Bound By The Billionaire: The Surrogate Princess

Chapter 2: A Flicker of Hope

I rushed into one of the bathrooms hastily, pulling off the clothes from my other job, which still smelled of dog spit and wet tongue. My hands trembled as I changed into my work outfit. The clothes slipped from my fingers, falling onto the wet, dirty floor.

“f**k,” I muttered under my breath. I didn’t bother avoiding the wet patches, hurriedly putting them on as my mind raced with panic.

This was the fourth time I’d been late this week. My manager had already threatened to fire me if it happened again. The panic surged like a wave, and I felt my stomach twist, as if I was about to vomit. My head spun, and I felt on the verge of passing out. There was no way I could afford to be late again—not a fifth time this week.

I rushed outside, frantically scanning the street. The afternoon bus was pulling away just as I got there. I knew I couldn’t afford a taxi—rent was overdue, and there was no room for waste.

That was when I saw a man struggling with his car, dressed in a clean, impeccable suit, looking out of place under the hood. It hit me: I knew how to fix cars. Without thinking twice, I hurried over.

“I can fix it for you,” I said, my voice startling him. He looked at me blankly, confused. “I can have it running in five minutes. In return, I need a ride—just drop me off where I need to be.”

He didn’t respond, so I bent over the hood and got to work. Memories of me and Jasper playing with cars back at home flashed through my mind. I pushed them aside, focusing on the task. Within five minutes, the car roared to life.

I gestured for him to get in and start moving. He nodded without another word, and I slid into the front seat, giving directions to my workplace. I silently thanked the gods for my luck and the stranger’s unusual trust.

What I didn’t notice, however, was the presence looming behind me, silent and watchful, like a predator in the shadows. Somewhere between the man and that figure, a fleeting, unreadable glance passed—but I remained completely oblivious, lost in my own thoughts, unaware of anything beyond the steering wheel and the road ahead.

As we neared my workplace, I asked him to stop two blocks away from the hotel where I worked. I was trying to avoid gossip. The staff there had a habit of turning the smallest things into full-blown stories, and I wasn’t ready to be the subject of whispered conversations for the next week.

I stepped out of the car and thanked him profusely, adding a small comment to ease the awkwardness of the way he kept staring at me.

“You’re not a bad driver,” I said lightly.

When he didn’t respond, I didn’t wait around. I hurried off, walking the remaining distance to the hotel.

At the entrance, I greeted Jimmy, the doorman.

“You’re late again,” he said, the worry clear on his face. He knew exactly how the manager reacted whenever I showed up late.

“I know, Jim. No time to talk,” I replied quickly, waving as I rushed inside.

Halfway through the entrance, I glanced back. The black car I had ridden in was still parked across the street. Almost immediately, it pulled away, disappearing from sight as if it had never been there at all.

Entering the lobby, I heard the manager’s raging voice—sharp and disturbing—cutting through the hotel’s usual calm as he barked orders at someone unseen. My stomach clenched.

I veered away at once, slipping into the service elevator, the one rarely used by guests, the one that smelled faintly of detergent and metal. The doors closed behind me with a soft thud, sealing me into the staff-only world.

As the elevator descended, I clutched my bag, my thoughts spiraling, already calculating how I might slip into her shift without being seen.

Just then, Stacy entered the room like a knight in shining coffee-stained armor, tray of drinks in hand and a stern look fixed on her face. I knew she was upset with me.

“Take these to table 17. I already covered for you when he asked about you earlier. I told him you went to the bathroom briefly.” And just like that, she left, leaving no room for argument.

I truly loved Stacy. She had been my only friend since I arrived in New York, always by my side from the very beginning. I promised myself I would make it up to her later.

Here are your drinks, ma’am.

I placed the glasses carefully on the table, steadying my hands before they could betray me.

“Is everything to your liking? Can I get you anything else?”

One of the women reached for the menu, flipping it open with mild interest.

“Could you tell us more about what’s on the menu today? What’s the special?”

“Absolutely, ma’am,” I replied, keeping my smile in place. Our specials this afternoon are the lobster bisque and seared scallops. The truffle risotto and tuna tartare are also quite popular with our guests.

The other woman leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

“And how would you rate today’s special? Has it been ordered often?”

I didn’t hesitate, even as I sensed their skepticism.

“I’d give it a 9.5, ma’am. That said, most guests tend to favor the truffle risotto and tuna tartare.”

She exchanged a brief look with her companion.

For drinks, I continued smoothly, a chilled Chardonnay or a glass of champagne pairs well with the selections, though you’re welcome to choose whatever you prefer.

After a brief discussion, they placed their order—lobster bisque and seared scallops, with the tuna tartare added as well, a cautious compromise.

“Very well, ma’am. I’ll have that sent to the kitchen right away.”

I inclined my head politely before turning away, heading toward the service area to place their order.

After placing their order, I moved through the restaurant, checking on other guests, making sure everything was in order. Rushing back to the kitchen when I saw their meals ready, I carefully served each dish, bowing slightly.

“Enjoy your meal,” I said politely, stepping back.

About half an hour later, they called me back. Approaching the table, I froze slightly at the sight: tightened mouths, folded arms, half-eaten food scattered across plates. My stomach sank. I braced myself for what was coming.

Voices erupted before I could even open my mouth.

“The bisque is far too salty! There aren’t enough lobster chunks!”

“Did you even communicate our order properly to the kitchen? This tuna tastes raw, and the citrus doesn’t belong here!”

I picked up a fork, testing the dishes. Everything was prepared exactly as requested. I opened my mouth to explain calmly—but Mr. Rudolph, the manager, stepped in, cutting me off.

“I apologize for the inconvenience and the trouble the staff caused. I will handle this personally,” he said, his tone formal but cold.

Then he turned sharply to me. “Step away from the table. Now.”

Before I could open my mouth trying to narrate what transpired, his hand struck my cheek. The restaurant went silent at that moment, the clatter of silverware fading into the background. Every eye felt like a weight on me—irritation, embarrassment, helplessness flooding through me at once.

I spotted Stacy across the room, her face tight with concern, and the other staff shifting uncomfortably. I could take no more.

“I quit!” I yelled, my voice raw. “I’m done with this!”

With trembling hands, I yanked off my apron and hurled it at him. Pushing past tables, brushing against patrons in my escape, I ran, tears blurring my vision. The alley behind the hotel swallowed me in shadow as I collapsed against a wall, gasping, crying, shaking uncontrollably.

A sharp vibration startled me. My phone. Unknown number. Apprehension knotted my chest, but I answered.

“Hello?” My voice was shaky, coated with tears.

“Is this Miss Elara Moore?” the voice asked calmly.

“Yes… this is her,” I stammered.

“This is Malikov Atlas Group,” the voice continued.

“We’re calling to inform you that your application for the position of Personal Assistant to the Vice President of Strategic Partnership has been approved. We’d like you to start next week. Are you available?”

I blinked through the tears, unable to process the words.

“Hello… are you there?” the voice prompted gently.

“Y… Yes!” I managed, my voice cracking. “I accept the offer. I will start immediately. Thank you… thank you so much!”

I hung up, trembling, staring at the dark alley. A flicker of hope—small, fragile, but undeniable—ignited within me. Maybe… just maybe, life wasn’t completely over.