THE CEO'S SECRET SURROGATE

The hospital smell always made Amelia Hart feel like time was running out. Bleach. Medicine. Fear. It clung to the white walls like a silent warning she could never escape. She sat beside her grandmother’s bed, holding her thin, wrinkled hand as the heart monitor beeped steadily, too steadily, like it didn’t care how fragile the woman was. “Grandma,” Amelia whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ll be fine. The doctor said they’re just running more tests.” But her grandmother’s eyes told a different story. Tired. Weak. Fading. The door opened. A doctor walked in, followed by a nurse holding a file. His expression alone made Amelia’s stomach tighten. “Miss Hart,” he said gently, too gently. Amelia stood up immediately. “Is she okay?” A pause. That pause said everything. The doctor sighed. “Her condition has worsened. The blockage in her heart is progressing faster than we expected. She needs surgery immediately.” Amelia’s breath caught. “Then do it. Please, just do it.” The doctor hesitated again. That hesitation shattered her. “The surgery is very complex,” he continued. “And expensive. Without it… I’m afraid we may lose her sooner than expected.” The room tilted. Amelia grabbed the edge of the bed to steady herself. “How much?” The doctor avoided her eyes. That was worse than the number itself. “How much?” she repeated, voice breaking. “Twenty million naira,” he finally said. Silence. Not even the machines made a sound in her ears anymore. Twenty million. It didn’t feel like money. It felt like a wall she could never climb. Amelia laughed weakly, shaking her head. “That’s… that’s impossible. I don’t even have two hundred thousand.” Her grandmother weakly squeezed her hand. “Don’t cry, child…” But Amelia was already drowning. “I’ll find it,” she said quickly, forcing strength into her voice. “I’ll get the money. I’ll sell everything. I’ll work, anything. Just… please don’t give up on her.” The doctor looked at her with pity. “You have very little time.” Then he left. The door closed softly. But it felt like something inside Amelia had been slammed shut forever. That night, Amelia didn’t sleep. She sat outside the hospital corridor, staring at her phone like it could change reality if she stared hard enough. She checked her bank account again. 50,320 naira. Not even enough for a fraction of the surgery. Her fingers trembled as she opened job apps, loan apps, anything. Nothing. No miracle. No help. Just numbers reminding her how small she was. A vibration snapped her out of her thoughts. Unknown number. She almost ignored it. Then she answered. “Hello?” A calm female voice responded. “Miss Amelia Hart?” “Yes…” “I’m calling from the Meridian Fertility and Surrogacy Agency.” Amelia frowned. “I think you have the wrong person.” “No, we don’t,” the voice said smoothly. “We received your medical financial distress inquiry through our partnered hospital system.” Her heart dropped. “I didn’t apply for anything like that.” “You didn’t need to,” the woman replied. “We select candidates based on eligibility. And you qualify.” Amelia stood up immediately. “I’m not interested.” “Before you refuse,” the voice continued calmly, “you should know the compensation.” Something in her stomach tightened. She didn’t want to listen. But she did. “Fifty million naira,” the woman said. The world stopped. Amelia blinked. “Pardon?” “Fifty million naira for a full-term surrogacy agreement. All medical expenses covered. Immediate payment upon contract signing.” Her grip on the phone tightened so hard it hurt. “That’s… that’s not real.” “It is,” the voice replied. “And we only have one client currently available.” Amelia’s voice dropped. “Who is it?” A pause. A controlled pause. Then “A private client.” No name. No identity. Just power. Amelia’s mouth went dry. “Why me?” “Because you meet the requirements,” the woman said simply. “Healthy. No major medical history. And most importantly… no complications for the client’s conditions.” Her breath became uneven. This felt wrong. Too clean. Too perfect. Too dangerous. “I’m sorry,” Amelia said quickly. “I can’t do that. I’m not... I’m not that desperate.” The woman didn’t argue. She simply said: “You have 24 hours to decide. After that, the offer is gone forever.” Then the line cut. Beep. Silence again. But this time, silence felt heavier. Amelia stood there in the empty corridor, phone pressed to her ear even after the call ended. Fifty million naira. Her grandmother’s life. One decision. Her chest tightened painfully. From behind the hospital glass, she saw her grandmother sleeping...frail, connected to machines keeping her alive. Amelia slowly lowered her phone. And for the first time that night… she didn’t know what kind of person she was going to become.