The CEO's Triplets: A Love Reborn

Chapter 1

Lía's POV

The monitor tracked my mother's irregular heartbeat, its intermittent beep something I'd long since grown numb to. I had heard it so many times that it blended into the sterile hospital air, just like the hoarse rasp of her voice when she finally looked up at me.

"I thought you weren't coming today," she said, her voice barely a thread.

"Of course I came."

I adjusted her blanket with brisk, practical movements, not bothering to feign a tenderness I didn't possess. It didn't come naturally to me, a fact she knew better than anyone.

"You look worse than I do," she murmured, attempting a smile that faltered halfway.

"Don't be ridiculous," I replied, keeping my gaze fixed on her frail hands, which clutched the sheet as if she were afraid to let go.

She didn't push it. Neither did I. Talking was a luxury neither of us could afford-it wasted strength that was already in short supply.

The mounting hospital bills loomed over us like an inescapable shadow. I didn't need to see the actual numbers to feel their crushing weight: it was there in the nurses' clipped tones, in the doctors' evasive glances, and in the way my mother apologized for the very air she breathed. It was a debt that would kill her long before the illness ever got the chance-unless I did something about it.

I walked back to my apartment with my mind completely blank-or at least, I tried to keep it that way. The second I shut the door behind me, the silence of the empty rooms hit me like an accusation.

I booted up my laptop; a new work email was already waiting in my inbox.

"Tomorrow: Interviews for the surrogacy program. You will receive the candidates. Jorge and Camila Valdez in attendance."

The news shouldn't have shocked me. Rumors had been circulating the hallways of Valdez Enterprises for weeks. The Valdezes had tried everything: endless fertility treatments, failed adoptions. Now, they were looking for a surrogate.

Money was no object to them. It never was. For me, it was everything.

I opened the spreadsheet tracking my mother's medical debts. The total had skyrocketed again, the glaring red number burning into my retinas. I snapped the tab shut before my hands could start to shake.

The compensation they were offering for the surrogacy was enough to wipe the slate clean. I'd caught a glimpse of the figure in a draft contract while prepping documents earlier that week. Enough to cover the treatments, the rehab-even enough to finally give us a breather.

I didn't let myself dwell on it for more than three seconds. Or at least, I tried not to.

But the idea had already lodged itself in my mind, festering like a splinter.

I arrived at the office early the next morning. The interview room was cold and perfectly symmetrical, much like everything else at Valdez Enterprises: immaculate glass walls and minimalist furniture that practically screamed corporate power.

I set out the candidate folders, arranged the water bottles, and perfectly aligned the pens. I skimmed the list of candidates one last time. I didn't have time for anything else.

Camila Valdez walked in first, her heels clicking in a sharp, precise rhythm against the polished floor.

"Thank you, Lía. We needed this ready to go today," she said, her eyes sweeping the room as if searching for a single crack in its perfection.

"It's ready," I replied, keeping my tone perfectly neutral.

She gave a curt nod, but didn't smile. Lately, her mouth was set in a permanent, tense line, worn down by years of bitter disappointment.

Jorge arrived right behind her. Tall and imposing, he possessed the kind of gaze that could evaluate, dissect, and discard a person in the blink of an eye.

"Are they on time?" he demanded, skipping any preamble.

"They're already waiting in the hall," I confirmed.

"Perfect. I have no intention of wasting time today."

Camila turned slightly toward her husband.

"We shouldn't treat this like some cold business transaction, either," she murmured.

"It's a process," he corrected flatly, not even glancing her way. "Not an endless mourning period."

She drew in a sharp breath, letting out a shaky sigh that he completely ignored. But I didn't. I saw the raw pain in her eyes, the yawning abyss between the two of them that seemed to widen with every failed attempt.

The first candidate walked in: a sturdy woman with a hard gaze and shoulders squared by a difficult life.

"I have two kids," she announced before they could even ask, wielding the fact as if it were her entire identity.

Jorge flipped through her paperwork with clinical detachment.

"Reason for applying?"

"Debt. I need the money to start over."

"I understand," he said smoothly, though it was painfully obvious he didn't. A man like Jorge Valdez had never come close to hitting rock bottom.

Camila studied the woman with a mixture of empathy and lingering suspicion.

"Are you absolutely sure about this? It's an incredibly taxing process, both physically and emotionally."

The woman lifted her chin in defiance.

"It's a hell of a lot harder watching my kids go hungry."

Jorge snapped the folder shut. "Next."

There were no polite goodbyes. Just the heavy thud of the door closing behind her.

The second candidate was young-far too young-with tightly intertwined hands and a feverish determination burning in her eyes.

"I'm ready," she stated, repeating it like a desperate mantra.

"That wasn't the question," Jorge replied, not even bothering to look up from her file. "The question is whether you can handle the nine months of pregnancy, the invasive check-ups, and the final handover of the child."

"Yes."

"Good. Because if you're lying, we'll find out. There are strict clauses in the contract for that exact scenario."

Camila finally intervened, her voice soft but laced with steel. "That's enough, Jorge. We aren't interrogating criminals here."

"We are choosing the woman who will carry our child," he shot back. "I have no intention of making another mistake."

The young girl swallowed hard, her throat bobbing visibly. I felt a lump rise in my own throat, as if her fear were my own.

As the couple continued to bicker, something dark and resolute began to take root inside me. It wasn't some romantic impulse, nor was it a heroic dream. It was pure, cold calculation.

The women walking through that door had real, desperate reasons for being there-broken lives I could easily understand, even if the details of mine were different. But none of them had a mother tethered to a heart monitor, drowning under a mountain of medical bills that were suffocating her faster than the cancer itself.

When I was left alone in the room for a few minutes, I went to grab a fresh stack of application forms. I ran my fingers over the top sheet; the paper felt cold and entirely impersonal.

It could be me.

I didn't want to entertain the thought. But the facts were undeniable: I was healthy, childless, and available. And I was desperate.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I slipped a blank form into my bag, unsure if the impulse was born of bravery, stupidity, or pure madness. Or maybe all three.

I stopped by the hospital again at the end of my shift. My mother was asleep, her frail chest rising and falling with visible effort. I took the seat beside her bed, bathed in the dim, sterile light of the room.

I pulled out the blank form, stared at it for a long moment in the shadows, and then carefully tucked it away again.

"I'm going to get you out of here," I whispered into the quiet room.

Though I honestly didn't know if I was making that promise to her... or to myself.

Chapter 2

Lía's POV

The meeting room was just as cold as the day before, but the tension had shifted. It bled into small gestures-Camila rubbing her hands as if trying to scrub away an invisible stain, or pacing back and forth to review files she already knew by heart. It was day two of interviews, and none of the profiles were a match. Every single one fell short of Jorge's relentless standards.

I'd spent hours watching candidates cycle in and out. They were fine on paper, all marked by a desperation I recognized in myself, and all dismissed with a single shake of his head. Not one had breached the invisible wall he so effortlessly kept up.

I set another file on the table, my movements entirely automatic.

"Next candidate in ten minutes," I announced, my voice as neutral as ever.

"Send her in now," Jorge ordered, not even looking up.

"She can't. We're still waiting on her medical reports," I said firmly. Part of my job was to curb his impatience, keeping everything from falling apart.

Camila shot me an exhausted, almost grateful look.

"Thank you, Lía. Without you, this would be total chaos."

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. I wasn't really in the room.

I could barely even stay on my feet. Since dawn, my body had felt twice its normal weight, like lead pumping through my veins. And it had nothing to do with the interviews.

The call from the hospital had come at three in the morning, the ring piercing the dead silence like a knife.

"Your mother has suffered another crisis. We need you here immediately."

I'd sprinted through the deserted streets, the cold biting at my skin, the streetlights blurring through my panic. When I arrived, my mother was gasping for air, clinging to the bed rails, to life, to me. Her eyes had been wide and pleading, begging for something she couldn't articulate. By some precarious miracle, the doctors managed to stabilize her. I was still trembling by the time dawn painted the hospital windows gray.

Now I was here, pouring water, organizing files, and listening to Jorge reject the tenth candidate of the day with a dry, clinical verdict.

"She's not ready," he declared, slapping the folder shut.

"Jorge, we can't rule everyone out," Camila pleaded, her voice cracking with exhaustion.

"I'm not trusting our last attempt to just anyone."

The word last hung in the air like a death sentence. Camila blinked rapidly, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. I understood them more than I wanted to admit. Their pain was a distorted mirror of my own.

But while they focused on their desperation, I could only think about mine. About the form I'd tucked into my bag the day before. About the contract I'd glimpsed out of the corner of my eye-the advance, the surgery, the possibility of my mother breathing without machines. The payout that could save her life.

Under the table, my hand clenched into a fist. My throat burned. Something snapped inside me, something I could no longer hold back.

"There's another candidate," I blurted out, shattering the silence.

They both turned to look at me.

"Who?" Jorge asked, his voice sharp as a blade.

I swallowed hard, my pulse pounding in my ears like a frantic drum.

"Me," I replied.

Camila's eyes widened in shock.

Jorge straightened up, as if he hadn't heard me correctly.

"Repeat that."

"I want to apply," I insisted, forcing my voice to stay steady even as I crumbled inside. "I meet every requirement. I don't have children, I'm perfectly healthy, and I know the process better than anyone."

The ensuing silence was brutal, almost tangible-a heavy weight pressing on my chest.

Jorge reacted first, his expression hardening into stone.

"No. You work for us. It's completely inappropriate. It would complicate everything-legally, ethically."

"I'm not talking about what's appropriate," I countered. "I'm talking about capability. I know exactly what this entails, and I know I need this just as much as you do."

Camila watched me with a mix of bewilderment and deep compassion, her hands trembling slightly.

"Lía... why would you do something like this? Why now?"

That was the crack. The exact moment I finally stopped holding myself together.

"My mother is out of time," I confessed, my voice breaking for the very first time. "She had another crisis last night. I can't afford her surgery. The only thing that can save her... is this. This payout."

Camila covered her mouth with a hand, stifling a gasp. Jorge frowned, processing the information.

"That doesn't guarantee anything," he objected, his tone entirely clinical. "It's a pregnancy. There are risks, obligations, emotional consequences. You can't treat this like a simple transaction."

"It's not simple," I admitted, the words tasting like poison. "It isn't simple for anyone in this room. But I know I can do it. And I know you need someone reliable. I can't lose her, Jorge. I just can't."

He held my gaze-intense, uncomfortable, and sharp as a scalpel. Evaluating me. Dissecting me.

"Do you have any idea what it entails to carry a child that isn't yours? To hand the baby over afterward, as if it were nothing?"

"I know it will hurt," I replied without hesitation. "But it hurts more to watch my mother die just because I don't have the money."

Camila looked at her husband, her voice soft but urgent.

"Jorge... please. Listen to her."

He didn't answer right away. He paced a few steps, thoughtful, weighing the risks as if they were mere figures on a balance sheet.

"I want the doctor to evaluate her today," he finally said. "If a single thing is off, the deal is off the table. No exceptions."

"I accept," I agreed, a wave of relief colliding with absolute terror.

Camila stood up and took my hands, her cold fingers wrapping around mine.

"Lía... thank you. I don't know if this is bravery or madness. But thank you."

I didn't know what to say. I only knew that, for the first time in days, I finally saw a way out. A fragile one, perhaps, but it was mine.

Chapter 3

Lía's POV

The private clinic where the procedure was taking place was unlike anywhere I'd ever set foot in before: hushed hallways, unblinking white lights, and polished floors that reflected every step like an unforgiving mirror. It was the kind of place where no one died from a lack of resources. Where life had value simply because someone could afford to buy it.

Camila arrived first. Her flawless makeup contrasted sharply with her swollen eyes, proof that sleepless nights had left their mark on her despite her best efforts.

"Lía," she greeted, offering a soft, almost maternal smile. "Today is a big day. Are you holding up okay?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't. A heavy knot sat in my stomach, gripping me like a claw and making it hard to draw a full breath. But I couldn't hesitate now-not after stealing that form and turning it into my only lifeline.

Jorge appeared behind her a moment later. Dressed in a dark suit, he wore an impenetrable expression, carrying an aura that practically forced people to step out of his way.

"Let's make this quick," he said, skipping any pleasantries. "The smaller the margin for error, the better."

It wasn't pure coldness. It was fear wrapped in absolute control, as if admitting his anxiety out loud would somehow jinx it.

The doctor guided us into a small room, sterilized to the point of feeling completely impersonal. She rattled off protocols, risks, and statistics in a practiced monotone, but I barely registered a word. My mind kept flashing back to my mother-her ragged breathing, her body convulsing during that early morning crisis that had almost taken her from me. That memory played on a loop, a painful echo that justified every step I was taking now.

Camila took my hand as I lay back on the exam table, the sanitary paper crinkling loudly beneath my weight.

"Take a deep breath. We're right here with you," she whispered, her warm palm pressing against my freezing fingers.

Jorge stood rigid near the wall, scrutinizing the doctor's every move as though supervising a high-risk operation.

The procedure itself was fast, cold, and precise: a sharp pinch, a strange rush of fluid, and then nothing but the low hum of the medical equipment. When it was over, they helped me sit up. The room spun slightly.

"Now, we wait," the doctor said, offering a practiced, professional smile.

Camila beamed through a mix of desperate hope and contained terror.

Jorge simply nodded, though his jaw was clenched so tight it looked ready to snap.

The following weeks blurred into a suffocating routine: dodging glances at the office, losing my afternoons to endless medical appointments, and enduring forced rest that did nothing to ease my exhaustion. Camila texted me every day, her messages becoming an unexpected source of comfort.

"How did you sleep? Do you need anything?"

"Did you eat enough today? I can drop off your vitamins if you need them!"

Jorge, on the other hand, was punctual, dry, and strictly business.

"Appointment at seven. Don't be late."

"Check your blood pressure. Arriving in ten."

Never an emoji. Never a single wasted word.

The first blood test came back positive. Camila sobbed over the phone, her voice cracking with overwhelming relief.

"Lía, oh my God, thank you! We did it... finally..."

Jorge's response was exactly what I expected.

"Good. We'll schedule the weekly check-ups immediately."

But when the doctor called to schedule the first ultrasound, her tone was unusual-heavy with something left unsaid.

"I need all three of you to come in. Today."

By the time we gathered in her office, the silence in the room was oppressive. The doctor squirted cold gel onto my abdomen-sending a sharp shiver down my spine-and glided the wand over my skin. The monitor flickered to life.

A dull, rhythmic thumping filled the room.

Then another.

And a third.

Three blinking dots. Three synchronized heartbeats.

"Are they..." Camila slapped a hand over her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "Are there..."

"Triplets," the doctor confirmed, keeping her tone perfectly neutral. "Three successfully implanted embryos. It's rare, but it is a known possibility with these procedures."

The air in the room thickened, the walls suddenly feeling like they were closing in.

Camila broke down into loud, unrestrained sobs.

"Jorge... there are three! Three lives... Three babies!"

He didn't speak right away. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides, the shock draining all the color from his face. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was hoarse, so thick with emotion it was almost unrecognizable.

"Thank you, Lía."

It was the first time he had ever truly thanked me, stripping away all his usual filters. And it sounded entirely genuine. Vulnerable, even.

I didn't know what to feel. A flash of pride? A rising tide of panic? A wave of vertigo washed over me, making my hands cramp as I gripped the edges of the table. Being a surrogate was already a crushing responsibility.

Carrying triplets... that turned my body into a minefield, a vessel where three separate lives were now growing without asking for permission.

After leaving the clinic that afternoon, I took a detour to the hospital to see my mother. She was sitting up in bed-frail and weak, but stable. Out of the woods, for now.

"You look exhausted, sweetheart," she murmured, extending a fragile, trembling hand. "Come here. Sit down."

I gritted my teeth. I couldn't keep hiding the truth from her. My body was already starting to change-a subtle fullness in my stomach, a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure. Three lives demanded a lot more from a body than one.

"Mom... I have to tell you something."

She smiled, a faint light returning to her tired eyes.

"Whatever it is, sweetheart, tell me."

I took a deep breath, the sterile hospital air burning my lungs.

"I'm pregnant."

Her face lit up in a way I hadn't seen in months, a sudden, vibrant spark of life returning to her features.

"What? Lía, my baby!" She covered her mouth with both hands, tears springing to her eyes. "I can't believe it. I'm going to be a grandmother..."

The lump in my throat swelled, thick and painful.

"Mom... they aren't mine. I'm a surrogate. For my boss and his wife. It's... it was part of an agreement."

Her smile vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a sudden draft.

"Oh..." she whispered as the reality set in. "I understand."

"I did it for you," I blurted out, my voice shaking. "To pay for your surgery. So I wouldn't lose you."

She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping to roll down her pale cheek. But when she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly firm, overflowing with love.

"I'm proud of you. Not for the sacrifice you made... but for your courage."

She reached out, framing my face with her cold hands and forcing me to meet her gaze.

"But you have to promise me something: don't forget that your life matters, too."

I didn't know how to answer that. I had three tiny lives beating inside me, and one fragile life clinging to survival right in front of me-all of them completely dependent on my choices.

"I promise," I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

That night, as I walked home beneath a heavy, overcast sky, the reality finally settled over me.

Nothing would ever be the same again. The Valdezes had bought back their hope. My mother had secured her health, at least for now.

And I... had lost the last remaining pieces of the old Lucía. Three tiny heartbeats accompanied me through the dark streets, a constant, rhythmic reminder.

Three intertwined destinies.

Three reasons I absolutely could not fail.