His Unexpected Forever

Chapter Four: Bought Not Broken

Nathaniel

I’d rehearsed it a hundred times in my head.

The words didn’t come easily—not when they carried the weight of betrayal. Not when my heart still clung to Betty, even as my body was preparing to lie with another woman. But I had made my decision. I had texted Zara the night before. Brief. Clinical.

“I need a surrogate. I’ve made arrangements. If you’re still willing, I’d like you to come to the house.”

I stared at the message for what felt like an eternity before hitting send.

Now she was here. Just like that.

The manor was large enough to house an entire estate of servants, rooms, and secrets. Yet somehow, her presence filled every corner—soft footsteps on the polished marble, her voice barely above a whisper. I could feel her even when she wasn’t in the room.

But I didn’t let myself linger. I was here to fulfill an obligation, not a fantasy.

“Thank you for coming,” I said earlier that morning when she arrived with a small duffel bag, holding it like it carried her entire world.

She didn’t say much, just nodded. Her eyes were wide, anxious. She looked far too delicate to be pulled into our mess. But I reminded myself—she agreed to this.

For money.

And I was paying.

That night, I stood outside the guest wing where she’d been placed. My hand hovered over the door handle for a moment before I finally pushed it open.

She was already in bed. Still fully clothed, knees drawn to her chest, like she was bracing herself.

She looked up at me but didn’t speak.

I walked in and shut the door behind me.

This wasn’t romance.

This wasn’t intimacy.

It was a transaction.

But even as I told myself that, something in me faltered. She looked so small against the large bed—so… soft. I approached slowly, half-expecting her to flinch. She didn’t.

When I reached her, I touched her arm. She was warm. Her skin had that velvety softness I hadn’t felt in years.

“I’ll be gentle,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure who I was trying to reassure—her or myself.

She didn’t respond. She just lay there, looking up at me with wide, tearless eyes.

As I slipped her shirt over her head, she trembled slightly. When my fingers brushed the curve of her waist, I realized she wasn’t resisting—but she wasn’t doing anything either.

No movement. No attempt to respond.

That’s when I knew.

She was a virgin.

Not because she told me. Not even because she winced when I parted her legs. But because her body gave her away—tense, unknowing, fragile. She lay there like someone giving away the last piece of something sacred.

And suddenly, this didn’t feel like a transaction anymore.

I tried to be slow. I tried not to think about what I was taking from her. But when I entered her, I felt her stiffen under me—tight, hot, impossibly soft. Her lips parted in a silent cry and I stopped, placing a hand gently over her ribs to steady her.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice hoarse.

She nodded—barely. But her eyes told a different story.

I moved inside her with care, the rhythm slow, deliberate. Her body molded to mine like she’d never done this before—because she hadn’t. She whimpered once, and I paused again.

Still, she said nothing.

She let me have her.

And when it was over, I pulled out, breathing hard, unable to meet her eyes.

I didn’t speak. Just stood, pulled my trousers back on, and left.

There were no goodbyes.

Only guilt.

And silence.

BETTY

He didn’t come to bed last night.

Not that I asked. I just listened—ears straining in the darkness as I lay still, pretending to sleep when I heard his footsteps return around 1:00 a.m.

The sheets barely shifted as he slipped in beside me.

But I knew.

He smelled faintly of a woman’s skin and something primal. My stomach twisted.

I turned to face the window, eyes wide open, throat tight.

I hated her.

Whoever she was—whatever her story—I hated her.

And the worst part? She was now living under my roof.

Nathaniel had told me earlier that day. Not with shame or even guilt—just cold, efficient finality.

“I’ve contacted someone to carry the child. She’ll be staying with us—for safety and convenience.”

That was it. No discussion. No apology.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I simply nodded and left the room.

I spent the day in the gym, punishing my body as if sweat and burning thighs could distract from the pain in my chest. The staff kept glancing at me but said nothing. They knew better.

It wasn’t until I stepped out of the shower that afternoon that Dorathy showed up—unannounced, but she never needed an invitation.

She and I had been friends since childhood. The kind of friendship that survived private school scandals, university heartbreaks, and now—this.

“I saw the tabloid whisper about a ‘new house guest,’” she said casually, sipping from a wine glass she hadn’t even asked for. “Should I be worried?”

I didn’t answer. Just dried my hair with a towel and stared at her through the mirror.

“So, it’s true?” she continued. “She’s here?”

“Yes.”

“Is she pretty?”

I paused. Then muttered, “She’s poor.”

Dorathy raised a brow. “Not what I asked.”

I turned away, unable to admit the truth—that yes, she was. Pretty in a way I’d never been. Delicate, vulnerable, with a body that hadn’t been ravaged by years of fertility treatments and heartbreak.

“I hate her,” I said suddenly, surprising myself.

Dorathy’s smile faded. “You’re allowed to.”

I clenched my fists. “But I shouldn’t. It’s not her fault. She’s just a means to an end.”

“And yet, she’s carrying what you couldn’t.”

The truth hit harder than I expected.

I walked to the window and stared out into the garden.

“She’s in my house,” I whispered. “Sleeping in one of the rooms I designed. Eating the food my chef prepared. Living the life I built.”

“Only for a while,” Dorathy said gently.

But we both knew better.

Some scars didn’t fade.

ZARA

I couldn’t sleep.

Not because of what happened—

But because of how it felt.

There were no tears. No bleeding like I’d feared. Just a quiet hollowness settling inside me. Not empty exactly… more like something had been carved out. Taken. Given. I couldn’t tell which.

It should’ve hurt more. It should’ve shattered me.

But instead, I felt something strange—something I wasn’t prepared for. Light. As if a weight had lifted… and in its place, something unfamiliar had bloomed.

Why did I feel that way?

Why did I remember the way he touched me—not with disgust, but with something dangerously close to longing?

I don’t even know this man.

So why did my body remember him like it belonged to him?

Why does my chest ache when I replay the sound of his voice?

Am I… falling for him?

For a man who sees me as a transaction?

A selfish billionaire who paid for my womb—and maybe took something more?

I don’t know what’s happening to me.

But whatever it is… it scares me.