Reject Being a Surrogate Incubator: The Tech Genius Returns

Inside the upscale private obstetrics and gynecology clinic in Washington D.C., the luxurious VIP lounge exudes elite refinement yet carries an unspoken cold emptiness. Finley Wright sits alone on the premium leather sofa, her fingertips chilled to the bone. Fine drizzle streaks the floor-to-ceiling windows, the soft tapping of raindrops echoing the restless thud of her heartbeat.

She brushes a gentle hand over her flat abdomen, her heart tangled with conflicting emotions. Deep down, she had clung to a faint, desperate hope that this child might mend the fractured bond between her and Jaison Beaumont.

A nurse walks in with a practiced professional smile, holding a sealed confidential document folder. She stops in front of Finley and hands over the file. "Mrs. Beaumont, the supplementary genetic analysis report you requested is ready."

Finley's fingers tremble slightly as she breaks the seal. She had only ordered the additional test out of caution, aware of the genetic medical history in the Beaumont family, craving nothing more than peace of mind for her unborn child.

She pulls out the report and skims through the lines swiftly, her heartbeat skipping abruptly. In the section labeled embryonic genetic origin, the paternal lineage is clearly marked: Jaison Beaumont.

Her breath catches in her throat for a split second. Dazed and numb, her gaze drifts slowly downward to the maternal genetic origin line. The name printed on the paper is not Finley Wright-it is Charlotte Wright.

A deafening silence crashes over her world. The only audible sound is the faint rustle of paper trembling in her grasp. The clinic's constant temperature-controlled air washes over her skin, yet it pierces like frigid winter wind, plunging her into an icy abyss.

Terrifying phrases explode in her mind-illegal surrogacy, contracted childbirth. She is not a wife, not a mother-to-be. She is merely a warm, disposable vessel they have coldly manipulated and used.

Every neglected detail of the past three years snaps into place with cruel clarity: Jaison's persistent coldness, his endless late nights away from home, and the perfunctory, passionless marital encounter a month prior. Every distant gesture now bears a calculated, heartless explanation.

Overwhelming humiliation and revulsion surge in her chest. She staggers into the lounge restroom, bracing herself over the sink as violent dry heaves wrack her body, nothing but bitter air escaping her throat.

She splashes cold water over her face again and again. Lifting her head, she stares at her reflection in the mirror-pale-faced, red-rimmed eyes, every trace of warmth drained away. Her initial shock and agony fade gradually, replaced by hollow, icy desolation.

She makes her decision in an instant, unwavering and final. This child cannot stay. It is the living proof of her betrayal, her deception, her reduction to a tool-a shame she will never bear.

Finley pulls out her phone, her knuckles whitening from the force of her grip, yet her movements are unnervingly steady as she dials the clinic front desk.

The call connects, and she speaks in a flat, emotionless tone. "I am Finley Wright. I need to schedule an abortion procedure. As soon as possible."

The nurse on the line falls into a brief, stunned silence, hesitation lacing her voice. "Mrs. Beaumont, are you certain? Would you like to discuss this decision with Mr. Beaumont first?"

"This is my body, and my decision." Finley cuts her off sharply, her tone cold and unyielding. "Schedule it. Now."

After ending the call, she folds the genetic report neatly and tucks it into her handbag, preserving every word as irrefutable evidence.

She walks out of the clinic, cold drizzle brushing her cheeks. She feels nothing, no cold, no pain, and strides straight toward the parking lot.

Seated in the driver's seat, she does not start the car immediately. She sits motionless in the dead silence of the vehicle for five full minutes.

When she finally opens her eyes again, every trace of fragility and grief is buried deep. Only bone-chilling cold and unclouded resolution remain.

She unlocks her phone, her gaze landing on the contact saved as My Husband. The label burns with biting irony. She skips past the name without the slightest hesitation, every thread of their broken relationship severed completely.

She scrolls through the contacts and dials a new number.

A steady, composed male voice comes through the line. "Nathan Hayes speaking."

"Nathan, it's Finley Wright." Her voice is terrifyingly calm, devoid of tremor or weakness. "I want to file for divorce."

There is a short pause on the line before Nathan responds solemnly. "I understand. I will start preparing the legal documents immediately. Do you have any immediate safety concerns?"

"No. He doesn't know yet," Finley states plainly. "But he will. I need you to be fully prepared."

"I am, Finley. We will fight for everything you deserve." Nathan's tone carries unshakable reliability.

Finley exhales a long, steady breath and starts the engine.

Divorce. Full custody of her son Esteban. Fair division of marital assets. The war for her freedom and dignity starts now.

Finley tightened her hands around the steering wheel until the leather groaned. Twenty minutes later, she pulled up the winding, cobblestone driveway of the Beaumont estate in Kalorama. The imposing brick Georgian mansion rose against the gray sky like a gilded mausoleum.

She turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse containing the folded genetic report, and stepped out into the rain.

She pushed open the heavy oak front door.

Low laughter drifted from the formal drawing room.

Finley's footsteps froze. On the living room sofa, Jaison was leaning slightly forward, gently tucking a strand of blonde hair behind Charlotte Wright's cheek. His gesture was tender and instinctively intimate, utterly natural.

Charlotte Wright, Finley's younger cousin.

Charlotte appeared completely unaware of Finley's arrival. She tilted her head up and smiled at Jaison, her blue eyes brimming with undisguised dependence and adoration. The soft warmth etched into Jaison's side profile was one Finley had never once seen in three years of marriage.

The scene unfolded like a perfect, loving couple's portrait. And she, the rightful mistress of this house, was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder.

Finley stepped forward with a blank, expressionless face. The click of her heels against the marble floor was quiet yet sharp, instantly cutting through the light atmosphere and drawing the attention of the two people in the room.

Jaison lifted his head. The softness on his features vanished the moment his gaze landed on her, melting back into his usual cold impatience. "You're back."

Charlotte stood up at once, putting on a flawless act of flustered innocence. "Finley, you're home! Jaison and I were just going over some math problems from my thesis."

Finley watched her perform with icy detachment. A gifted MIT mathematician? Right now, the title felt nothing short of filthy and ridiculous.

Ignoring Charlotte entirely, Finley fixed her gaze steadily on Jaison. "I have something to tell you."

Jaison frowned, glancing sideways at Charlotte, his tone laced with clear warning. "Whatever it is, it can wait. Charlotte is a guest." His unspoken message was clear: do not lose your composure and cause a scene.

Before Finley could respond, footsteps echoed from the staircase. Their ten-year-old son Esteban came running down.

A faint flicker of warmth stirred in Finley's frozen heart at the sight of her child. She held out her hand softly. "Esteban, honey."

Esteban darted straight past her without a glance, skidding to a stop beside Jaison. He tilted his head up and complained loudly. "Dad, Mom didn't answer any of my calls all afternoon."

There was no longing in his tone, only pure, childish resentment for being ignored. He did not even bother to meet Finley's eyes.

Charlotte knelt down instantly, gently straightening Esteban's collar with a soft, soothing smile. "Don't be mad at your mom, Esteban. She was probably busy with her own things." Her words sounded like consolation, yet subtly implied Finley's neglect of her child.

Pacified yet still displeased, Esteban shot Finley another disapproving look before grabbing Jaison's arm. "Dad, can I go back to the main estate with you tonight? I don't want to stay here."

This was his home, yet he spoke of it as if he were merely a temporary guest. Finley's heart sank completely into cold despair.

Without so much as a glance in Finley's direction, Jaison nodded indifferently at his son. "Of course. Go pack your things."

A husband's betrayal. Her own child's rejection. In that crushing moment, Finley felt utterly abandoned by the entire world.

She stood rooted to the spot, watching Esteban race excitedly upstairs to pack. She watched Jaison and Charlotte exchange a quiet, knowing look that excluded her entirely.

Minutes later, Esteban came back downstairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He reached out naturally and took Charlotte's hand. "Aunt Charlotte, can you read me a story tonight?"

"Of course, sweetie." Charlotte's smile was sickly sweet and warm, and she threw Finley a subtle, triumphant glance over her shoulder.

Jaison grabbed his coat, tossing a cold, dismissive sentence toward Finley. "The Beaumont family dinner is tomorrow night. Don't be late and embarrass me."

With that, he walked past her with his new little family, leaving her alone in the hollow mansion.

The vast living room fell deathly silent. Traces of Charlotte's perfume and the faint echoes of their laughter still lingered in the air, making Finley's solitary presence all the more pitiful and redundant.

She walked slowly toward the sofa, sinking into the spot where Jaison had just been sitting. The faint warmth of his body still lingered on the cushion.

Her gaze fell on a tiny diamond-studded earring tucked in the sofa crevice-the matching piece to the pair Charlotte had been wearing earlier.

A cold, mocking smile tugged at Finley's lips. A clumsy, childish attempt to claim territory.

She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text to her lawyer, Nathan Hayes: I have a new discovery. Revise our strategy. I want full custody of Esteban, at all costs.

The next day, instead of waiting for the Beaumont family dinner, Finley walked straight into Jaison's top-floor office, perched high inside a downtown skyscraper. It was the first time she had ever taken the initiative to visit his company in three years of marriage.

The entire office was decorated in cold tones of black, white, and gray. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the whole of Washington D.C., exuding an overwhelming aura of power and oppression-just like Jaison himself.

Owen White, Jaison's personal assistant, looked visibly surprised at her sudden appearance. Still, he maintained his professional composure and led her inside. "Mrs. Beaumont."

Jaison was seated behind his desk, buried in documents. He only lifted a lazy glance when she stepped in, his tone sharp and displeased. "What are you doing here? I told you not to miss tonight's family dinner."

"We need to talk." Finley set a sealed document folder down on his desk, her voice steady and calm.

Jaison made no move to touch the folder. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding her with a cold, scrutinizing gaze. "I don't have time for your emotional drama, Finley."

Unfazed by his dismissive attitude, Finley held his gaze firmly. "Open it."

Irritated, Jaison finally reached for the folder and pulled out the documents. The moment his eyes landed on the title labeled Divorce Agreement, he froze briefly before a mocking, cold smile tugged at his lips.

"Divorce?" He let out a laugh as if she had told him a ridiculous joke. "What's your new trick, Finley? Are you jealous of Charlotte? Trying to get my attention this way?"

His words sliced sharply through her chest, yet Finley felt no shock. She had long expected this reaction. In his eyes, every single one of her actions was nothing but a cheap attempt to cling to his attention.

"I'm serious, Jaison. I want a divorce. And I want full custody of Esteban." Finley spoke every word clearly and unwaveringly.

The second the word custody fell from her lips, the amusement on Jaison's face vanished completely, replaced by a dark, menacing glint in his eyes. "Full custody? You must be out of your mind. Do you honestly think you stand a chance of taking a Beaumont heir away from this family?"

He pushed himself to his feet and stepped toward her, his tall frame towering over hers, pressing down on her with overwhelming dominance. "Let me remind you, Finley. Everything you have-your title, your luxurious life, even your family's struggling company-all of it exists because of me. Without me, you are nothing."

Before Finley could respond, the private phone on his desk rang.

One glance at the caller ID instantly softened the harshness in Jaison's eyes. Finley caught the name flashing on the screen-Charlotte Wright, her own younger cousin.

He did not bother to avoid her presence and answered the call directly, his tone carrying a gentle warmth Finley had never once heard from him. "Hey, what's wrong? ... Don't cry, I'll be right there."

After hanging up, he grabbed his coat in a hurry, completely ignoring Finley as he headed for the door.

"Our conversation isn't over!" Finley called out behind him.

Jaison paused in his tracks and glanced back at her, his gaze laced with nothing but contempt and disdain. "My conversation with you ended three years ago. As for the divorce... my lawyer will contact yours. But you can forget about taking Esteban."

With that, he left the office without a single glance back, leaving Finley standing alone in the empty room.

Finley clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms until they stung. Not a single tear fell from her eyes.

She walked out of the Beaumont Industries skyscraper, the bright sunlight outside stinging her eyes. She knew a brutal, all-out war was inevitable. Sliding into her car, she dialed her lawyer, Nathan Hayes.

"Nathan, he refused the divorce terms. He's going to fight me for full custody of Esteban."

Nathan's calm, rational voice came through the line. "It's expected. We need solid proof that he is an unfit parent. Any evidence of his affair or inappropriate conduct will be critical to winning the case."

Finley returned to the empty manor, sinking tiredly onto the sofa as she sorted through her next plan of action.

Moments later, her phone lit up with an incoming video call from Esteban. A flicker of fragile hope stirred in her chest, and she answered it quickly.

Esteban's face, a near-perfect replica of Jaison's, appeared on the screen-yet his expression was twisted with raw anger. "Did you go to Dad's office today just to cause trouble?"

Finley froze in shock. "Who told you that?"

"Aunt Charlotte told me! She said you're trying to take me away from Dad! You're a terrible mother! I hate you!" Esteban shouted bitterly through the screen.

He ended the video call abruptly, leaving no room for explanation.

The phone screen faded to black, reflecting Finley's deathly pale face. She finally understood the full extent of Charlotte's manipulation. Not only Jaison, but even her own son had become a weapon her cousin wielded against her. This war was far crueler and more difficult than she had ever imagined.