to rekindle a love that wasn't mine to begin with. He was using me, not just for the surrogacy, but as a substitute, a stand-in for the woman he truly desired. It was always about Cory. My worth was always measured against hers.

I remembered the excruciating bone marrow donation, the weeks of pain and recovery, the anonymous call confirming I was his match, the hope that one day he would know, that he would understand. I remembered the secret agreement with Mrs. McDowell, the billion-dollar promise for carrying his child, my only way out, my grandmother' s only lifeline. And now, he was denying even that. He was denying his child. My child.

My mind reeled as I thought about the many times I had completed Christopher' s dangerous requests, all for the sake of getting him to release funds for my grandmother' s treatment. Once, he had sent me into a treacherous part of the city to retrieve a rare, stolen artifact from a notorious gang. The alleyways were dark, the air thick with menace, and the men I faced were ruthless. I remember the cold press of a knife against my throat, the fear that choked me, but I had pushed through it, my grandmother' s face a beacon in the darkness. I had returned, bruised and terrified, the artifact clutched in my trembling hands.

Christopher had barely looked at me. He had taken the artifact, his eyes lighting up with a cruel satisfaction, and then, he'd brought it to Cory. "For you, my darling," he'd said, presenting it to her like a trophy. She had smiled, a dazzling, victorious smile, completely oblivious to the terror I had just endured, to the cuts and bruises hidden beneath my clothes. I watched them, my heart a hollow ache in my chest. She had everything, effortlessly, while I fought for every scrap of dignity, every moment of survival. He had thrown me into harm's way, and then used my sacrifice to win Cory' s affections.

Cory, always the perfect one, the beloved one. She had always been his everything, his light, his "savior." And I? I was just a shadow, a pawn in their twisted game. The weight of it all crushed me. My head dropped onto my pillow, the tears flowing freely now, hot and silent. The cold, hard truth was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest, stealing my breath. He didn't care about me. He didn't care about our child. He didn't care about my dying grandmother.

I picked up my phone again, my vision blurred by tears. I sent him one last message, a desperate plea, a final test of his humanity. "Christopher, please. My grandmother. She's fading. Just tell me why. Why do you hate me so much? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

His reply was instantaneous, chillingly swift. "You exist, Allison. And you remind me of everything I despise. Stop bothering me. If your grandmother dies, it's on you for not getting Cory to me fast enough. And if you don't abort that 'child,' I swear to God, I will make sure you regret it."

My hands fell to my side, the phone clattering against the hospital bed. The hope, the love, the desperate clinging to a future that would never be-it all withered and died in that moment. There was nothing left. Absolutely nothing.