Fake Dating the Billionaire

Chapter One

Athlea’s Pov

"If I pay this today, will the lights stay on?" I asked the woman behind the desk, my voice trembling so much I barely recognized it.

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 the crushing weight of my reality made me feel like I was eighty.

Ever since Dad died a year ago, my life had been a sinking ship, and I was desperately bailing water with a paper cup that was falling apart. 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 constantly, my hands were raw from the harsh dish soap, and my bank account was completely empty. No matter how fast I ran, the bills always ran faster.

That was why I had made the terrifying 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, suffocating desperation.

A woman named Dr. Vance called my name, and my heart slammed violently against my ribs. I stood up, smoothing down my favorite blue dress with shaking hands, praying I looked stable enough to pass.

"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... yes, I understand," I whispered, my throat tightening.

"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 beyond anything I had ever imagined. It was life-changing. It was survival.

"I'll do it," I said softly, looking down at my lap. What other choice did I have? With the bank closing in, my back was pressed hard 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 into freefall. I thought I was just signing papers for an agency, not being paraded in front of an actual billionaire. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress, my legs feeling like lead as I 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 suffocatingly heavy. Sitting in a leather armchair by the window was a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, except his aura was far too intimidating for any 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 a transaction, an asset being delivered for inspection.

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

My heart seized with anxiety. I wanted to shrink away under his intense gaze. "I... I was on time, Mr. Sterling. Traffic was heavy," I murmured, shrinking back slightly.

Ashton narrowed his eyes, standing up slowly. He was toweringly tall. He walked over to the desk, picking up my medical file and flipping through the pages as if inspecting a report.

"Dr. Vance tells me you are healthy," Ashton said, not bothering to look at me. "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, overwhelming power rolling off him made it hard to breathe. He looked at me like a piece of machinery, someone he could manage and discard when he was done. Panic fluttered in my chest, but the sheer terror of losing my home forced me to find a sliver of courage. I couldn't afford to mess this up.

"I understand, Mr. Sterling," I said, my voice trembling softly as I kept my gaze lowered, intimidated despite my best efforts. "I will follow the rules."

Ashton stopped cold, surprised by my submissive compliance. For a second, his stormy eyes searched my face, noting the genuine fear and desperation hiding beneath my surface.

"See that you do," he whispered dangerously, turning away.