Sophia's POV
I don't remember standing up, but suddenly I was.
The chair scraped against the floor as I pushed it back. The noise broke the quiet. My heart pounded so hard I felt it in my throat, my ears, everywhere.
"I'm sorry," I said, even though I wasn't. "You must have made a mistake."
The man across from me didn't react. He didn't look offended or surprised. He just watched me, like a doctor watching a patient refuse a diagnosis they already know is accurate.
"There is no mistake, Miss Patel," he said calmly. "Please sit."
I didn't.
My hands were shaking now. I clenched them into fists, my nails biting into my palms. "You invited me here under the pretense of a job."
"This is a job," he replied.
I let out a short, broken laugh that didn't even feel like mine. "You just told me I was picked to carry a child for a man I've never met. That's not a job."
He tilted his head, considering my words. "It's a contract. It's been carefully designed, it's legal, and it benefits both sides."
Mutually beneficial.
The room felt small. The walls looked like they were closing in on me. I kept retreating from the walls until I bumped the door with my shoulder.
"You were asking me about my father's medical history," I told him, my voice getting louder even though I tried to keep it calm. "You were asking about my childhood. My trauma. My body. Was that all... screening?"
"Yes."
His answer stunned me.
"You didn't have the right," I murmured.
He rested his hands on the table. "On the contrary, we had every right. The role requires a candidate with exceptional physical health, emotional resilience, and the ability to withstand pressure without psychological collapse."
I stared at him. "So you chose me because you think I won't break."
He didn't deny it.
A heavy silence settled between us. I could hear my own fast, uneven breathing. My mind raced, searching for a way out that wouldn't ruin my life.
"How much?" I asked quietly.
We were both surprised by the question.
He looked at me more closely now, something like interest flickering in his eyes. "For the successful completion of the pregnancy, the compensation is two hundred thousand dollars."
When I heard that number, it was like a shock to my chest.
Two hundred thousand dollars.
Only a moment ago, I was thinking about my dad's oxygen tank. The eviction letter was crumpled up in my bag. The debts, with their interest, were increasing gradually and without mercy.
I hated myself for doubting, but the necessity of my family felt like a firm hand pushing against all the principles I had tried to keep.
"I won't," I said abruptly, somewhat out of habit, pushing the words out before I could swallow them. "I'm not... I am not a commodity."
He nodded once. "That is your right."
Relief came over me; it was so strong that it almost made me dizzy. I was already reaching to open the door when a voice stopped me.
"Miss Patel."
I stopped in my tracks.
"There won't be any more offers."
I looked at him again.
"This chance is not given to anyone just like that," he explained. "If you decide to leave now, the money will be given to the next person. There won't be any further negotiations."
His voice indicated that he was not joking. It was simply a fact.
I opened the door and walked out before I could change my mind.
The elevator ride down felt endless. My reflection in the mirrored walls looked pale and wide-eyed, as if I'd just escaped something terrible.
Outside, the city moved on as if nothing had happened. Cars honked. People laughed. Life continued.
It felt like my life was hanging by a thread.
That night, I didn't sleep.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, my father's cough echoing in my mind. I pictured the landlord knocking and us packing our things into boxes with nowhere to go.
I imagined two hundred thousand dollars.
By morning, my determination wavered, uncertainty fueled by thoughts of my father's situation and financial desperation.
When I visited my father that day, he looked smaller than I remembered. His cheeks were hollow, his skin pale. He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Are you ok?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I lied.
He studied my face, and for a moment I thought he could see right through me. Then he reached for my hand.
"I'm proud of you," he said softly. "No matter what happens."
Something inside me broke, torn between protecting my father and keeping my sense of self.
That afternoon, I found myself standing in front of the Grey Enterprises building again.
This time I didn't hesitate.
The man from before waited for me in the same room. The chair across from him was empty.
"I want to talk about the terms," I said.
He gestured for me to sit.
"There are conditions," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "If I were to do this, it would also have to be on my terms."
His eyebrow rose a little. "Continue."
"I need a witness present when we sign the papers. My friend. Someone I trust."
He thought about it for a moment, then agreed with a nod. "It's possible to do that."
"I will continue living my life, working, and maintaining my habits. You are not to control where I go or whom I see."
"This agreement," he said, "needs to be supervised."
"It needs my consent," I shot back. "You're getting a child, not my whole life."
A heavy silence followed. I could tell he wasn't used to being challenged.
Finally, he said, "Payment will be released after the birth."
I met his gaze without flinching. "Then we're done."
His jaw tightened. For the first time, I saw irritation cross his usually calm face.
"You have no right to make demands," he told me.
"If that is so, then you are certainly not in a position to have me," I retorted.
The standoff lasted for quite a while, and I was beginning to think that I might have gone too far.
Finally, he let out a slow breath. "We will change the conditions."
I was so relieved that my legs could hardly hold me up.
The door was flung open, and a different man came in.
He was pretty tall.
Absolutely not just tall. He was almost like a force of nature, his aura rather heavy and dominating. His suit was dark and perfectly tailored, his expression unreadable. Alexander Grey.
I knew without being told.
His eyes met mine, and something passed between us: assessment and curiosity. "So," he said, his voice low and controlled. "You're the one."
I swallowed.
"Yes," I said. "And if we're doing this, you need to understand something."
His gaze sharpened. "Which is?"
"This is a contract," I said, my heart pounding. "It's not ownership." For a long moment, he simply looked at me.
Then, unexpectedly, his lips curved slightly.
"Interesting," he said.
And just like that, I realized the most dangerous part of this deal wasn't the pregnancy after all. It was him.