THREE BILLION DOLLAR BABIES

Chapter 3: Ghosts and Guilt

Dominic stood at Victoria's grave as the sun set over Woodlawn Cemetery, a bottle of her favorite wine in his hand—Château Margaux 2015, the one she'd opened the night he proposed.

He hadn't opened this bottle. Couldn't bring himself to drink it without her.

Three years. Three years since the world stopped making sense.

The headstone was simple, elegant, exactly what Victoria would have wanted: Victoria Anne Chen. Beloved daughter, cherished fiancée. Gone too soon.

He knelt and placed the bottle against the cold marble.

"I did it," he said quietly. "Signed the contract today. The surrogate—she'll carry them. Your children. Our children."

The wind rustled through the cemetery trees. No answer. There never was.

"I know you wanted kids so badly. Remember that night we talked about names? You wanted Emma if it was a girl. I liked Sophie." He smiled despite the ache in his chest. "We never could agree on anything."

That was a lie. They'd agreed on everything that mattered. They'd been partners in every sense—she'd understood his drive, his ambition, his demons. She'd loved him anyway.

And then she was gone.

His jaw clenched. "The surrogate is Dr. Morgan. Riley Morgan."

Saying her name out loud felt like poison on his tongue.

"I know what you'd say. That it wasn't her fault. That the medical board cleared her. That holding onto anger is destroying me." He touched the headstone. "But you weren't there, Vic. You didn't see her face when she came out of that operating room. No remorse. Just clinical detachment. Like you were a failed experiment instead of a person."

That wasn't entirely fair. He'd seen something in Riley Morgan's eyes that day—horror, guilt, devastation. But it was easier to remember her as cold. Easier to hate her.

"Marcus thinks I'm crazy for using her. Maybe I am." Dominic stood, brushing grass off his knees. "But she needs the money desperately enough to do exactly what I tell her. And she owes me this. She owes you."

The wind picked up, colder now. The sun was almost gone.

"I'm doing this for you," Dominic whispered. "So part of you lives on. So your dreams don't die with you."

He turned to leave, then stopped.

"I saw her today, Vic. Morgan. She's... different than I remembered. Smaller. Vulnerable. Those big brown eyes that make her look perpetually terrified." He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. She's just the incubator. Nine months, then she's gone."

But as he walked back to his car, he couldn't shake the image of Riley's face when he'd leaned close in the conference room. The way she'd flinched. The hurt in her eyes when he'd called her nothing more than an incubator.

Good. She deserved to hurt.

Dominic's penthouse was dark and empty when he arrived home. Forty-three floors above Manhattan, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city that never slept. Twenty-five hundred square feet of marble and steel and expensive art.

And absolutely no warmth whatsoever.

Victoria had hated this place. "It feels like a museum," she'd said. "Not a home."

She'd been right. It was a showcase, not a sanctuary. But after she died, Dominic couldn't bring himself to change anything. Changing it felt like erasing her.

He poured himself three fingers of scotch and stood at the windows, watching the city lights blur together.

His phone buzzed. Marcus: You were pretty harsh with her today. She looked like you'd kicked her puppy.

Dominic didn't respond.

Another text: I'm just saying, she's going to be carrying your kids for nine months. Maybe don't traumatize her?

She traumatized me first,Dominic typed back. Then deleted it.

Marcus was right. He knew Marcus was right. Riley Morgan had been cleared by the medical board. The investigation had been thorough—he'd read every page of that report a hundred times, searching for something they'd missed.

There was nothing. Victoria's reaction to the anesthesia had been a one-in-a-million complication. Unpreventable. Unpredictable. Nobody's fault.

But accepting that meant accepting that sometimes terrible things just happened. That he couldn't have protected Victoria. That he'd been powerless.

Dominic didn't do powerless.

So he'd held onto his anger. Let it fuel him. Thrown himself into work, building his company into an empire, because work didn't betray you. Work didn't die and leave you shattered.

And now he was using the woman he blamed to give him the family he'd lost.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

His phone rang. Catherine Chen. Victoria's mother.

He almost didn't answer. Catherine had become increasingly unstable since Victoria's death, unable to move forward, unable to let go. She called him weekly, sometimes daily, wanting to talk about Victoria. To relive memories. To keep her daughter alive through stories.

It was exhausting.

But guilt made him answer. "Catherine."

"Dominic, darling." Her voice was too bright, too cheerful. The tone she used when she was barely holding it together. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"I heard about the surrogacy arrangement. James mentioned it." James—Victoria's father, the only Chen family member who'd maintained some grip on reality. "I think it's wonderful. Victoria would be so happy."

Dominic doubted that. Victoria would probably be horrified that he'd spent three years frozen in grief instead of moving forward.

"I'm glad you approve."

"Who did you choose? As the surrogate?"

He hesitated. "Someone qualified."

"Do I know her?"

"Catherine—"

"It's not that Morgan woman, is it?" Her voice sharpened. "The one who killed my Victoria?"

"The medical board cleared her."

"The medical board is corrupt!" Catherine's pleasant facade cracked. "That woman murdered my daughter through incompetence, and now she gets to profit from it? Gets to carry Victoria's children?"

"The embryos are from Victoria's eggs," Dominic said carefully. "Morgan is just the gestational carrier. No genetic connection."

"Still. It feels wrong. Like she's stealing Victoria's place."

Dominic rubbed his temples. "I need to go. I have an early meeting."

"Of course. I'm sorry, I just—I miss her so much, Dominic. Every day. Don't you?"

"Every day," he agreed quietly.

"We have to honor her memory. Keep her alive in our hearts. Make sure the world never forgets what she meant to us."

"I won't forget her, Catherine."

"I know you won't. You're loyal. It's one of the things Victoria loved about you." A pause. "Just promise me you won't let that Morgan woman corrupt this. Victoria's children deserve better than her."

After Catherine hung up, Dominic stood in the dark, scotch warming in his hand, and wondered if he was making a massive mistake.

Later that night, he couldn't sleep.

He pulled out his laptop and opened the file he'd compiled on Riley Morgan over the past week. Background check, financial records, employment history. He told himself it was due diligence, making sure she was suitable.

It wasn't. It was obsession.

Riley Anne Morgan. Twenty-nine years old. Born in Queens to Rosa Morgan, single mother, father unknown. Full scholarship to Columbia for undergrad. PhD in reproductive genetics from the same, graduated top of her class. Published multiple papers. Worked at Manhattan Fertility Institute as a researcher.

Brilliant, by all accounts.

Financial records showed she was drowning. Student loans, credit card debt, her mother's medical bills. She lived in a studio apartment in Sunnyside that cost more than it was worth. Her bank account had $847 before he'd transferred the first payment.

She'd signed that contract not because she wanted to, but because she was desperate.

That should have made him feel better. Instead, it made him feel like a predator.

He pulled up her photo from the medical screening. Professional headshot, her natural curls pulled back, wire-rimmed glasses, minimal makeup. She looked young. Nervous. Nothing like the cold, competent doctor he'd built up in his mind.

Those eyes, though. Deep brown, expressive. Eyes that had looked at him today with something that made his chest tight.

Hurt. She'd looked hurt when he'd called her an incubator.

"She deserves it," he said aloud to his empty penthouse.

Did she? A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Victoria asked. What did she actually do wrong? Follow protocol? Do her job? Fail to predict a one-in-a-million complication?

"She was responsible."

Was she? Or do you just need someone to blame because 'random chance' is too terrifying?

Dominic slammed his laptop shut.

He poured another scotch and stood at the windows again. Somewhere out there, Riley Morgan was probably lying awake too. Probably terrified. Probably regretting signing that contract.

Good.

Except it didn't feel good. It felt hollow.

His phone buzzed. Email from the clinic: Procedure scheduled for Friday, 9 AM. Please confirm attendance.

Attendance. They expected him to be there while they implanted Victoria's embryos into Riley Morgan's body.

The thought made his stomach turn.

He typed back: I won't be attending. Marcus Reynolds will represent me.

Coward, Victoria's voice whispered in his mind.

"I'm not a coward. I'm protecting myself."

From what? A scared woman who needs your money?

"From feeling anything."

Too late, Victoria's voice said. You already feel something. That's why you're so angry.

Dominic threw his phone onto the couch and stalked to his bedroom.

He was doing this for Victoria. For the family they'd planned. For the future that had been stolen from them.

Riley Morgan was just a means to an end.

He needed to remember that.

Even if something about the fear in her eyes today had cracked something in his chest he'd thought was permanently frozen.

At 3 AM, unable to sleep, Dominic went to the room Victoria had designed—the terrace garden. She'd spent months planning it, choosing every plant, every flower. After she died, he'd had it completed exactly to her specifications.

He hadn't been here in months. It hurt too much.

The garden was beautiful—lush and green despite the autumn chill, fairy lights strung through the plants, a small fountain bubbling in the corner. Victoria's sanctuary.

He sat on the bench she'd picked out and pulled out his phone. Scrolled to his photos. Found the one of Victoria in this garden, laughing at something he'd said, her eyes bright with joy.

"I'm doing the right thing," he told the photo. "Aren't I?"

She smiled at him from the screen, frozen in time, forever twenty-eight.

"The surrogate hates me. I made sure of it." He touched her face on the screen. "But that's better, right? Keep it clinical. Professional. No emotions."

The wind rustled through the garden plants.

"I miss you," Dominic whispered. "Every goddamn day, I miss you. And I'm angry. At the universe, at fate, at that doctor who couldn't save you." His voice cracked. "I'm so f*****g angry, Vic."

His phone buzzed. Text from Marcus: Get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day.

Marcus always knew when Dominic was spiraling.

Another text: Also, for what it's worth? Victoria would want you to be happy. Not angry. Think about that.

Dominic looked at Victoria's photo again. Would she want him using Riley Morgan as a surrogate? Would she want him holding onto rage that was poisoning him from the inside?

Probably not.

But letting go of the anger meant letting go of the last connection he had to that terrible day. Meant accepting that Victoria was really gone. Meant moving forward.

Dominic wasn't ready for that.

So he'd hold onto his anger. Use it to keep Riley Morgan at arm's length. Make sure she understood she was nothing more than a transaction.

Nine months. Then he'd have Victoria's children, and Riley Morgan would disappear from his life forever.

Simple.

Clinical.

Except when he closed his eyes, he kept seeing Riley's face in that conference room. The way she'd tried to hold her head high despite being terrified. The way her hands had shaken when she signed the contract.

The way she'd looked at him like he'd physically struck her when he'd leaned close and called her nothing but an incubator.

"I'm doing this for you," he told Victoria's photo one last time.

But as he walked back inside his cold, empty penthouse, a small voice in his head whispered: Or are you doing this to yourself?

He ignored it.

He had to.