The Surrogate Contract With The Ruthless Billionaire

I used to think guilt was something you could carry in your hands, a weight you could walk away from, but I was wrong. It lives in your chest, eats through your ribs, poisons every breath you take.

I should've been with my mother.

Instead, I was here, in a stranger's mansion, surrounded by luxury I had no right to touch, waiting for the moment I'd hand over the three lives growing inside me like a packaged deal.

I sat on the bed, one hand resting on my belly, the other gripping my phone tightly.

It has been months since I last saw my mother. It's been about nine months now, and I don't even know how she was doing, months of not being there during the time she needed me the most.

I had to do what I had to do.

The only way to survive was to get money, her everyday chemotherapy, and her medication with no one to help.

It has been the two of us since that bastard left with her mistress.

I didn't think twice when I jumped on this offer. It was just for nine months; all I needed to do was carry a living human in my stomach, and my mother's health would be restored.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should be there. I should've never let you go through this alone."

I glanced down at my swollen belly, stretched tight under my dress.

"Just a few more days," I murmured.

"Then this'll all be over. You'll be with your real parents, and I can finally go home."

The money was enough to cover Mama's treatments for a year, maybe longer. I told myself that made it worth it. That renting out my body to the William's was the only way to fund her treatment, but I was so tired.

I stood up, wincing at the dull ache in my back, and the pressure was worse today. I'd read about how everything got heavier right before labor started.

Still, I might have another week until I have to get this over with.

I took a slow breath, crossing the polished wooden floor toward the window when it happened.

A sudden gush of warmth exploded between my legs.

I gasped, freezing in place as wetness streamed down my thighs, soaking the floor beneath me.

My heartbeat fastened, and my hands trembled in trepidation at how sudden this was.

"No. No, no, please."

Pain struck across my lower back. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the desk to keep from falling.

"Angela!" I screamed, panic tightening my throat. "Angela, help!"

Nothing.

The silence of the estate suddenly felt like a coffin that was too tight even to take a breath.

Another contraction slammed into me, sharper this time. My breath came in rough gasps as I lowered myself into the nearest chair, tears springing to my eyes.

"Angela!" I shrieked. "Please! My water broke, and I need help!"

Footsteps thundered down the hall.

Angela burst in, her eyes wide. "Oh Dios mío! Miss Ava!"

"It hurts," I choked. "I think...I think they're coming."

She barked something in Spanish to the maid behind her and rushed to my side.

"Hold on. We're getting the car, so try to breathe, okay? Just breathe."

But breathing didn't help.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of pain and panic; every bump on the road felt like a knife slicing through me. I gripped the seat so tightly my arms hurt, sweat pouring down my temples as I tried to remember the breathing techniques I'd watched in YouTube videos.

But there was no rhythm or calm.

Just agony.

By the time we arrived, I was barely conscious, my world reduced to flashes of torment and the sound of my ragged sobs.

They wheeled me into a delivery room, voices surrounding me with urgent, overlapping echoes through the fog in my brain.

"She's nine centimeters, let's go!" I heard someone say.

"I need more towels. And get an OB in here now." Another added.

A mask went over my face as someone took off my soaked clothes. A voice whispered that I was doing great, but I knew they were lying; I wasn't doing great, I was dying.

Then the first contraction hit.

Not the false ones I'd felt for weeks, this was different.

It started like a cramp, but then it built and built, gripping my insides and twisting them until I thought I'd scream myself hoarse. My belly hardened, and my hips felt like they were splitting.

I cried out, gasping, thrashing as another contraction ripped through me. My legs trembled uncontrollably, and I reached for someone, anyone, to anchor myself to something solid.

A nurse gripped my hand tightly. "Breathe, Ava. In and out, in and out." She repeated.

"I can't," I sobbed. "It hurts...oh God, it hurts so much!"

"You're doing beautifully, they're almost here."

The pressure in my pelvis was unbearable, like something was trying to push its way out of my body with brute force.

Then came the urge to push.

It was primal, and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to, and I knew that there was no way I would be getting out of this other than going through the pain for the reward.

"Okay, Ava, push with the next contraction. As hard as you can."

The doctor's voice was firm, encouraging. But all I could think about was the fire ripping me from the inside.

I pushed.

Screamed.

Pushed again.

The pain was beyond comprehension. Like something sacred inside me was breaking.

My throat was raw from screaming, and my fingernails dug into the nurse's palm. I felt every tear, stretch of muscle, and shred of resistance as my body surrendered to what it was made to do.

But no one tells you what that feels like.

The burning between my legs was unlike anything I'd ever imagined, not just pain but violation like I was being torn open by something too big for my body to contain.

"There's the head! One more big push!"

I gathered what little strength I had left, screamed until the air left my lungs, and bore down with everything inside me.

A release.

A strange, wet slither and then, crying-the first triplet.

But I wasn't done.

I collapsed back against the pillow, chest heaving, legs shaking uncontrollably, and before I could even catch my breath, the second contraction came.

"No...No, I can't."

"Yes, you can," the doctor said firmly. "The second baby is coming. You're almost there."

I pushed again, sobbing from exhaustion.

And pushed.

My body didn't feel like mine anymore; it was just a vessel, soaked in sweat and blood, emptying everything it had left.

Then the second baby slipped free.

Another cry, but it was softer.

At that point, when I realized that there was still one more baby, I almost gave up, but I couldn't because this was the final hurdle I needed to overcome to support my mom in the way she deserved, so letting her down was not an option.

Which is why I gathered courage and proceeded to push as much as my body would let me until there was another cry, which the nurses confirmed with the looks in their eyes.

I had finally delivered these babies that had been a part of me for almost a year, and that sparked a sudden sense of panic in me since they weren't mine to keep, but I managed to push the thought away; this wasn't the time for this.

I already had a goal I had just accomplished, so my most important priority was to focus on my life and what steps to take now.

The room erupted in movement, nurses whisking the babies away, voices confirming vitals, someone checking my pulse. Someone else was stitching me up.

But I couldn't speak or move if I liked.

The pain was fading now, leaving behind a dull, aching void. My legs trembled violently as my ears rang.

But they were alive.

Three perfect, screaming reminders of the choice I'd made.

I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of them, but they were already behind a curtain. The nurse beside me patted my arm and told me to rest.

"You did beautifully," she said again.

I managed a weak smile before closing my eyes to process my emotions.

The worst, I thought, was over.

It wasn't.

I had barely closed my eyes when the door slammed open again.

Startled, I looked up.

Nicholas Williams stood in the doorway like a shadow cut from steel.

His suit was immaculate, but his face was tense, eyes wild. His mouth was tight with something that wasn't relief or joy.

It was rage.

"You've killed her!" he ranged.

I blinked in confusion. "What! Who?"

He stormed into the room. "You killed her! Why? Because you can't give the baby away! We paid you, didn't we? Why take her life?"

"Who are you talking about?- I managed to ask, looking confused.

"Vivian! She is dead, and you are the last person she had spoken with."

"Wait- what?!

My heart froze.

The mother of the babies, the same woman who treated me with so much care and kindness, was suddenly dead?! Even before she set her eyes on the babies!

Yes, Vivian and I spoke some hours before I was put to labor. How come she is suddenly dead?

Fear immediately gripped my heart.

"That's not true!" I cried, struggling to sit up. "She said she was going out for a spa treatment. I didn't-"

"You expect me to believe that?" he growled, eyes narrowing. "After everything we gave you, after everything we trusted you with..."

"Mr. Williams," a nurse interjected nervously, peeking in from behind him, "please, your wife just gave birth a few hours ago, so she needs rest."

"She's not my wife!" he snapped, pointing at me in frustration. "She's the surrogate."

The nurse's face went pale. "But we were told-"

"You were told wrong," he said, never noticing me.

I couldn't breathe.

He wasn't here to meet his children or to say thank you. He thought I had something to do with Vivian's sudden death.

And worse... maybe he wanted me to pay for it.

"You have no idea what you're saying," I whispered, voice shaking. "I've done nothing but protect your children. And now you stand there accusing me?"

"Protect," he chulked bitterly. "I promise you will regret this! I will make you pay for this! With your life!"

I stared at him, stunned. The pain of giving birth, and the fear I felt now. All of it swirled inside me like a storm.

My vision blurred as my pulse raced.

I didn't know if I wanted to slap him across the face or if my body was about to give out from everything it had endured.

And then...

Everything went black.

The cemetery was quiet, except for the soft rustle of wind against trees and the sobs from the mourners. The scent of fresh earth hung in the air, and I stood a few feet back from the casket, arms crossed over my chest, trying to ignore the lump in my throat as they lowered her into the ground.

Mrs. Williams had been kind to me, and that word clung to me. She wasn't extravagant or intimidating like I'd feared when we first met, but gentle in asking about my mother's condition.

She always offered tea during our meetings and touched my arm lightly when I looked unsure. We hadn't become friends-how could we, given what I was doing for her? But she made me feel less like a vessel for her babies.

And now she was gone.

The casket sank slowly, and I barely managed to swallow hard when I remembered her laugh. She was excited when she first felt the triplets kick and cried during our last phone call.

The one we'd had just before the accident, before she was taken from her newborn babies, whom she loved so much.

She'd been on the highway, I remembered that much, driving home after visiting the hospital where the nursery was being set up. Her voice had been bright and excited before there was a sharp sound.

Then the phone cut off, so I wasn't sure if I had imagined the scream.

They said it was an accident, a truck swerved into the wrong lane, and it was too sudden and unavoidable.

But still, it didn't feel real.

One day, she was decorating a room for her babies; the next, she was gone.

I turned away before they started throwing dirt over the casket. I couldn't bear to watch that part. I couldn't stand the sound of it either because it would prove she was never coming back.

Back at the house, which was massive and cold, I wandered to the room that had been mine, the one where I was allowed to sleep. I stared out the window, wondering what would happen if I walked out.

If I left everything behind like the babies, the grief, the man who had barely spoken since the funeral arrangements began.

Could I run? Could I live with myself if I did?

I hadn't even held them yet, the triplets. They were barely a week old, still too small to wrap my mind around the idea that they were real.

My body still ached from labor, my mind still foggy from the whirlwind that followed: all the lawyers, press releases, and the funeral arrangements.

And him, Mr. Williams, silent and sharp-eyed, moving through it all coldly like a statue brought to life.

I didn't trust him, I never had, not fully. He was charming when his wife was around, but there was always something behind his eyes, like a quiet calculation, or something colder.

And that she was gone, that calculation had grown teeth and was ready to attack, so I was startled when the door creaked behind me.

But I didn't turn.

I knew it was him by the way the air shifted. He had that presence, a large and heavy one. The kind of presence that made your skin tighten even when he said nothing.

"So this is where you're hiding," he said, his voice low, even.

"I wasn't hiding." I kept my eyes on the window to avoid staring at him. "Just thinking about some things."

He didn't respond at first, but then I heard the click of the door closing and the soft footfalls as he approached.

"I suppose you've been thinking a lot," he said. "Wondering whether to stay or run."

That made me turn, but I did it slowly.

He was standing in the center of the room, dressed in black, but not mourning. There was no grief in his face, only a cold stillness, like he'd already processed the loss and moved past it.

"Am I wrong?" he asked.

I clenched my hands in response. "I... don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

He moved closer, and I instinctively stepped back. Just a small motion, but enough that he noticed, and that made his jaw tick.

"You were talking to her," he said flatly. "When she crashed."

My breath caught. "That wasn't...Mr. Williams, I didn't know that..."

"She was calling you," he said, voice still too calm. "Talking to you when she should've had both hands on the wheel. But of course, you couldn't wait, no, you had to tell her about every little ache as if the pregnancy made you part of the family."

"I didn't ask for any of that," I said, my voice shaking. "You hired me, both of you did, and she was the one who called me, so I didn't make her drive and talk..."

"She's dead." He said it with a finality that sucked the air out of the room and out of my lungs.

And then he stepped forward, closing the distance between us.

"You don't get to run," he said, his voice low now and dangerous. "You think you can just disappear and leave them behind? My children?"

"They are her children too," I snapped, instantly regretting the heat in my voice because his eyes flared in reply.

"Yes," he said tightly. "Now that she's gone, I will raise them, but they need someone to care for them, feed them, wake up with them, and bond with them."

He stared at me for a long moment. "You carried them, and you'll stay and raise them." I took another step back. "That's not what we agreed to, the contract was clear-"

"There is no contract anymore," he said coldly. "Not one that matters between us at least."

I opened my mouth to argue, but he cut me off sharply. "You live here now, until I say otherwise. This is no longer a discussion, so you don't get to choose."

My throat tightened.

He didn't yell because he didn't need to; the weight of his words was enough. I felt them like chains, invisible but unbreakable, wrapping around my body.

I looked away, blinking hard.

"I want to see them," I whispered, not sure why I said it. Maybe to remind myself why I hadn't run, or to remind him I wouldn't be pushed around so easily.

He paused for a long beat, then turned and left, closing the door with quiet finality even though he didn't bother responding.

And I stood alone, my heart pounding, while silence rushed around me again. But it wasn't comforting anymore.

No, it felt like a warning.

Five years.

That was how long it had been since Vivian's funeral, since the quiet ceremony with black umbrellas and fake condolences, since Nicholas Williams had looked me in the eye and told me I didn't have a choice.

It has been Five years since I stopped thinking of this house as temporary. Now, it is just part of my daily life; the kids have become my new normal.

"Mommy!"

The nickname still made something flutter in my chest. At times, it felt sweet or like a weight I hadn't earned. But neither of the triplets, Ivy, Rita, or Julie, knew any other word for me.

As far as they were concerned, I was their mother. And in all the ways that counted, like feeding them, protecting them from their nightmares, giving band-aids when they got hurt, or bedtime stories.

I turned away from the sink and crouched just in time to catch Ivy as she barreled into my legs, her curls bouncing wildly.

"What's all this energy?" I laughed, smoothing a hand over her head. "Julie said you make better pancakes than Daddy!" she announced, and I smiled.

"Is that a fact?"

Behind her, Julie appeared, arms crossed and a mischievous grin. "I didn't say better," she declared, knowing how to stir things up. "I said the ones you make don't look like burned hats."

A snort came from the hallway, and I stilled to stare at the handsome man in my sight.

Nicholas stood in the doorway, wearing a black suit and a half-done tie. His watch glinted in the sunlight. Even now, he looked wonderful with his tall stature, effortlessly groomed appearance, and unreadable expression.

"Is that so?" he said coolly.

The children giggled and dashed off, their footsteps echoing into the vast halls of the house.

He stepped into the kitchen, picking up his coffee from the counter where I'd placed it twenty minutes earlier. It was still hot and perfect, but he didn't thank me; he never did.

"Your appointment is at Five," he said without looking at me.

"What appointment?" I said, frowning in confusion.

"For Julie's pediatrician, I rescheduled it since you missed the last one." My stomach tightened. "You didn't tell me about it."

"I shouldn't have to."

There it was, the tone, that subtle, dismissive edge that told me this was not a conversation, but an order.

I didn't answer, I just nodded, returning to the dishes. We had these moments often, sharp and cold and quiet.

He never yelled, never raised his voice, but everything he said carried an unspoken threat. One he never needed to say aloud anymore: "You're here because I let you be."

No one could deny that he was a good father. He was always attentive and affectionate, so the kids loved him. He tucked them in bed every night when he wasn't traveling, read to them, and built extravagant playhouses in the backyard.

But to me?

I was still the woman who took something from him.

He hadn't forgiven me for Vivian's death, and grief had twisted him into something sharp.

I sometimes caught him staring at me from across a room, his eyes distant and tormented. He seemed to be trying to imagine her in my place or erase me altogether.

Later that week, I stood on the patio, hanging Rita's tiny T-shirts on the drying rack. The sun was warm, and the air smelled like lavender from the garden. If someone had taken a photo of me then, they might have thought I looked peaceful.

They wouldn't have known I flinched every time I heard his footsteps.

Nicholas walked out onto the patio without a word, his phone pressed to his ear. He barely looked at me as he passed, but I heard the tail end of his conversation.

"...no, I said I'm not ready for that, I'm not replacing her."

I froze, one hand on a peg.

Replacing her.

He wasn't talking about business, I knew that much. He never spoke about Vivian to me, but I knew she was still in everything.

Her photos hung in the hallway, and her perfume bottles remained untouched in the upstairs bathroom. It was as if she might return any day, but I knew she couldn't.

I swallowed and looked away. I wasn't here for him and reminded myself of that every day. I was here for them, Ivy, Rita, and Julie.

I woke them, fed them, played with them, and sang them to sleep. Every scraped knee, every fever, every tantrum, they were all mine to handle.

And in the quiet hours of the night, when I tiptoed past the nursery back to my room, the small, spare guest room at the far end of the house, I reminded myself that it wasn't forever.

Or at least, it wasn't supposed to be.

After everyone was asleep that night, I sat on the edge of my bed with the lamp on and picked up my phone.

There was a missed call from my mother and then a text.

"Sweetheart, can I see you soon? I know you're busy with school, but I miss you."

Guilt hit me square in the chest like it had been doing for a while now.

I hadn't seen her in for too long, and she lived just a few hours away, in a house I used to call home. She wouldn't like Nicholas, and he'd never welcome her here; his kindness wasn't part of the deal.

I stood, pacing a little.

I had the pediatrician appointment tomorrow as well as laundry. There was always something, some reason to stay locked in this life I hadn't chosen but couldn't seem to escape.

But still, that message echoed in my chest.

Can I see you?

I don't even remember the last time I hugged her or felt the warmth she exuded.

I stared out the window at the dark lawn below, Five years of living someone else's life, of putting myself last.

I turned and grabbed my overnight bag from the top of the closet. Just for the weekend, I told myself.

I would visit her, and I'd let the kids stay with the nanny because she was more than capable. I needed to breathe. For a while, I needed a reminder that I wasn't just the woman who stayed behind.

I still had a name, a past, and a mother who loved me dearly. I needed to remember who I was before all this began.