The Billionaire's Contract: The baby He Never Wanted

Chapter 2: Bombshell

"Sir, Mr. Grey?" the older man called again, pulling Tatum out of his thoughts.

"Did you hear what I said?" the man asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Tatum blinked, his mind still reeling. No, he hadn’t heard anything after the bombshell—the declaration that he was infertile.

"I think it might be related to what happened to you when you were younger," the older man continued gently.

Tatum sat motionless, his face betraying nothing. Inside, though, a strange urge to laugh welled up in him. The irony of it all was almost too much.

The incident that happened when he was younger... which one? He wondered bitterly. There were too many to count.

The sounds of lashing, shoving, blood pooling on cold floors—memories he had buried deep threatened to surface. He shook his head lightly, brushing them away. There was no use in going down that path. He needed to focus on work, on something concrete, anything but this mess in his head.

“Not everyone should be parents anyway,” he muttered, nodding as if trying to convince himself.

He knew better than to believe in divine justice, but at that moment, it felt as though the universe was punishing him. For what, though? For all the things he’d done? Or just fate knowing he would be a worthless father like the one he had and deciding to save an innocent child that.

Later, he found himself in the back seat of his car, staring aimlessly out the window. The vehicle hummed along the coastal road, and the vast expanse of the ocean stretched endlessly beside them.

He rolled the window down, letting the cool breeze carry the faint scent of saltwater to him. It was a fine Saturday morning, and the ocean seemed to taunt him with its serenity.

For a fleeting moment, he saw his reflection in the glass—those eyes. Ocean eyes, like his father’s. A flare of resentment burned through him. He hated how much he resembled the man.

And how he was becoming more like him with each passing day.

The phone rang, breaking the spell.

“Tatum, you need to take care of your health, you know,” Nana’s voice crackled through the speaker, tinged with worry. “You’re a young man. Don’t just slave away. Go somewhere, take a break this weekend Tatum”

He stared out at the sea as her words faded into the background. The urge to leave solid ground tugged at him. To leave everything behind.

To just drift.

"Do you work for me or for Nana?" Tatum snapped, his tone sour after hanging up the phone.

Ethan gave a low mutter, “Maybe we could convince you not to go through with it?”

Tatum’s lips curled into a bitter smile.

He had gone that day, intending to take matters into his own hands—to make himself sterile, to ensure that no legacy would come from him. End his father's murky worthless bloodline. But when he’d gotten the results, it turned out he was already infertile.

Upset? He wasn’t.

He convinced himself that whatever feeling it was that he had at that moment was relief he didn't have a spawn somewhere.

But what really pissed him off was the fact that yet again, the decision had been made for him. He hadn’t been given the chance to choose and decide by himself.

The same way fate had decided his bloodline for him, and once again, it had left him with no say in the matter.

He'd spent years carefully constructing his empire, only to realize that the one thing that seemed most important to those around him was something he could no longer control.

"So you're not upset about your medical report?" Ethan pressed, watching him closely, as if expecting a different answer.

Tatum didn’t even blink, his expression unreadable.

"I'm infertile," he replied flatly, shrugging as he leaned back in his seat.

"Not dying, what could be worse?" His tone remained nonchalant, as though the whole situation were trivial, even though he knew it wasn’t.

There was an heaviness in his chest.

"I couldn’t be more bothered," he added, sighing softly. His fingers drummed restlessly on the armrest, a subtle sign of the frustration that still lingered beneath his calm exterior.

At twenty-eight, he had already built one of the biggest business empires in the country. Every new week seemed to bring a different woman to his bed, each one disposable, temporary, nothing more than a distraction.

But he wasn’t about to breed them. He never wanted to deal with the complications of marriage of birthing kids.

To save himself from the possibility of some woman showing up one day with a child claiming him as the father, he had seen several in the past all trying to get pregnant with his kids. He’d made the decision to go through with it, to make sure he never encountered a real one.

But fate, it seemed, wasn’t done laughing at him. It had taken the power of choosing from him before he’d even had the chance to act.

So it was good news. No, it was great—Tatum was relieved to be impotent. There was no way in hell he was going to have a kid, no heirs to worry about, no messy complications to manage.

He had more important things to focus on. He could move forward with his life.

He shook the thought away and refocused on the present.

"Our target for Preston isn't 30 percent but fifty by next month," he announced, his voice sharp and decisive. "Send a memo out to all the departments. I want everyone on board with this."

He watched as his assistant, Ethan, sighed. The sigh was almost imperceptible, but it was there, a clear sign that Ethan had noticed it again. Tatum was slipping into that restless state again—the nagging need to make more, always more.

And above that, distraction. Whenever his head got cloudy, he felt Better throwing himself at work, blocking everything was else and hiding under a huge pile of workload.

Not having a moment to think about other things.

"Your vacation," Ethan muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Tatum to hear.

Tatum ignored him, diving straight into the details of the next expansion plan for the subsidiary that was currently the smallest company in his vast conglomerate.

"It's the weekend," Ethan protested, his voice tinged with dread.

Tatum’s eyes flicked up, momentarily flashing a dangerous shade of green. It was one of his most lethal traits—the way his anger could turn his eyes into something primal.

It was a trait that many found undeniably attractive, but one that often sent people running in the opposite direction.

"Don't they get paid enough for the extra hours of work?" Tatum snapped, his patience running thin.

His anger was almost like a force of nature—a beautiful kind of rage that some admired from afar, while others feared it.

He took pride in his generosity as a boss. His employees were the highest-paid in the industry, earning more than most could dream of. With several other incentives.

His workers were well taken care of at all levels.

Hearing complaints about it the weekend annoyed him. What could be more important than work? Than money? Than seizing opportunities to grow and expand? Nothing else mattered.

To him, that was all that mattered. A person didn’t have to think about things they had no control over, but maximize time to more profitable ventures that would actually yield.

"But are you sure they want to be working over the weekends?" Ethan questioned.

Sure they were well compensated and for extra jobs they would get incentives, but Ethan knew for a fact that to some people more money didn't actually matter.

Being Tatum's closest friend and assistant, Ethan was the only one who could speak to him this way, without fear of being dismissed outright.

"Don’t you sometimes get the urge to just leave? To just take a break?" Ethan asked suddenly.

Tatum blinked. It was strange, but in that very instant, after everything that had happened today, he did feel it,the desire to escape, to break away from it all, even just for a moment. He hadn’t felt this way in years but he suddenly had that urge to flee.

"You should take a break, Tatum," Ethan muttered.

Tatum turned his head slowly, meeting his assistant’s eyes for a brief moment before looking away again, his gaze drifting back outside the car window.

The vast ocean stretched out before him, its infinite horizon calling to him in a way he couldn’t ignore. It was as if the sea itself was offering an escape.

A break.

"Okay," he said, almost to himself.

"Should I arrange the private jet?" Ethan asked, already reaching for his phone.

Tatum shook his head. "Not air, sea."

Ethan raised an eyebrow in surprise, but before he could respond, Tatum's gaze remained fixed on the ocean.

"Okay, so a boat cruise. I’ll tell the captain to get the crew and—"

"No," Tatum interrupted sharply, his voice more determined than before. "The Merry Cruise ferry," he added suddenly, his mind made up.

Ethan frowned, clearly not following. "What about it?" he asked, his suspicion growing.

Tatum’s lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

The cruise business was one of the first things he had acquired.

Ethan sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. "You’re only going to work," he muttered, already half-expecting the outcome.

Tatum didn’t respond at first, but a glint of something almost playful flickered in his eyes.

What Tatum enjoyed most was anonymity. He enjoyed and had mastered the art of slipping into his own world unnoticed.

His empire spanned transportation, shipping, and airlines, and occasionally, he would immerse himself as just another passenger.

Whether it was one of his planes or, as in this case, a cruise ship, Tatum relished the opportunity to observe how his businesses functioned day to day. He had discovered a lot of things about his business in that way.

Today, his sights were set on The Merry Cruise, one of the first ventures he had acquired.

The timing was perfect, or so he thought. They were already close to the docks where the ferry was about to depart, so the decision was made to head straight there.

"There’s no time. I might as well do both," Tatum said decisively, slipping off his blazer as he stepped out of the car.

Vacation and work research.

He was left in a crisp, white shirt that fit him flawlessly and his perfectly polished shoes. Even dressed simply, his presence commanded attention.

There was an innate regality to him, an air of authority that made it impossible for him to blend in entirely, no matter how hard he tried.

Ethan, hurried back from the ticket counter with an apologetic expression. "The tickets are sold out," he announced. "And the ferry departs in five minutes."

Tatum barely blinked, shrugging as if the obstacle was of no concern to him. "It’s fine," he said, his tone calm but resolute.

Ethan frowned. "There’s a specific number authorized. We can’t take more passengers without removing someone else. I mean, of course, you’re the owner, so we could just add you to the list..."

Tatum raised an eyebrow, his piercing green eyes narrowing slightly. "How many passengers is this ship authorized to carry? I assume the number of tickets sold matches the number of people present, correct?"

Ethan nodded hesitantly, already sensing where this was going. If anything, he was known for upholding the rules with frevor.

"Find someone who’s got a ticket," Tatum said evenly. "We can buy their slot."

Ethan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. Arguing with Tatum was a futile endeavor. Instead, he sighed and headed back to the ticket counter, scanning the crowd for a potential candidate.

"Excuse me," Ethan said, approaching a young man hurrying toward the ferry with his bags in tow.

The man shot him an irritated glare. "Man, I don't have time for this. What do you want?" he snapped, clearly flustered.

"Your ticket," Ethan said calmly, as if it was the most natural request in the world.

The man stared at him like he was insane. "What?"

Ethan sighed, already exhausted by Tatum's peculiar demands. This was par for the course whenever his boss decided to indulge in one of his spontaneous experiments.

"Are you supposed to be here?" Tatum asked, walking up to the two of them. His voice was calm but commanding, the kind that immediately drew attention. "I want to buy your ticket," he added, his tone unwavering.

"I really need to be on that cruise."

The young man gave Tatum a suspicious look.

"But first let me see your ticket." Ethan requested.

Then sighed heavily, muttering under his breath. "It's a normal one."

Tatum ignored it.

"Don't you at least want to go with a first-class one?" Ethan pressed.

"No, it's fine. This is perfect," Tatum replied with a firm nod, his mind already made up.

The young man, still annoyed and skeptical, looked between the two of them. This whole situation seemed absurd. He had worked hard to scrape together enough for the cruise—his materialistic wife had been adamant they go, taking his money without even telling him but now these strangers were trying to buy him out.

"How about I buy it off you?" Tatum asked, his voice as smooth as ever. "And, for convenience, I’ll also rent your personal access, including your tag."

"You're crazy, bruh," the man said, though his tone softened when Tatum pulled out a wad of cash.

"Look, I’ve got three hundred thousand," Tatum said nonchalantly.

The man’s eyes widened. "Well, man, deal!"

He handed over his tag, though not without a final warning. "People sometimes sneak onto cruises, so you’re gonna have to wear this tag. Don’t lose it."

Ethan had already walked off, likely arranging other details to ensure Tatum’s anonymity was maintained. Tatum took the tag and slipped it on, his movements precise and deliberate.

"You’re not gonna commit any crimes, right?" the man asked skeptically.

Tatum chuckled faintly, his expression unreadable. "No. And even if I did, this wouldn’t be enough to pin it on you. Don’t worry."

The man nodded, reassured enough to hand over his ticket. Then, with a laugh, he added, "My wife, Caroline, is already on board. You can have her for the cruise—an added bonus!"

“See you!“ He said turning and walking away.

Tatum raised a brow, muttering under his breath, "His wife, just given up like that. So much for marriage and relationships."

The exchange complete, Tatum turned to Ethan, who had returned with a bag of casual clothes purchased from a nearby stand.

“So now you're Archibald Dickson.“ Ethan muttered holding back a snort while looking at the tag.

"This should work," Ethan said, passing him the bag. "Just blend in. Not Tatum Grey, no positions, no companies. Tonight, you drop it all. Just... live."

Tatum gave him a long, assessing look before nodding. "That’s the plan."

Ethan sighed, his tone quieter now. "Unwind a little Tatum. It’s long overdue."

He knew Tatum too well—behind the cold, controlled exterior, the man wasn’t nearly as indifferent as he pretended to be.

He was nothing like his father.