The CEO's Runaway Surrogate

Chapter 6: Terms of Surrender

The morning sun broke over the Manhattan skyline, casting beams of pale gold across the floor-to-ceiling glass walls of the Vance penthouse.

I woke up beneath three-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets in the master guest suite. My body still ached with the lingering fatigue of the past twenty-four hours, but the quiet murmur of childish laughter coming from the terrace immediately pulled me from the bed.

I slipped on the silk robe laid out for me and walked out onto the terrace.

Sitting at the wrought-iron breakfast table, wearing matching flannel pajamas, were Leo and Julian. Between them sat a towering plate of Belgian waffles drizzled with maple syrup, fresh strawberries, and two mugs of hot cocoa.

"Look, Mommy!" Leo beamed, his silver eyes sparkling with uninhibited joy. "Julian showed me how to fold a paper jet! He has twenty models in his playroom!"

"And Leo showed me how to make a whistle out of a grass blade," Julian said proudly, his little chest puffing up. He looked at me with hesitant, hopeful eyes—eyes so vulnerable that my heart melted into a puddle. "Can she have breakfast with us, Father?"

Dominic stood near the terrace railing, holding a cup of black coffee in one hand and the morning edition of the Financial Times in the other. He wore a crisp white dress shirt with the top two buttons open, looking effortlessly commanding against the backdrop of the waking city.

"Your mother has a permanent seat at this table, Julian," Dominic said, his deep voice carrying a warm resonance as his gaze shifted to me.

I pulled out a chair between the boys, kissing Leo's temple and gently smoothing down Julian's unruly dark hair. The boy leaned into my touch instinctively, craving the maternal warmth he had been denied his entire life.

"Sleep well, Clara?" Dominic murmured, walking over to pour a cup of steaming Earl Grey tea, setting it gently before me.

"As well as a captive can sleep in an ivory tower, Mr. Vance," I replied under my breath, keeping my voice low so the boys wouldn't hear.

"You are not a captive," Dominic said, his silver eyes locking onto mine with quiet intensity.

Before I could retort, the terrace glass door slid open. Arthur Bradley, Dominic's senior legal counsel and head of the Vance Trust, stepped outside carrying a thick leather briefcase.

"Good morning, Mr. Vance. Professor Montgomery," the attorney nodded respectfully. He laid a heavy document on the marble console table. "The city registrar has cleared the emergency licensing. And per your direct instructions, the Vance Dynasty Family Trust has been restructured. Fifty percent of the non-voting equity in the Vance Biotech Corporation—valued at four hundred and fifty million dollars—has been transferred unconditionally into Clara Montgomery's private name."

I choked on my tea. "Four hundred and fifty million dollars? Are you insane, Dominic?"

"It is not a gift, Clara," Dominic replied calmly, resting one hand on the back of my chair, leaning down until his lips hovered near my ear. "It is your independent financial foundation. You told me last night that I could not buy your pride or your son. Now you have the wealth to hire any legal army on earth to fight me if I ever mistreat you. You stay in this house because you choose to—not because you have no other choice."

I stared at him, completely stunned by the audacity and the breathtaking sincerity of the gesture.

Before the attorney could speak again, Dominic's private satellite phone on the console buzzed violently.

Dominic answered with a curt swipe. "Speak."

"Mr. Vance," his chief operating officer's frantic voice sounded through the receiver. "Chairman Sterling just called an emergency board meeting for ten o'clock. Vivian's father is threatening to pull the Sterling banking syndicate out of our semiconductor expansion. He claims you have illegally imprisoned his daughter and demands your resignation from the board before the noon bell!"