The Billionaire's Deadly Surrogate

Dinner with the Devil

Silver spoons do not rattle when you hold them steady, but my fingers were shaking hard enough to ring china against the mahogany table. Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to push away from the seat, to run back up the stone stairs, and to lock myself inside the safety of the west wing. But my boots remained glued to the floorboards, paralyzed by the oppressive atmosphere of the dining room. A heavy rap at the double oak doors broke the agonizing silence, loud and demanding, echoing off the high vaulted ceilings. Before I could even draw a full breath, the heavy latch lifted and Felix stepped into the frame, filling the doorway with his intimidating, massive bulk. He wore his black security uniform buttoned tightly to the top, his cold, slate-grey eyes scanning my face with total, unbothered indifference.

You have five minutes to get down to the dining hall, Felix said, his voice flat, mechanical, and entirely devoid of human warmth. Augustus does not like to wait for his invited guests, let alone someone who requires a personal escort.

I am not a guest, and I certainly am not hungry, I snapped back, trying to mask my rising panic by squaring my shoulders and blocking his path with my body.

Felix did not move a single muscle. He simply stared down at me as if I were a minor, irritating obstacle on a routine delivery route. It is not a request, Vera. Put on a proper face and move your feet. If you are late, I will carry you down myself, and trust me, you will not enjoy the trip.

Ten minutes later, I pushed open the heavy, reinforced oak doors of the main dining hall with a sinking heart. The room was massive, dominated by a dark mahogany table long enough to host a royal wedding banquet, though only one end of it was set with silverware that caught the flickering amber light. Augustus sat at the absolute head of the table, bathed in the harsh, flickering yellow glow of a dozen tall candles. He looked up as I approached, calmly cutting a thick piece of rare, bloody steak with clinical, surgical precision.

You look pale tonight, Vera, Augustus said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the heavy silver cutlery. He gestured with his knife to the seat placed uncomfortably far from his own end of the table. Sit down. Eat your meal. You need the caloric intake, even if your appetite is currently lacking.

I pulled out the high-backed velvet chair and lowered myself into it, my eyes darting suspiciously to the silver plate placed in front of me. A roasted cut of meat and steamed green vegetables sat under a thin, curling haze of steam. I am not sure I trust the menu in this house, I said, leaning back and crossing my arms over my chest. Does the kitchen double as a chemical laboratory now?

Augustus set his silver knife down with a soft, deliberate clink against the fine porcelain plate. He leaned forward slowly, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an unsettling, predatory intensity. Everything served in this house is carefully weighed and calculated to support your unique metabolic demands. You suspect poison in your food?

Let us call it professional caution, I replied, picking up a silver fork and pushing a single green bean around my plate. Given the bloody history of this estate and the secrets locked in my walls, I prefer to know precisely what I am swallowing before it hits my stomach.

You talk entirely too much for someone who traded her absolute freedom for a wire transfer, Augustus said, his voice dropping into a smooth, razor-sharp register that sent a shiver down my spine. He did not blink once. Tell me, have you experienced any unusual physiological changes since yesterday afternoon? Dizziness? Sudden temperature fluctuations? Anything at all out of the ordinary?

My pulse hammered hard against my ribs, but I forced my facial expression to remain completely blank and unbothered. I feel fine, aside from being tired of standing trial over a plate of roasted vegetables.

It is not a trial or an interrogation, Augustus murmured, though every single line of his rigid, powerful posture suggested otherwise. It is a vital assessment. The child you are carrying requires absolute stability and precise biological harmony. If your body begins to reject the genetic integration process, I need to know before the symptoms turn catastrophic for everyone involved.

Catastrophic for the baby, or catastrophic for me? I asked, dropping my fork onto the plate with a sharp, metallic clatter that echoed loudly off the high stone walls.

Augustus tilted his head to the side, a cold, humorless smile touching the corner of his thin lips. For both of us, Vera. We share a very common, very dangerous interest now.

Before I could fire back a sharp, biting response, the heavy side doors swung open with a muffled, hurried creak. Damian strode into the room, his breath coming in short, harsh gasps that completely shattered the quiet, tense atmosphere. He did not care about protocol or manners in front of his boss. He walked right up to Augustus and leaned down, whispering something urgent, frantic, and entirely unintelligible directly into his ear.

Augustus went completely, unnaturally rigid. The cold, mocking smile vanished instantly from his face, replaced by a dark, dangerous scowl that made him look like a completely different person. He stood up so fast his heavy oak chair scraped loudly and violently against the polished parquet floor.

Secure the perimeter immediately, Augustus ordered, his voice dropping an octave as he turned his back on me without a second glance. Do not let a single soul near the lower sublevels until I get down there and assess the damage myself.

Damian nodded sharply and turned on his heel, motioning urgently for Felix, who stood guard near the entrance, to follow him out into the dark corridor. The room emptied in a matter of seconds, leaving me sitting entirely alone at the massive dining table with the flickering candles, the shadows stretching long across the stone walls, and my half-eaten food cooling on the plate.

My heart skipped a violent beat. This was my only chance to move without being watched.

I pushed away from the table, abandoning my plate entirely, and hurried out the side doors into the dimly lit, labyrinthine corridor. The security detail was completely preoccupied with whatever emergency was unfolding down below in the bowels of the estate, leaving the upper hallways eerily, unnaturally quiet. I wanted nothing more than to flee back to the safety of my room in the west wing, but my feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying me in the opposite direction, drawn by a strange, magnetic pull toward the service stairs near the back of the wing.

I hurried down the cold stone steps, intending to take a shortcut past the kitchens, but I took a wrong turn past the pantry and found myself descending much deeper into the old, forgotten servant quarters. The air down here smelled thick, stale, heavy, and overwhelmingly metallic, carrying a foul, stomach-turning odor like wet rust and spoiled meat left out in the heat.

The heavy stone walls muffled my footsteps as I rounded a tight, suffocating corner near the entrance to the old wine cellar.

That was precisely when I heard it.

A low, guttural, vibrating sound echoed up from the heavy metal ventilation grate set directly into the floor beneath my boots, followed immediately by a violent, wet screech that sounded terrifyingly like something tearing violently through flesh and bone. It was not human. It was a raw, primal, blood-curdling roar that vibrated straight through the soles of my shoes, freezing the blood in my veins and making every single hair on my arms stand straight up in sheer terror.