Billionaire's breeding vessel

Breeding vessel

Chapter 2:

Breeding Vessel

It's been two months since that cold, rainy night when I signed my soul away in Blackthorne Tower. Two months of learning how to breathe in this luxurious prison. I stood barefoot in the master bathroom, the marble cold beneath my feet, staring at the five pregnancy tests lined up on the counter. Every single one displayed two bold pink lines. Positive. Undeniably positive.

A baby was coming

I felt happy and sad at the same time.

My fingers trembled as I pressed both palms gently against my still-flat stomach. A wave of nausea that had nothing to do with morning sickness rolled through me, quickly replaced by something warmer—something dangerously close to hope. For the first time since I had stood shaking in that white dress, signing the contract that sold my body for one year, real light flickered inside my chest.

This child could change everything.

Damien needed an heir. I had read that clause carefully, even though the words had blurred through my tears that day. A strong Blackthorne successor to secure his empire. Maybe this was the key that would finally crack through his icy exterior. Maybe once he knew his child was growing inside me, he would look at me differently. Not as a purchased convenience, but as the mother of his baby. Perhaps the frozen heart I had glimpsed on our wedding night could soften, even a little.

I clung to that fragile hope like a drowning woman.

The rest of the afternoon became a quiet mission. I wanted tonight to be different. Special, even. I slipped into the emerald green dress he had once eyed with dark approval—the silky fabric hugged my curves and made my skin glow against the deep color. I stood in front of the mirror, turning slowly, practicing the words I would say.

“Damien… I’m pregnant.”

My voice came out soft, almost shy. “We’re going to have a baby.”

I asked the private chef to prepare his favorite steak with red wine reduction and garlic mashed potatoes. I had a bottle of his most expensive whiskey brought up and decanted. Everything had to be perfect. I even dabbed on a touch of the expensive perfume he had stocked in my vanity—something woody and sensual that always seemed to stir him.

By 8:30 p.m., my nerves were stretched. When the private elevator chimed at 8:47, I didn’t rush out to the living room like I sometimes did. He usually came to me on his own terms—cold, commanding, and direct—when he needed release. Tonight, I wanted to surprise him. I wanted to tell him in the softer lighting of the bedroom, where I could watch his face and maybe, just maybe, see something human flicker in those dark eyes.

I heard his heavy, confident footsteps echo down the hallway. The door to his private study clicked open. My heart raced. I smoothed the emerald dress one last time, forced a small hopeful smile, and padded quietly down the corridor toward his study.

The door was slightly ajar.

I raised my hand to knock gently, but his deep voice stopped me cold.

“…the Thompson girl is performing adequately.”

Victor Kane’s sharp, amused tone crackled through the speakerphone. “Excellent. She was chosen for exactly this purpose, Damien. Clean bloodline, no powerful connections, desperate enough to sign anything we put in front of her, and clearly fertile. You needed a proper breeding vessel for a worthy Blackthorne heir. Nothing more. Don’t start getting soft on me now.”

My blood turned to ice in my veins.

“A breeding vessel?”

Damien let out a low, humorless chuckle that sent chills racing down my spine. “Soft? Don’t insult me, Victor. She knows her place perfectly. Once she delivers a healthy child—preferably a son—the real purpose of this contract is fulfilled. After that… we’ll see. Keep pushing the board hard on the succession clause. I’m not letting my empire fall into the hands of those useless cousins. This child will lock everything down for the next generation.”

The words sliced into me like shards of glass.

I stumbled backward, one hand flying up to clamp tightly over my mouth to trap the agonized sob clawing its way up my throat. My other hand instinctively cradled my stomach, protective and fierce. A breeding vessel. That was all I was. All I had ever been to him. The endless medical bills for Mom, the safety net for Lily, the promise of more time with my dying mother—none of it had mattered. I was nothing but a paid womb wearing designer dresses and spreading her legs on command.

Tears burned hot paths down my cheeks as I retreated on silent feet. I slipped back into the master bedroom, locked the door with shaking fingers, and sank down onto the edge of the massive black bed. The same bed where he had taken my virginity two months ago without a single kind word or gentle touch.

Silent sobs tore through my body. I cried until my chest ached and my throat felt raw. Memories crashed over me—Mom’s weak smile in the hospital, Lily’s frightened eyes when another hospital bill arrived, the way Damien had looked at me that first night like I was nothing more than meat. I had been so stupid. So pathetically hopeful.

When the tears finally ran dry, something colder and far sharper settled deep in my bones.

This baby would not grow up in this lifeless penthouse as Damien Blackthorne’s heir. This baby would not be raised by a man who saw its mother as livestock.

This baby was mine.

I stood on unsteady legs and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The glittering New York skyline stretched out below like a sea of indifferent lights. Somewhere out there was freedom. Safety. A real future. I had six or seven months at most before my body would betray me. I would need money, fake documents, a new identity, and a place far away from Damien’s reach. I would have to become smarter, quieter, and more ruthless than the most powerful man in this city.

The soft click of the bedroom door opening pulled me from my thoughts.

Damien stepped inside, already unbuttoning his crisp white shirt to reveal the hard, sculpted muscle beneath. His dark eyes scanned me slowly, noting the emerald dress with familiar hunger. “You weren’t waiting in the living room.”

I turned to face him, locking every shard of my broken heart and fresh rage behind a calm, fragile mask. My voice came out steady. “I was waiting for you here tonight.”

He studied me for a long moment, then gave a satisfied nod. Without another word, he reached for me, pulling me against his powerful body.

As he took me that night—hard, possessive, and completely emotionless—I stared at the ceiling and began to make plans