The Billionaire's Price For My Baby

Elaina Carroll gripped the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, her knuckles turning white as another wave of nausea rolled through her empty stomach. The fluorescent lights of the office restroom hummed overhead, a sound that seemed to drill directly into her skull. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe through her nose, counting the seconds until the spinning sensation in her head slowed down.

One. Two. Three.

It had been six weeks since the charity gala. Six weeks since the champagne that tasted like liquid gold and the mistake that felt like a fever dream.

With trembling fingers, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the white plastic stick she had smuggled in inside her sleeve. She didn't want to look. Looking made it real. But the silence of the stall was suffocating, and the unknown was worse than the truth.

She opened her eyes.

Two pink lines.

They were faint, but they were undeniable. A positive result.

The air left her lungs in a sharp, ragged gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob, but a small, pathetic whimper escaped. Memories of that night flashed behind her eyelids-the heavy scent of pine and expensive scotch, the rough texture of Adrian Conway's tuxedo jacket, the way his eyes had darkened in the dim light of the hotel suite. It wasn't love. It wasn't even romance. It was a collision of alcohol and opportunity, a lapse in judgment from a man who never made mistakes and a woman who was too dazzled to say no.

The restroom door swung open with a heavy thud, followed by the sharp, rhythmic click of high heels on the tiled floor.

Elaina panicked. She shoved the pregnancy test deep into her handbag, burying it under receipts and lip balm. She flushed the toilet, not because she needed to, but to mask the sound of her jagged breathing.

"Elaina? Are you dead in there?"

The voice was sharp, laced with faux concern. Joni Dillon. Of course, it was Joni.

Elaina stood up, smoothing down her skirt with shaking hands. She took a deep breath, composed her face into a mask of neutrality, and unlocked the stall door.

Joni was standing at the sinks, reapplying a shade of lipstick that was too bright for a Tuesday morning. She caught Elaina's reflection in the mirror and smirked.

"You look like hell," Joni said, popping her lips. "Rough night? Or just hungover?"

Elaina moved to the adjacent sink, turning on the tap. The water was freezing, shocking her skin. She splashed it onto her face, desperate to wash away the heat rising in her cheeks.

"Just a stomach bug," Elaina muttered, grabbing a paper towel. "I'm fine."

"Right," Joni drawled, her eyes narrowing as she watched Elaina dry her face. "Well, you better get it together. The Ice King is on a rampage today. He's already fired two interns for breathing too loud."

Elaina didn't respond. She threw the paper towel in the bin and walked out, her legs feeling like lead.

Her desk was right outside the double mahogany doors of the CEO's office. It was a gatekeeper's station, organized with military precision. She sat down, her hand instinctively going to her flat stomach beneath the fabric of her blouse. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that made her dizzy.

She was going to lose her job. That was the only outcome. Adrian Conway didn't do messy. He didn't do personal complications. He was a machine, efficient and cold, and she was just a cog that had suddenly malfunctioned.

The intercom on her desk buzzed, making her jump.

"Coffee. Black."

Adrian's voice was low, devoid of inflection. It wasn't a request; it was a command.

Elaina's body moved on autopilot. Five years of being his Executive Assistant had wired her muscles to respond to his voice before her brain could catch up. She went to the breakroom, her hands performing the ritual-fresh grind, French press, four minutes exactly. No sugar. No cream. Just bitter, dark liquid.

She stood outside his office door with the steaming mug, taking a moment to steady herself. She had to tell him. She couldn't keep this a secret, not when her body was already betraying her.

She pushed the door open.

Adrian Conway was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. He was on the phone, his posture rigid, the line of his shoulders sharp under his bespoke suit. The city of Manhattan sprawled out beneath him, gray and imposing, much like the man himself.

He turned as she entered, his eyes scanning her with the indifference one might show a piece of furniture. He pointed to the coaster on his desk, not breaking his conversation.

Elaina set the mug down. The ceramic clinked softly against the glass surface. She didn't leave. She stood there, gripping the edge of her blazer, her fingernails digging into her palms.

Adrian hung up the phone and looked at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "Is there a problem, Elaina?"

"Mr. Conway," she started, her voice sounding thin and foreign to her own ears. "About... about that night. The gala."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Adrian's expression hardened. He picked up a file from his desk, not looking at her.

"That was a mistake, Elaina. A lapse. We agreed to forget it."

"I know," she whispered. "But-"

"I don't repeat myself," he cut her off, his tone slicing through the air like a scalpel. "You are an excellent assistant. Do not make me question your professionalism by bringing up irrelevancies. Go."

The shame hit her like a physical blow. It started in her chest and burned its way up her throat. He saw it as nothing. A blip. An irrelevancy.

"I'm sorry," she choked out.

She turned and fled. She walked fast, head down, past Joni's curious gaze, past the murmuring interns. She needed air. She needed to get out of this building before she shattered.

It was lunch hour. She grabbed her purse and headed for the elevators, intending to go to the clinic three blocks away to get a blood test confirmation, just to be absolutely, one hundred percent sure before her world ended.

The elevator doors pinged open on the executive floor. Elaina stepped forward, but stopped abruptly.

Constance Conway was inside.

The matriarch of the Conway family was a woman made of steel and pearls. She was petite, but her presence filled the small metal box, sucking out all the oxygen. Her gray hair was coiffed into an immobile helmet, and her eyes were the same icy blue as her son's.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Conway," Elaina managed to say, stepping in and pressing herself against the side wall.

Constance didn't answer immediately. Her gaze swept over Elaina, assessing, calculating. It felt like being scanned by a predator.

"Miss Carroll," Constance finally acknowledged, her voice dry.

The elevator descended in silence. Elaina stared at the floor numbers changing, willing them to move faster. Her stomach churned again. The smell of Constance's heavy, floral perfume was making her gag reflex twitch.

The doors opened to the lobby. Elaina practically bolted out, eager for the exit.

A courier with a stack of boxes was rushing in, blind behind his load. He slammed into Elaina's shoulder.

The impact spun her around. Her handbag slipped from her grasp and hit the marble floor upside down.

Everything spilled. Her wallet, her keys, her lipstick.

And the box. The white box with the bold pink lettering. PREGNANCY TEST.

Elaina gasped and dropped to her knees, her hands scrambling to gather her things. She snatched up the wallet, the keys. She reached for the box.

But a manicured hand with a large sapphire ring got there first.

Elaina froze. She looked up, her breath hitching in her throat.

Constance Conway was holding the box. She turned it over in her hand, reading the label. Then, her eyes moved to the loose plastic stick that had fallen out of the box, lying on the floor. The two pink lines were visible even from this distance.

Constance picked up the stick with two fingers, as if it were contaminated evidence. She looked at the date on the receipt that had fluttered out. She looked at Elaina.

There was no anger in her face. There was something far worse. A slow, terrifying smile spread across her lips.

"Get up," Constance said softly.

Elaina stood, her legs shaking so hard she thought they might give out. "Mrs. Conway, I can explain-"

Constance raised a hand, silencing her. She snapped her fingers, and two large men in dark suits materialized from the shadows of the lobby.

"My car is outside," Constance said. "Get in."

"I... I can't," Elaina stammered, looking toward the revolving doors where freedom lay. "I have to get back to work."

"You have a new job now," Constance said, her voice leaving no room for argument. She turned and walked toward the exit, the men flanking Elaina, blocking any path of escape.

Elaina looked around the busy lobby. People were walking by, checking their phones, drinking coffee. No one noticed the kidnapping happening in plain sight.

She was ushered through the doors and toward a sleek black Lincoln stretched out at the curb. The driver held the door open.

Elaina hesitated, looking back at the glass tower of Conway Enterprises. High up on the top floor, Adrian was drinking his black coffee, completely unaware that his life-and hers-was about to implode.

One of the bodyguards placed a hand on her back and shoved, not gently. Elaina stumbled into the dark interior of the car. The door slammed shut, sealing her in with the dragon.

The interior of the Lincoln was silent, insulated from the chaotic noise of Manhattan traffic. The air conditioning was set to a chill that made goosebumps rise on Elaina's arms. She pressed herself into the corner of the leather seat, clutching her purse to her chest as if it could shield her from the woman sitting opposite.

Constance Conway held the pregnancy test stick in a tissue, examining it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond for flaws.

"Adrian's," she stated. It wasn't a question. "Six weeks. The timing aligns perfectly with the gala."

"It could be anyone's," Elaina lied, her voice trembling.

Constance reached into the seat pocket and pulled out a manila envelope. She tossed it onto Elaina's lap.

Elaina opened it. Photographs spilled out. Grainy, black-and-white images taken from security footage. Elaina and Adrian entering the private elevator at the hotel. Elaina leaving the next morning, disheveled, wearing the same dress.

"I keep tabs on my son's investments," Constance said smoothly. "And his liabilities. You, Miss Carroll, have just become a significant liability."

Elaina shoved the photos back into the envelope, feeling violated. "I didn't plan this. It was an accident."

"Accidents are for poor people," Constance sneered. "In this family, we have consequences." She leaned forward. "Here is the deal. You carry the child to term. You hand it over to the Conway family immediately after birth. You sign away your parental rights. In exchange, you receive one million dollars and a nondisclosure agreement that will bury this secret forever."

Elaina's stomach lurched. "I'm not a surrogate," she said, her voice gaining a fraction of strength. "I'm not selling my baby."

Constance laughed, a dry, brittle sound. "Don't be sentimental. Look at your bank account. You can barely afford your rent in Queens. How do you plan to raise a Conway heir? On food stamps?"

The car slowed and pulled over to the curb in front of a private members' club. Constance tapped on the partition glass.

"Get out," she commanded. "Think about it. You have twenty-four hours before I destroy you."

The door opened. Elaina stumbled out onto the sidewalk, dazed. The Lincoln pulled away, disappearing into the stream of yellow taxis.

She stood there, shivering in the afternoon breeze. Her phone vibrated in her hand. She looked down at the screen. St. Louis General Hospital.

Her heart stopped. She answered immediately. "Hello? Is it Mom?"

"Miss Carroll," the doctor's voice was grave. "I'm afraid I have bad news. Your mother's condition has deteriorated rapidly in the last twelve hours. The experimental trial is her only option now."

"Okay," Elaina said, tears springing to her eyes. "Okay, put her on it. Please."

"We can't," the doctor said. "The insurance company denied the claim this morning. They consider it elective. We need a down payment of two hundred thousand dollars to begin the protocol. Without it, we have to transfer her to hospice care. You have until tomorrow morning."

Elaina felt the blood drain from her face. "Two hundred thousand? I don't... I can't..."

"I'm sorry, Miss Carroll. We need the funds." The line went dead.

Elaina dropped the phone to her side. The city sounds-horns, sirens, chatter-faded into a dull roar. She sank down onto a bench, burying her face in her hands. Her mother was dying. She was pregnant. And she had nothing.

Desperate, she dialed the only other number she knew by heart.

"Mitch," she whispered when the call connected.

"Elaina!" Her father's voice was boisterous, underscored by the unmistakable chime of slot machines. "My lucky charm! Listen, I'm up a grand, but I need a little float to keep the streak going. Can you wire me five hundred?"

"Dad, Mom is dying," Elaina sobbed into the phone. "The hospital needs money. Do you have anything? Anything at all?"

There was a pause on the line. Then Mitch's tone shifted, becoming whiny and defensive. "Dying? She's always dying. Look, I'm in a hole here, Elaina. Some bad guys are looking for me. I was hoping you could help me out."

"You don't care," she whispered, the realization hitting her like a stone. "You never cared."

"Don't give me that high-and-mighty attitude," Mitch snapped. "You owe me. I raised you."

Elaina ended the call. She stared at the screen saver-a photo of her mother, smiling, before the cancer took her hair and her light.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. She stood up. She looked in the direction the Lincoln had gone.

She didn't have a choice. She never had a choice.

Thirty minutes later, Elaina was escorted into the boardroom on the top floor of Conway Enterprises. The room was vast, dominated by a long glass table. Constance sat at the head. A lawyer sat to her right.

"I see you've come to your senses," Constance said, not looking up from her papers.

"I have a condition," Elaina said, her voice steady despite the trembling of her hands. "I need full medical coverage for my mother. Including transfer to the specialist clinic in Switzerland. And the cash upfront."

Constance looked at the lawyer, who nodded slightly. "Done," Constance said. "But the terms have changed."

"Changed?"

"The board is restless," Constance said, standing up and walking to the window. "Rumors of Adrian's bachelor lifestyle are affecting stock stability. They want a family man. A stable legacy." She turned to Elaina. "You won't just be giving up the baby. You will marry Adrian."

Elaina took a step back. "Marriage? He hates me. He'll never agree to that."

"He will do what is necessary for the company," Constance said coldly. "And you will do what is necessary for your mother."

The lawyer slid a contract across the table. Prenuptial Agreement. Medical Trust Fund Addendum.

Elaina read the lines. Immediate transfer of funds to St. Louis General. It was her mother's life, written in legal jargon.

The heavy double doors crashed open. Adrian strode in, his face a mask of fury.

"Mother, what the hell is this meeting?" He stopped when he saw Elaina. His eyes narrowed. "What is she doing here?"

Constance didn't flinch. She picked up the ultrasound receipt from the table and slammed it down in front of him.

"She is here because of this."

Adrian looked down. He read the receipt. The color drained from his face, leaving him gray. He looked at Elaina, then back at the paper. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

"You told her?" Adrian hissed at Elaina. "You came running to her for a payout?"

"I didn't-" Elaina started.

"Monday morning," Constance announced, drowning her out. "City Hall. It's already arranged. The press release goes out at noon."

Adrian stared at Elaina. The look in his eyes wasn't just anger anymore. It was betrayal. It was loathing. He thought she had planned this. He thought she had trapped him.

"Come with me," Adrian said, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and stormed out of the boardroom.

Elaina looked at the contract, then at Constance's smug face. She grabbed the pen, signed her name in a jagged scrawl, and ran after the father of her child.

Adrian dragged Elaina into his private office and slammed the door. The sound echoed like a gunshot. He turned the lock with a sharp click.

He advanced on her, backing her up until her shoulders hit the wall. He was close, too close. She could smell the coffee on his breath, mixed with the mint he used to mask it.

"Did you plan this?" he demanded, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "The champagne? The hotel? Was it all a long con to get a piece of the trust fund?"

Elaina pressed her hands against the wall behind her, trying to put distance between them. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn't tell him about her mother. If he knew she was desperate, he would use it against her. He would think she was even more pathetic.

"I need the money," she said, her voice hollow. "And you need an heir. That's what your mother said."

Adrian flinched as if she had slapped him. He stepped back, looking at her with pure disgust. "So it is a transaction. Fine. I prefer it that way. Don't expect me to play the loving husband, Elaina. You are an employee who got a promotion. Nothing more."

"I understand," she whispered.

Monday morning was gray and drizzling. Elaina stood outside City Hall in a beige suit she had bought on sale at Macy's. It was ill-fitting and wrinkled. She held a small bouquet of white carnations she had picked up at a bodega on the way.

A black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Adrian stepped out. He was wearing a black suit, sharp and immaculate. He looked like he was attending a funeral.

He didn't say hello. He didn't look at her. He just gestured for her to walk.

They entered the building, maintaining a distinct gap between them. In the waiting line, couples were holding hands, giggling, kissing. Adrian stood with his hands in his pockets, checking emails on his phone. Elaina stared at her shoes, feeling the weight of the absurdity crushing her.

"Next," the clerk called out.

They stood before the judge. The ceremony was short, stripped of all poetry.

"Do you, Adrian Conway, take this woman..."

"I do," Adrian said. He sounded bored.

"Do you, Elaina Carroll..."

"I do," she said. Her voice cracked.

"Rings?" the judge asked.

Adrian reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it to reveal a diamond the size of a quail's egg. It was ostentatious, heavy, and cold.

He took her left hand. His fingers were dry and warm. For a second, just a second, she felt a spark of electricity. Then he shoved the ring onto her finger.

It was too big. It slid loosely, spinning around her knuckle.

"It doesn't fit," she murmured.

"It's a Conway ring," he said, not looking at her. "You'll grow into it."

Constance stepped out from behind a pillar, a photographer in tow. "Smile," she commanded.

Adrian leaned in. He didn't kiss her lips. He brushed his cheek against hers, a stiff, awkward contact. The camera flashed, blinding them.

"Done," Adrian said, pulling away instantly. He didn't make eye contact. He shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets, as if the brief physical contact had burned him.

Elaina watched him, a lump forming in her throat. He felt dirty touching her.

They walked out into the drizzle. Constance handed Elaina a set of keys. "Your lease in Queens has been terminated. Your things are being moved to the penthouse as we speak."

"What?" Elaina gasped. "But I haven't packed-"

"Stevens will handle it," Adrian cut in, nodding at his driver. "I have a board meeting. I can't be late."

He got into the Maybach and slammed the door. The car sped off, leaving his new bride standing on the wet pavement.

Stevens, a giant of a man with a shaved head and a gentle face, opened the door of a second town car. "Mrs. Conway. Please."

Elaina climbed in. The title sounded like a joke. She looked down at the ring, the diamond catching the gloomy light. It felt like a shackle.

Her phone buzzed. A text from the hospital. Funds received. Treatment initiated. Your mother is stable.

Elaina let out a long, shaky breath. It was worth it. The humiliation, the coldness, the trap. It was all worth it.

The car pulled up to her old apartment building in Queens. "I'll just grab a few personal things," she told Stevens.

She walked up the three flights of stairs, the familiar smell of stale curry and dust greeting her. The door to her apartment was ajar.

Her heart skipped a beat. She pushed it open.

The living room was a disaster. Drawers were pulled out, clothes scattered. Sitting on her worn-out beige sofa, smoking a cigarette, was Mitch.

He looked up as she entered, his eyes bloodshot and predatory. He saw the ring immediately.

"Well, well," Mitch grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. "My little girl hit the jackpot."