The Billionaire's Surrogate

CHAPTER THREE: Closer Than Close

— Tessa —

It started with a storm.

The sky cracked open just after midnight. Thunder rolled through the glass walls of the penthouse like a living thing, and lightning illuminated my bedroom in sudden white flashes.

Sleep has already been hard to come by lately pregnancy did that. But tonight? My body was tired. My mind was wide awake.

And so was my heart.

I kicked off the sheets and padded barefoot down the hallway, craving something warm tea, cocoa, anything to calm the restlessness growing in my chest.

I wasn’t expecting to find him there.

Liam.

In the kitchen.

In sweatpants.

Barefoot.

Reading something on his phone and stirring a mug like he’d done it a thousand times.

He looked up as I entered. His eyes went straight to my face, then dropped instinctively to my belly.

His routine.

“You’re up late,” he said softly, setting his phone aside.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I murmured, rubbing at my temple. “Your kid is practicing kung fu in there.”

A flicker of something crossed his face. Amusement? Fondness?

He gestured toward the kettle. “Chamomile?”

“Please.”

We stood in silence for a moment, the rain tapping on the windows like impatient fingers. The air between us felt... thicker tonight. Not awkward. Just charged.

I cleared my throat. “You always make tea at 1 a.m., or is this a rich-people insomnia thing?”

He actually smirked. A real one.

“I work late. My brain doesn’t shut off easily.”

“Let me guess. Stocks, shares, hostile takeovers.”

He glanced at me. “Tonight, it was a baby name list.”

I froze. “You... looked at names?”

He poured the tea carefully, not looking at me. “I figured it was time.”

My heart thudded.

He handed me a mug, our fingers brushing for half a second. Just enough to make me feel it.

Heat. Skin. Spark.

I wrapped my hands around the warmth and followed him to the window wall, where two armchairs overlooked the rain-slicked city.

We sat without speaking.

Just two people, trapped in a contract, staring out at a world that didn’t understand either of us.

After a while, I said, “Do you want to know what I was going to name him?”

Liam’s head turned slightly. “You’ve already picked something?”

“I had a dream last week,” I said softly. “I was holding him. He had dark hair, strong lungs, and he was laughing like really laughing. The name that came to me was... Ezra.”

He didn’t speak for a long time.

Then: “Ezra Ashford.”

I nodded.

Liam’s voice was quiet. “It suits him.”

We talked more that night than we ever had before.

About everything.

He told me about his mother how she loved jazz and painted birds on the ceilings. How his father didn’t let her sell a single piece of art because it didn’t match the ‘Ashford image.’

He told me how she died when he was fifteen, and how he was sent to boarding school the next day.

I told him about my brother’s first seizure. About watching my mom break piece by piece. About how it felt to walk away from the only thing that ever made me feel like I belonged my painting.

We were quiet after that. Not awkward. Just... full.

And then I said something I hadn’t meant to say out loud.

“I don’t think I know how to be just the surrogate anymore.”

Liam turned to me slowly.

His voice was low. “What do you mean?”

I swallowed. “I mean... I feel things. About this. About you. About... everything. And I don’t know where the line is anymore.”

The air shifted.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just looked at me like I was something fragile and important and terrifying all at once.

Then, slowly, he reached out and touched my hand.

Just a touch.

But it was the most dangerous thing that had happened between us yet.

“Tessa,” he said quietly. “You’re not the only one.”

The moment sat between us raw and powerful, too big for the room.

And then it happened.

A shift. A lean. Not all the way. Just enough.

His face was inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin. His hand still on mine.

His lips barely parted.

So close.

Too close.

My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. My body buzzed with need, confusion, longing, fear.

But then

I pulled away.

I stood so fast I nearly knocked over my mug.

“I... I should go back to bed,” I whispered.

His eyes stayed locked on mine. He didn’t reach for me again. Didn’t beg.

Just nodded once.

“Goodnight, Tessa.”

“Goodnight... Liam.”

I turned and walked back down the hall, every step heavy with things I couldn’t say.

But I didn’t sleep that night.

And neither did he.

The next morning, I expected awkwardness. Cold distance. Back to business.

But instead, I found a note by the breakfast tray:

> The baby’s name will be Ezra, if you still want it to be.

– Liam

Three days passed.

We didn’t talk about what almost happened. But something between us had changed.

He lingered more.

Looked longer.

Touched a little softer when helping me into a seat or steadying me when I nearly slipped on the marble stairs.

I was starting to understand the way he operated.

He didn’t know how to fall. But he was starting to tip.

And I was terrified I was already falling.

By the end of the week, everything broke wide open.

It started with a surprise visit.

I was in the lounge, curled up reading, when I heard the sharp, clipped heels of someone who didn’t live in this penthouse.

A woman’s voice echoed.

Firm. Dismissive. Cold.

“Liam, this is unacceptable. You didn’t tell me she was here.”

I stood up slowly, heart already racing.

Then the door to the lounge opened.

And a tall, raven-haired woman stepped in like she owned the place.

She stopped when she saw me.

Tall. Icy. Older. Dressed in a deep wine-colored suit that probably cost more than my rent for the year.

Her eyes swept over me like a judgment.

“You must be the surrogate.”

I straightened. “And you are?”

She arched a brow. “Charlotte Ashford. Liam’s stepmother.”

Of course.

The one who probably kept the Ashford name polished and merciless.

“I wasn’t aware I’d be entertaining guests today,” I said coolly.

She smirked. “Oh, I’m not a guest. I’m family. You’re the guest. A temporary one, at that.”

“Charlotte” Liam’s voice cut through the tension as he entered behind her, jaw tight. “You weren’t invited.”

“And yet, here I am.” Her smile was tight. “The board is asking questions, Liam. About you. About this arrangement. And now I see why.”

She looked at me again.

“You should be careful, dear. Sometimes women forget their place in these kinds of contracts.”

I didn’t even have time to respond before Liam’s voice turned sharp.

“Leave. Now.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Careful, Liam. The world is watching.”

She stalked out, heels clicking like daggers.

The moment the door closed, I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

“She’s... lovely,” I muttered.

Liam rubbed his jaw, tension radiating from every inch of him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for her. Just... tell me what she meant.”

He looked at me then. Really looked.

“She thinks you’re getting too close.”

I stared at him. “Am I?”

He didn’t answer.

And maybe he didn’t need to.