The surrogate's secret

Chapter 3: A New Prison

The next morning, a sleek black car waited outside our apartment.

The driver, a stiff-looking man in a suit, barely nodded at me before opening the door.

I hugged Aunt Clara tightly before climbing in.

"You’re doing the right thing," she whispered, though her eyes were glassy with tears.

The ride was silent, but my mind was screaming.

Had I made a mistake?

Was this the right way to save Eli?

The city melted away into rolling hills and sprawling estates.

Finally, we pulled up to a wrought-iron gate adorned with the initials H.H. — Holt Hall.

The mansion beyond was a world away from everything I had ever known — grand, cold, and somehow... lonely.

The driver led me to the entrance where a housekeeper — a stern woman named Mrs. Langford — greeted me.

"This way, Miss Lennox," she said crisply.

Inside, the marble floors gleamed under a giant crystal chandelier.

Portraits of stoic ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes judging me.

Mrs. Langford showed me to my room: large, luxurious, and suffocating.

The bed was too big. The windows too wide. I felt small, lost.

"You will have meals at seven, noon, and six," Mrs. Langford said, her tone detached. "You will follow the rules outlined in your contract."

I nodded silently.

"And Mr. Holt expects you in his study at eight sharp."

Of course he did.

At precisely eight, I made my way down the long hallway, my heart thudding like a drum. I knocked once, and his deep voice answered:

"Enter."

Damian sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, papers strewn before him. He didn’t look up.

"You’re here."

"I was told to be," I replied, unable to hide the edge in my voice.

That caught his attention. His eyes lifted to mine — piercing, cold, but... something flickered there. Something unreadable.

"You’ll undergo medical exams tomorrow," he said. "We’ll proceed after that."

I swallowed hard.

No one said how exactly we were going to "proceed," but the implication hung thick in the air.

He stood up and walked toward me, closing the distance until I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

Damian Holt was intimidatingly tall, his presence overwhelming.

"This arrangement is temporary," he said softly.

"No attachments. No complications."

"I know," I whispered.

For a moment, we just stared at each other.

The air between us crackled with something I couldn’t name — fear? Tension? Something darker?

"Good," he said finally, stepping back. "You may go."

I turned on shaky legs, my heart pounding so loudly I thought he could hear it.

As I left the study, I realized two terrifying things:

First, I was trapped in a golden cage.

And second...

I wasn’t sure if I feared Damian Holt —

or myself —

more.