Fake Dating the Billionaire Who Hired Me

Chapter One

Athlea’s Pov

"If I pay this today, will the lights stay on?" I asked the woman behind the desk, even though I already knew the answer.

Mrs. Gable gave me a sad look, the kind that hurts worse than yelling. She shook her head slowly, sliding the final notice back across the counter. The red letters stared right at me: Final Warning.

I stood there in the chilly hallway of the utility office, clutching my worn-out leather bag like it was a shield. Outside, the rain was coming down hard, splashing against the dirty windows. I was twenty-four years old, but sometimes I felt like I was eighty.

Ever since Dad died a year ago, my life felt like a sinking ship, and I was the only one trying to scoop out the water with a paper cup. Dad had left behind a mountain of secret debts, and now the bank was threatening to take the only home I had left—the house where I baked cookies with my dad, the house that held every single good memory I had left of him.

I worked two jobs, folding sweaters at the mall until four in the afternoon and washing dishes at a diner until midnight. My feet hurt all the time, my hands were always dry from the dish soap, and my bank account was a desert. No matter how hard I ran, the bills always ran faster.

That was why I made the call last week. That was why I sat in the sterile, white waiting room of the Elite Life Fertility Agency, smelling like cheap hand sanitizer and pure desperation.

A woman named Dr. Vance called my name, and my heart jumped into my throat. I stood up, smoothing down my favorite blue dress, trying to look taller and stronger than I actually felt.

"Athlea Morgan?" Dr. Vance asked, pushing her glasses up her nose as I walked into the private office. "Please, take a seat. We have everything ready. Your health checks came back perfect, and the client has agreed to terms. You understand the rules, right? Nine months of carrying the baby, following our medical guidelines, and once the child is born, you receive your payment and separate completely."

"I understand," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"The client is a very private, very wealthy man," Dr. Vance continued, opening a black leather folder. "He likes things done his way. No fuss, no emotional attachments. He wants a child to carry on his name, and he is willing to pay an extraordinary amount of money to make sure everything goes smoothly. Your father's debts? Paid off in full on day one. Plus enough left over to buy your house outright and start fresh."

My breath hitched. The number she whispered was life-changing. It was freedom. It was a chance to finally breathe.

"I'll do it," I said without missing a beat. What choice did I have? My back was against the wall.

"Wonderful," Dr. Vance smiled, standing up. "He is waiting for you in the VIP consultation room down the hall. He likes to meet his surrogates personally to ensure they are up to his standards. Right this way."

My stomach flipped over. I thought I was just signing papers for an agency, not meeting the actual billionaire. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and followed her down a long, quiet hallway lined with expensive art. Dr. Vance stopped in front of a heavy oak door, knocked twice, and pushed it open.

"Mr. Sterling, this is Athlea Morgan."

I stepped into the room, and the air suddenly felt heavy. Sitting in a leather armchair by the window was a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, except he looked way too dangerous to be a model. He was thirty-two, with sharp, dark hair, eyes the color of a stormy sea, and a jawline that could cut glass. He wore an expensive dark suit that fit him like armor.

Ashton Sterling. I knew that face. Everyone in the city knew that face. He was the cold, ruthless hotel CEO who bought failing businesses and turned them into gold empires.

Ashton turned his head slowly, and his cold eyes locked onto mine. He didn't look at me like I was a person. He looked at me like I was a new car he was thinking about buying.

"You're late," Ashton said, his voice deep and smooth, but completely freezing.

My nerves vanished, replaced instantly by a hot flash of anger. I hadn't even sat down yet, and already this rich jerk was judging me.

"I was on time, Mr. Sterling. Traffic was heavy," I replied, lifting my chin. I refused to let him make me feel small.

Ashton narrowed his eyes, standing up slowly. He was tall—so tall that I had to tilt my head back to look him in the eye. He walked over to the desk, picking up my medical file and flipping through the pages like he owned them.

"Dr. Vance tells me you are healthy," Ashton said, not even bothering to look at me while he spoke. "Good. But my standards are strict. During the next nine months, you will eat what my nutritionists tell you to eat, you will sleep when they tell you to sleep, and you will not engage in any stressful activities. I am paying you a fortune, Miss Morgan, which means your body belongs to this project until the baby is born. Do we understand each other?"

Silence filled the room. The sheer arrogance rolling off him was suffocating. He really thought that because he had money, he could control every breath I took. He looked at me like I was just a worker bee, someone he could boss around and discard when he was done.

My hands clenched into tight fists inside my pockets. I took a slow, deep breath, stepping closer to him until there was barely any space between us.

"Listen to me very carefully, Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice shaking just a little bit, but my eyes locked straight onto his. "You might be buying my time, and you might be paying for this baby, but you do not own me. I am not one of your employees, and I am not scared of your fancy suits or your money. If you want me to carry your child, you will treat me with basic human respect. Is that understood?"

Ashton stopped cold. The pen in his hand froze. For a second, a flash of pure shock crossed his face, like nobody had ever spoken to him that way in his entire life. Then, his jaw tightened, and his eyes turned dark and stormy.

"You have a lot of attitude for someone in your financial position," he whispered dangerously, stepping even closer.

"And you have a lot of pride for someone who needs my help to start a family," I shot back, refusing to back down an inch.