The Alpha looked at me the way men look at tools they have not yet decided to use. Cold. Assessing. Already planning the discard. "Don't make this complicated," he said. "You carry my heir. You leave. That is all you are here for." I almost laughed. A week ago, my uncle was standing in my living room with movers and an ultimatum. Sleep with him whenever he wanted, or lose the house by morning. I chose the Alpha's contract instead. Damien Ashford was everything the rumors promised. Ruthless. Feared. Bound to a dying mate he clearly adored and a throne his enemies were circling like vultures. I was not supposed to matter to him. I was a surrogate. A body. A clause in a legal document. But Damien had a habit of standing too close. Of watching me in ways he never explained. Of intervening in situations that had nothing to do with the contract. And I had a habit of forgetting that men like him always had reasons that had nothing to do with you. I knew how this ended. I had read the fine print. Hand over the child and walk away. The problem was nobody warned me what would happen in the space between arrival and departure. Nobody warned me I would stop wanting to leave.