The Playboy's Unplanned Heirs

Damon Reyes didn't do love. He barely did names. The lady writhing underneath him had whispered something into his ears. Was it Tiffany? Or Trixie? Heck! He coul care less. What would be need her name for anyways.

When he was done, he climbed down zipping his trousers. "You know the way out." He said coldly as he tossed a wad of cash on top her laps without sparing her a second glance.

She blinked rapidly, as if it would clarify what she'd just heard. "Really? That's it?" She asked, hurt evident in her voice.

He just shrugged as he put in his tailored shirt, the muscles in his back flexing under the expensive fabric. "Is there something else? Were you expecting me to bring you breakfast in bed?"

"I'm not a common whore Damon. I am....

"See yourself out and Don't make me repeat myself."

He didn't wait for a response. He picked up his phone a d Walked towards the massive ceiling to floor windows if his suite.

He should've felt something-satisfaction, power, even boredom. But all he felt was... emptiness.

The soft clock of the door told him the woman had left. Once again, silence embraced him. It was heavy and suffocating.

His phone buzzed. One glance at the screen had his jaw tightening.

Father.

Damon almost ignored it. Almost. But he knew better. William Reyes didn't call to chat. He called to give orders.

Grinding his teeth, Damon answered, "What?"

"Enough games, Damon," his father barked without preamble. "You're thirty-three years old. The board is getting restless. Investors need stability."

"And?" Damon drawled lazily, pretending he wasn't already annoyed. "Get yourself a dog. They're very loyal."

"Don't play stupid with me," William snapped. "You need an heir. A legitimate one. Otherwise, the Reyes fortune goes to your snake of a cousin."

Damon's fingers clenched around the phone. His cousin, Brent, would burn the empire to the ground in a year if he got his grubby hands on it.

"You have six months," his father continued mercilessly. "Either you announce a wedding... or produce an heir. Your choice."

"I don't have interest in any of these....

"Then take your interest off the company, properties or any inheritance."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me right you bastard! If you don't give me an heir, you have absolutely nothing to do with me anymore."

The line went dead.

Damon tossed the phone onto the couch and raked a hand through his dark hair. Marriage? To some shrieking socialite desperate for his last name?

Not a chance in hell.

But an heir...

A child without the strings of a wife attached?

Now that, he could work with.

He poured himself a whiskey, staring out over the city. Somewhere out there was a woman desperate enough for money, desperate enough to carry his child-and walk away afterward, no messy emotions involved.

He'd make damn sure of it.

---

By morning, Damon had already made his decision.

His lawyer, why Peter Walsh, a shark in Armani, arrived at the penthouse just as Damon was finishing his black coffee.

"No marriage, no strings," Damon said flatly, tossing a manila folder onto the table. "I want a surrogate. Discreet. Preferably someone without a messy life. Healthy. Clean record. No drama."

Peter arched a brow. "You make it sound like you're ordering a car."

"Better be a damn good one," Damon muttered under his breath. "This isn't just for show. I want my child."

"And what about the mother?" Peter asked carefully.

"Once the kid's born, she's paid and gone." His voice was as cold as the steel skyline behind him. "Draft a watertight contract. No attachments. No custody fights. I don't care if I have to sign a check big enough to buy a small country."

Peter nodded, sliding the folder back toward him. "I know someone who can help. Quiet agency. Top candidates. No questions asked."

"Good." Damon finished his coffee with a sharp snap of his wrist. "Set it up."

As Peter left, Damon leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty space across the breakfast table.

A future heir.

A continuation of the Reyes name.

No wife, no love, no one to betray him the way his mother had betrayed his father all those years ago.

He would do this on his terms.

And no one-absolutely no one-would get in his way.

---

Somewhere across town, Sasha Lane sat in a cramped hospital waiting room, her hands twisting in her lap. The harsh fluorescent lights made her cheap jeans and faded hoodie look even more threadbare.

Her father's doctor stood in front of her, pity etched across his face. "The surgery will cost around twenty million dollars, Ms. Lane. Without it... I'm sorry, but your father's chances are slim."

Twenty million.

It might as well have been two hundred million.

Sasha swallowed past the lump in her throat. She had no savings, no insurance, no rich relatives coming to save her. Aside the part-time waitressing job and mounting bills, she had nothing.

The doctor patted her shoulder awkwardly before walking away, leaving her drowning in helplessness.

Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away fiercely. Crying wouldn't fix anything.

She needed a miracle.

Or a devil's bargain.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed with a message from her roommate.

"Found something crazy. Pays millions. Legal. Weird tho. U gotta be a surrogate. U interested?"

Sasha stared at the message, her heart hammering.

A child? Someone else's child?

She bit her lip, trembling.

For her father... for his life...

She would sell her soul if she had to.

The headboard crashed over and over into the wall, the crashes ringing through the huge penthouse like a drumbeat. Damon barely registered it. He held on to her hips tightly as he pumped hard into her with deep thrusts.

The room was filled with the sound of her loans but it barely registered in his head. The sounded like a faint background music.

His body was here, yes. But his mind? His heart? They were elsewhere, trapped in a space he no longer visited.

"Oh my gosh! I want you deeper. Go harder." He moaned into his ears.

Without uttering a word, he provided her with what she desired. Not because he wanted to oblige her. Not because he loved her. No, he needed something - the numbness of losing himself in the body. He needed to burn off the restlessness that had been eating away at him since his dad issued that ultimatum.

She came with a lid cry and soon after he followed but despite it all, despite the pleasure. He still felt numb. Still felt empty.

Just another night.

She made a move to wrap herself around him, trying to get some form of intimacy something he didn't plan on sharing. He shrugged her off and climbed down from the bed. He picked up his boxers from the floor and put them on.

"Take your stuff and get lost." He said, his voice cold and distant as he reached to take his jeans.

"Are you serious?" She started to say. Her voice trembling and hurt flashing through her eyes.

Damon didn't break stride. He grabbed a thick envelope on the dresser and threw it at her. It dropped with a heavy clunk. "There's your bonus. Take it and get out."

He did not care to glance at her when she packed her belongings. The door slammed shut a couple of minutes later, and he was left alone with the silence.

Damon looked over at the mirror on the other side of the room, his own face glaring back at him. His was set, his dark hair mussed, his body still tensed. But his eyes were what shocked him. They were tired. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

He was tired of it. Tired of the meaningless nights, the nameless bodies, the endless cycle.

He couldn't stop. He needed to finalize this surrogacy contract in a hurry. His father's threat was still ringing in his head - give him an heir, or lose it all.

He looked at his Rolex. Peter, his business associate, would already be in the lobby with the client.

Raking his hand through his hair, Damon pulled his shirt back into place and grabbed his blazer off the chair. His feet remained stable as he strode towards the private elevator.

This was business. No games.

And it was time to seal the deal.

---

The cafe was too bright for Damon's mood. The sun filtered in through the large windows, bouncing off every shiny surface, making everything too happy. It annoyed him.

He slid into a corner table, his tall self sprawling out on the bench as he rested back against it and adjusted the dark sunglasses over his eyes. His eyes fell on the woman seated across from him.

She wasn't at all what he'd expected.

Sasha Lane was completely out of place in this high end coffee shop. She wore a faded blue hoodie with holes in it over frayed jeans. Her black curls were pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her face wore no makeup other than the look of lip balm. No fake eyelashes. No designer wallet. No pretenses.

Plain, raw, and stubborn.

Her brown eyes challenged his head-on, serene yet wary, like she was trying to measure him up just the way he was trying to measure her up. She wasn't fidgeting with her hands. She wasn't batting lashes or pretending she was shy. She sat tight and straight, hands clasped together in her lap.

Hmm.

Peter, as professional as it gets, cleared his throat. "Mr. Reyes, this is Ms. Lane. Ms. Lane, Mr. Reyes."

Sasha extended her hand stiffly across the table. Damon refused to take it. Instead, he pushed his chair back further, regarding her openly, refusing even to pretend to cover.

"Why are you here, Miss Lane?" His voice was relaxed, but the statement was laden with significance.

Sasha did not flinch. "I need the money," she answered curtly.

A small smile played on the lips of Damon. At least she was honest. The majority of women in such a circumstance would have confessed some tear jerking tale, tugging at heartstrings in an effort to appear noble or desperate.

"Straight to the point," he said, tapping his fingers against his table lazily. "Most women at least pretend to have other agendas."

Her teeth gritted, but her voice remained steady. "My father needs to have an operation. It will cost twenty million. I don't have the time or the energy to lie."

There was a ferocity behind her words. Not just desperation - but determination.

Damon felt something stir in his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time. Not quite excitement. Not desire. Maybe... respect. Or curiosity. Maybe both.

"And you'll sell your body for it?" he asked, his voice dropping, more teasing now.

Her cheeks pinked slightly, but she didn't look away. Instead, she lifted her chin, her voice even firmer. "I'm renting out my womb. Big difference."

A slow, sardonic smile stretched Damon's lips.

God, he liked her already.

Peter shifted restlessly alongside them, pulling a thick folder from his briefcase and shoving it across the table to Sasha.

"The entire contract is there," Peter said curtly. "It's got compensation, medical expenses, confidentiality clauses-"

Damon held up a hand, stopping him. He didn't care about paperwork at the moment. His gaze never left Sasha's.

"I'll make it simple," he replied, his voice grimmer, more intense. "You'll be having my child. You'll follow every order of every doctor to the letter. Once the baby's born, you'll disappear from my life. For this, you'll get your twenty million - maybe a little extra, if you're good."

Sasha raised her brows slightly. "And what happens if I'm not so good?" she asked, her voice level but curious.

Damon leaned in, his elbows on the table, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "Then you'll find out exactly how ruthless a Reyes can be."

Their eyes locked. The tension crackled between them like electricity in the air just before a storm.

Sasha's heart hammered against her ribs, but she held her ground. She knew this man was dangerous. Arrogant. Cold as ice. But he was also exactly what she needed.

She had no choice.

"For my father," she thought. For the man who had sacrificed everything for her.

Slowly, she nodded. "I'll do it."

The words felt heavy on her tongue, but once they were out, there was no turning back.

Peter pushed the pen towards the left of her, opening the contract to the correct page. Her hand quivered a little as she took the pen, but she willed it steady.

"Here," she said, scribbling the signature on the dotted line.

Sasha signed the document, signing away her destiny.

As she placed the pen back and pushed the folder away, an icy chill traveled down her spine. A warning. An intuition that she couldn't quite suppress.

Somehow, deep within her heart, she knew she hadn't just sealed a business deal today.

She sold her soul to the devil himself.

And it would be Damon Reyes who would hold the chains.

The first few weeks passed quickly, but they felt empty.

Sasha didn't leave the penthouse during that time. She stayed mostly inside, moving from room to room in silence. The view from the tall glass windows showed the entire city, but even that beauty couldn't hide how trapped she felt.

This wasn't what she expected at all.

Her body was being prepared for the surrogacy-strict schedules, medical tests, vitamins-but her mind? No one seemed to care about that.

Damon Reyes was cold, distant, and completely focused on the business side of things. He never offered comfort, never asked how she felt. He treated her like part of a contract-nothing more.

The first night he came to her room, it wasn't intimate or gentle. It was all business, like shaking hands to seal a deal. He didn't talk much. No small talk, no polite smile. Just cold instructions.

Sasha had never met a man like him before. He didn't insult her or act cruel. But he made her feel like she didn't exist.

Each day blended into the next. She followed the schedule he gave her-doctor visits, light workouts, a strict diet-but the rest of the time, she was left alone. Damon only spoke to her when absolutely necessary. Everything else was handled by others. Assistants came and went, chefs made her meals, a driver waited on standby, but none of it mattered.

It was a golden cage. Expensive. Beautiful. But still a cage.

When Damon did show up, it was only for quick updates or to check on progress. He always looked sharp in his tailored suits, his expression hard and unreadable. His eyes were cold. Ice cold.

And yet, his presence still did something to her.

There was something powerful about him. When he entered a room, the air changed. He didn't need to speak for people to notice. Sasha noticed. Hard as she tried, she couldn't get her heart to stop beating fast whenever he was near.

She willed herself time after time to focus only on the reason she was here. The money. Twenty million dollars. Enough to pay for her father's surgery and save his life. That was the goal. Nothing else mattered.

---

From where he was standing in his office, behind the glass wall. Damon watched Sasha without saying a word. Even though he tried very hard to distract himself by burying his head deep into work, he occasionally found his thoughts drifting to her.

She was stretched out on a lounge chair in the terrace. She had a book on her lap. Even though she appears to be calm, he could tell there was a lot on her mind.

She had strength. He had to admit that. Other women in her position might have complained, demanded more, shown signs of weakness. But not Sasha. She had handled everything quietly, without breaking down.

Something about her caught his attention. This was weird because he couldn't say what it was and he definitely wasn't going to admit that he was having a pull towards her.

There was only one reason they found themselves together and that was for an heir to be produced and that's it.

Still, he found himself wondering what was going through her mind.

---

Sasha closed the book with a soft sigh. She hadn't read a single page. The words on the paper meant nothing to her. Her thoughts kept wandering.

No matter how beautiful, how cozy or how fancy the place looked, it wasn't home. it would never be. Plus she knew she didn't belong here and she hates it so kuch.

But she had to stay. She needed the money. That was the only reason she agreed to this.

And yet, something about Damon made her uneasy.

For most of the times, He was very strict, emotionless was the right word and then he'd change and become softer, caring.

Yes,but wasn't enough to mean anything but it was enough to confuse her.

Was he really as heartless as he seemed?

She couldn't allow herself to care. She was part of a deal, nothing more.

She stepped onto the balcony, her eyes scanning the city. Her thoughts returned to her father, lying in a hospital bed, waiting for a second chance.

She needed to stay strong. That was all that mattered.

---

Damon came back earlier than he used to that evening. He looked powerful, Sharp. Every bit of the boss he is but looking into his eyes, you could see the storm brewing.

"It's time for dinner." Peter announced.

Damon didn't say a word in response. He just nodded and walked straight to the dining room. Sasha was already seated when he came in. He looked up the moment she heard him come in.

For a brief moment, no one said anything but the silence was loud.

"I'm sure you're enjoying your stay here." It was more of a statement than a question.

She rolled her eyes at him. "If I remember correctly, this wasn't meant to be a vacation so I see no reason why I should be enjoying it." He voice was calm but firm.

His eyes never left hers. "I don't remember saying it was."

Her shoulders shifted slightly. She was ready for whatever he might say next.

He noticed something different about her. She seemed to have possessed strength now. She easily challenged him and strangely, he found that... appealing.

"Everything's going as planned," he said, lifting his wine glass. "The doctors are happy with the results."

She gave a small nod, eyes fixed on her water glass. "That's good."

They didn't say much more. But the tension sat between them like a third guest at the table. It had been there from the start. Neither wanted to acknowledge it. But it was there.

---

Sasha stood in front of the mirror in her room, studying her reflection. She still looked the same but she felt something shifting inside her. Was it the stress from the procedure? Was it staying here with Damon? She couldn't quite place her hand on it.

She turned at the sound of the door opening behind her.

It was him.

"Everything okay?" His voice was low, softer than usual, but still carried weight.

She tensed but didn't turn around. "Yes."

He didn't move. She expected him to speak again, but he didn't. She felt him behind her, close but silent.

Her body froze. The air felt too heavy to breathe.

She waited.

Finally, she heard the door close. He had left.

Only then did she breathe again.