MY CONTRACTED BABY MAMA

Chapter 2

Amelia pov

I didn’t sleep.

I sat on the edge of my couch, staring into the dark, my body numb. The apartment was too quiet, too hollow like the world had swallowed me whole and spat me out forgotten.

Terminated.

Branded.

Humiliated.

All in less than 24 hours.

They didn’t even give me a chance to speak. No meeting. No explanation. Just cold eyes and a printed letter. Apparently, I’d breached a confidentiality clause I’d never even seen. Some files had leaked, and my name was slapped all over it.

Lies.

But no one cared.

I’d worked like a machine for that company. Stayed late, never called in sick, handled what three people should’ve handled, and they still threw me out like garbage.

I shifted on the couch, trying not to shake. The pain in my chest was too familiar.

I’d felt it before.

The day my dad walked out.

I was sixteen. He told us he was going on a business trip. He never came back.

No warning. No goodbye. Just a phone call months later from some woman calling herself his fiancée.

He’d married his mistress. Moved to another state. Started a new life without us.

Mom was shattered. But she never let me see her fall apart. She worked two jobs, skipped meals to keep food on the table, and still managed to smile when she walked through the door.

And me?

I swore I’d protect her. I swore I’d make all her sacrifices worth it.

Then, the diagnosis came. The doctors said it was cancer. Advanced.

That was two years ago.

Since then, I’ve done everything to keep her alive. Waitressing. Night shifts. Medical debt stacking up so high it made me dizzy. And now… the only good job I had is gone in a single morning.

My hands curled into fists. My jaw clenched until it hurt.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

Something poked at my ribs. I reached into my jacket and pulled it out.

A business card.

Adrian Smith.

The name gleamed in silver print, clean and expensive. Just like the man himself.

I stared at it for a long time, the night from the bar flashing back in broken pieces. The way he’d looked at me. The way he spoke like he knew everything.

He said he could fix it all.

But at what cost?

My pride was in tatters. My future is uncertain. My mother’s condition wasn’t waiting for a miracle.

I had no more time.

My phone buzzed on the coffee table.

Rent reminder.

I picked it up.

I scrolled through my call log until I found it his number.

My thumb hovered. My heart pounded.

Then I tapped Call.

It rang once.

Then twice.

Then “Amelia.” His voice was smooth, unreadable. Like he’d been expecting me.

I hesitated. “Is the offer still open?”

A pause. “Yes.”

I swallowed. “I want to know the terms. What you expect. What”

“We’ll go over everything in person,” he cut in. “Pack your things. A car will pick you up tomorrow morning.”

My breath caught. “Wait… just like that?”

“Yes. You’ll stay at my penthouse until the contract is signed. You’ll be under my roof from now on.”

The words echoed. My fingers gripped the phone tighter. “And if I decide not to go through with it?”

“You won’t.”

That certainty in his voice it burned.

And the truth? He was right.

I didn’t have the luxury of changing my mind. Not with Mom’s prescriptions. Not with the landlord knocking. Not with the walls closing in.

“Fine,” I whispered. “I’ll be ready.”

The line went dead.

I sat there, still holding the phone to my ear like I hadn’t just sold myself to a stranger.

A billionaire.

A man who offered me thirty million dollars… to be his wife. His surrogate. His secret.

A deal that sounded too dangerous. Too cruel. Too unreal.

But it was real now.

Tomorrow, I’d step into a world I didn’t belong in.

And I had no idea if I’d survive

---

The phone slipped from my fingers and landed on the couch beside me, but I didn’t move.

I sat there, breathing, thinking if you could call it thinking.

What kind of person agrees to this?

Not someone who has options.

Not someone who still believes the world plays fair.

And definitely not someone who’s trying to fall asleep in a shoebox apartment that smells like bleach and broken dreams.

I looked around, and for the first time, it felt like this place wasn’t mine anymore. The secondhand table, the chipped mugs, the threadbare rug I once picked out with Mom. It had always been temporary—just until things got better.

But they didn’t. They just got harder.

I stood slowly and walked to the small shelf near the window. A framed photo of Mom and I stared back. She had her arms around me, laughing at something I couldn't remember now. Her eyes were bright. Hopeful. Fierce, even when life kept kicking her down.

What would she think of this?

Would she hate me?

Or would she cry in relief, knowing she wouldn’t have to choose between chemo and rent next month?

Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall.

I grabbed the photo frame and packed it in my tote bag. Just that. Nothing else felt worth bringing. This wasn’t a move. It was a surrender.

I didn’t know what Adrian Smith wanted with me why he picked me out of everyone, but tomorrow, I’d find out.

Maybe I’d hate him.

Maybe I’d hate myself more.

But one thing was certain: there was no going back.

This wasn’t just survival anymore.

This was war.

I didn’t even bother turning on the light in the bedroom. What was the point? The glow from the streetlamp outside spilt faintly through the thin curtains, casting shadows across the floor. Familiar shadows. But even they felt like strangers tonight.

I slipped out of my jacket and kicked off my shoes, my body moving on autopilot. Each step felt heavier than the last, like the air itself had grown thick and was trying to drag me down. I peeled off my jeans and changed into the only thing clean an old oversized T-shirt from a free campus event years ago.

I crawled into bed and lay on my side, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. My fingers gripped the thin blanket like it could hold me together. It couldn’t.

The city hummed outside sirens in the distance, a dog barking, a car engine revving too loud. Life kept moving. Even when mine was stalled.

I hated how quiet it was in my head. There are no distractions now. Just the storm of thoughts rolling in with no mercy.

What if I was making a mistake?

What if Adrian Smith turned out to be cruel? Cold? What if this was just another trap I was too desperate to see?

I thought of Mom again. Her face pale in the hospital bed. The way she tried to hide her pain with a smile. How she still called me her miracle, even when I had nothing left to give.

I needed this deal.

Even if it scared me. Even if I had to bury my pride and everything I thought I believed in.

“I’m doing this for you,” I whispered into the dark. My voice cracked.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. It was covered in faint water stains I’d always meant to report to the landlord. Now, I wouldn’t have to.

A strange sort of numbness settled over me.

I was stepping into a cage tomorrow. A golden one, sure. One with glass windows, champagne, and silk sheets, maybe. But a cage all the same.

Would I still be me when I walked out a year from now?

If I walked out at all.

A chill crept into my bones, even under the blanket. I curled tighter, willing my body to stop shaking. But it wasn’t cold. Not really.

It was fear.

Fear of the unknown. Fear of becoming someone I didn’t recognize.

But there was no room for fear anymore.

Just survival.

My eyes fluttered shut, but sleep didn’t come easy. My mind was too loud, too heavy with everything I couldn't change.

I lay there, listening to the ticking of the clock on the wall, waiting,praying,for morning to come.

Maybe then, things would make sense.

Maybe then, I’d stop feeling like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t name.

And maybe, if I was lucky, I’d forget for just a little while that I was selling my soul to a stranger.

Eventually, exhaustion won.

And I sank into the kind of sleep that wasn’t peaceful but necessary.