Chapter 3: signing
1212 Words
Silence stretched between them. Then: "Miss Martinez—Elena—I've researched you. Your mother was sick for eighteen months. You worked double shifts, depleted your savings, maxed out credit cards, and never once complained to your coworkers. You smiled through every shift even when you were falling apart. You're already an excellent actress."
"You investigated me."
"Of course I did. Did you think I'd offer five million dollars to a stranger without due diligence?" His voice softened slightly. "Your mother raised a remarkable woman. I think you're stronger than you believe."
Elena's throat tightened. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't be kind. It's easier when you're cold."
A long pause. Then, surprisingly, "Understood."
Elena heard him take a drink of whatever he was having. She glanced at her own glass of wine, now warm and forgotten.
"Can I ask you something?" she ventured.
"Yes."
"Why haven't you just... found someone real? You're wealthy, successful, not exactly hard to look at. Why a contract instead of just dating someone?"
"I was engaged once," Damien finally said. "Her name was Caroline. She died three years ago in a car accident. I was driving."
Elena's breath caught. "I'm so sorry."
"The accident was caused by a drunk driver. Legally, I wasn't at fault. But I was the one who suggested that route. I was the one who wanted to take the scenic highway instead of the interstate. I was the one who walked away with minor injuries while she..." He stopped. "I'm not interested in love, Elena. I'm not interested in risk. I'm interested in fulfilling an obligation so that thousands of employees keep their jobs and my grandfather can die in peace. A contract is clean. Honest. No one gets hurt when expectations are clear from the beginning."
Elena understood broken hearts. She understood guilt. "And after two years? What happens to the baby?"
"I'll be a good father. I'll hire the best nannies, provide the best education, give the child every opportunity. They'll want for nothing."
"Except a mother who's actually there."
"They'll have a mother. You'll have visitation rights."
"Weekend visits aren't the same as being a parent, Damien."
"No," he agreed. "But it's what I'm offering. Take it or leave it."
The cold businessman was back. Maybe it was easier for both of them that way.
"I have more questions about the contract," Elena said, steering back to safer ground.
"Then come to dinner tomorrow night. We should discuss this face-to-face. Seven PM. I'll send a car."
"I can drive myself."
"To Canlis? In your 2012 Honda?" There was amusement in his voice. "Let me send a car, Elena. Consider it practice for the role you're considering."
Before she could argue, he hung up.
Elena stared at her phone, then at the contract, then at the collection notices stacked on her kitchen counter.
Canlis. One of the most expensive restaurants in Seattle. She'd never been anywhere like that. Didn't own anything appropriate to wear to a place like that.
She looked at the clock. 2:47 AM. In sixteen hours, she'd be having dinner with a billionaire to discuss selling two years of her life.
Her phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number that could only be Damien.
Dress code is business elegant. If you need something appropriate, charge it to this account.
An AmEx black card number followed.
Elena laughed, a slightly hysterical sound in the quiet apartment. He was already trying to buy her. Or maybe just dress her up like a doll for his elaborate play.
She looked at her closet—three pairs of scrubs, two pairs of jeans, the funeral dress.
Elena: I'll find something myself.
Damien: Stubborn. I'm beginning to see why Maya thought we'd be compatible.
Elena: We're not compatible. We're a business arrangement. You said so yourself.
Damien: Touché. Sleep well, Elena.
Like that was going to happen.
Elena closed her laptop and gathered the contract pages, stacking them neatly. Tomorrow she'd call Maya's cousin Vanessa, see if she could review the legal terms. Tomorrow she'd figure out what to wear to a dinner that might change her entire life.
Tonight, she let herself imagine—just for a moment—what it would be like to wake up without debt. To have the freedom to dream again. To honor her mother's memory by actually living instead of just surviving.
******
The next morning, Elena did something she hadn't done in months—she called in sick to work. Sort of.
"I need to use a personal day," she told the nursing supervisor.
"Elena, you never take personal days. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. I just... have something important to handle."
Three hours later, she sat across from Vanessa Chen in a glass-walled conference room at Whitmore & Associates, one of Seattle's top law firms. Vanessa was exactly as Maya had described—impeccably dressed, sharp-eyed, and direct.
"This is the most unusual contract I've reviewed in ten years of practice," Vanessa said, flipping through the pages. "But it's also airtight. Whoever drafted this knew exactly what they were doing."
"Is it legal?"
"Completely. Surrogacy contracts are legal in Washington. The marriage is legally binding. The compensation structure is clean. Everything's above board." Vanessa looked up. "The question isn't whether it's legal, Elena. It's whether you can actually do this."
"What do you mean?"
"Article 15. The termination clause." Vanessa slid the page across. "If you breach the contract—tell someone the truth, refuse to fulfill marital duties, leave the marriage early—you forfeit all unpaid compensation and have to return the advance. That's a million-dollar mistake if you change your mind."
Elena read the clause carefully. "What counts as 'marital duties'?"
"Public appearances, attending family events, maintaining the appearance of a genuine marriage. Basically, you have to sell this to the world. And to his family." Vanessa leaned forward. "I met Damien Blackwood once at a firm event. He's brilliant, driven, and completely closed off. This arrangement makes sense for him. But you, Elena? You're warm, open, emotional. Can you really spend two years pretending to love someone who's incapable of loving you back?"
"He's not incapable. He's just... wounded."
Vanessa raised an eyebrow. "You've met him once and you're already making excuses for him. That's exactly what I'm worried about."
"I'm not going to fall in love with him, Vanessa. This is business."
"Famous last words." Vanessa sighed and closed the contract. "Look, from a legal standpoint, this is solid. You're protected financially. The custody arrangements are fair. If you can handle the emotional aspect, this solves all your problems." She paused. "But contracts can't protect your heart, Elena. Just... remember that."
Elena left the law office with a headache and more questions than answers.
She had seven hours until dinner.
And still nothing to wear.
At 6:45 PM, Elena stood in front of her bathroom mirror in a simple navy dress she'd found at a consignment shop for sixty dollars. It was the most she'd spent on clothing in two years, and her hands shook slightly as she applied mascara.
Her phone buzzed. Your car has arrived.
Elena grabbed her purse—also secondhand, but decent enough—and headed downstairs.
A black Mercedes waited at the curb.
- Writer
