His Forbidden surrogate

THE PRICE OF SAVING HIM.

The heart monitor beeped too fast. Wren Sutton had learned to hate that sound more than almost anything else in her life. She had heard it in her sleep more nights than she could count.

She had been sitting in this same plastic chair for three years now, watching her brother's chest rise and fall. His breathing never quite matched the healthy rhythm other sixteen-year-olds took for granted. The hospital smelled like antiseptic and old coffee. She barely noticed it anymore.

"Just breathe slowly, okay?" She squeezed Milo's hand. His fingers felt thinner than they had a few months ago. "In through your nose."

Milo tried to smile at her, pale against the pillows. "I'm fine, Wren. Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm made of glass."

She forced a laugh she didn't feel and smoothed his hair back, the way their mother used to. Milo was the only family Wren had left. Some days, that was the only thing keeping her upright.

Dr Reyes knocked and stepped inside, chart in hand. Her face was carefully blank, the way doctors looked right before saying something hard.

"Can we talk in the hallway?" she asked.

Wren followed her out, her stomach already twisting.

"His condition is progressing faster than we hoped," Dr Reyes said. "He needs the valve repair surgery within the next month. Without it, I can't promise how much time he has left."

"And with it?"

"A strong chance at a full, normal life."

Wren's throat tightened. "How much?"

"Five hundred thousand dollars, including recovery care."

The number hit her like a punch. Wren worked two jobs—waitressing lunch shifts, stocking shelves overnight—and still barely covered rent and Milo's medicine. Five hundred thousand dollars might as well have been five hundred million.

"There has to be a program. A grant. Something—"

"We've applied for everything he qualifies for," Dr Reyes said gently. "I'm sorry, Wren. I wish I had better news."

Wren nodded because she couldn't speak. She walked back into Milo's room wearing a smile she didn't feel because he couldn't see her fall apart. Not now. Not ever, if she could help it.

That night, back in her small apartment, Wren sat at the kitchen table with a legal pad full of numbers that refused to add up. She had already sold everything worth selling—her mother's jewellery, her secondhand car, even her laptop, now replaced by a cracked hand-me-down that barely turned on. She had asked everyone worth asking. She was out of options.

Her overnight shift started in two hours. She hadn't eaten. She hadn't slept more than four hours in longer than she could remember. She rubbed her eyes and looked at the numbers one more time, as if staring hard enough might change them.

Her phone buzzed. A notification from a job board she'd forgotten she signed up for. She almost swiped it away. Instead, her thumb paused.

SURROGATE NEEDED. Healthy woman, ages 21–30. Full medical screening provided—compensation: $500,000. Confidential arrangement.

Wren read it twice, her thumb frozen over the screen.

Five hundred thousand dollars. The exact number on Milo's chart, like the universe was mocking her with the one solution she never wanted.

She had never imagined carrying a stranger's child. The thought made her stomach turn—nine months of her body no longer her own, handing over a baby she would carry and feel move, then walking away as if none of it happened.

But Milo's monitor was still beeping in her memory. Too fast. Too fragile.

She thought about deleting the ad and never looking back. She thought about Milo's face when he tried to smile at her like nothing was wrong.

Her thumb hovered over the number for a long, silent minute.

Then she called.

"Sterling Legal Affairs," a crisp voice answered. "Surrogate inquiries."

Wren's stomach dropped. She told herself Sterling was a common name. It didn't have to mean anything.

"I'd like to apply for the position," she said, steadying her voice by force.

"Your name, please?"

"Wren Sutton."

"Thank you, Ms Sutton. Someone will call to confirm your screening appointment."

The line went dead. Wren sat there, phone in her lap, waiting for the anxiety in her chest to ease. It only tightened instead.

Her phone rang again minutes later. Unknown number.

"This is Wren."

"Ms Sutton, this is Adrian Cole, executive assistant to Mr Sterling. He'd like to meet you tomorrow morning at nine, Sterling Tower, fortieth floor."

The floor seemed to tilt under her.

"Mr Sterling," she repeated slowly. "As in—"

"Gideon Sterling," Adrian confirmed. "CEO of Sterling Industries."

The name hit her like a slap.

Gideon Sterling. The son of the man whose company had destroyed her father nine years ago. The same family that buried her father's name in scandal and left Wren burying him not long after. The reason she'd changed her name. The reason she'd sworn at sixteen she would never let Sterling touch her life again.

"Ms Sutton? Are you still there?"

Wren closed her eyes and thought of Milo's fragile heartbeat. She made the only choice she had left.

"I'll be there," she said. "Nine o'clock."

Tomorrow, she would walk into Sterling Tower, look the son of the man who ruined her family in the eye, shake his hand, and let him believe she was nobody at all—because the moment he learned who she really was, this would all be over before it even started.