Chapter 4 Four

• The Romano Corporate headquarters makes the fertility clinic look modest in comparison. Sixty floors of glass and steel rising into the clouds like a modern castle.
• Romano. Like the fertility clinic.
• The security guard checks my ID twice before letting me through, his eyes lingering on my face as if trying to memorize it. I'm escorted to a private elevator that requires a keycard.
• "Mr. Romano is on the top floor," the guard says. Of course he is.
• The elevator rises smoothly. No music, just the sound of my heart beating too fast. I check my reflection in the mirrored wall. I'm wearing my best outfit, which isn't saying much. The clinic gave me part of my payment yesterday. I should have bought something new. Too late now.
• The doors open directly into a reception area. More marble. More glass. A woman with perfect hair sits at a desk that could double as a sculpture.
• "Ms. Thompson," she says without asking who I am. "Mr. Romano is expecting you."
• She leads me down a hallway lined with what must be original artwork. At the end, she opens a door without knocking.
• "Sir, your appointment is here."
• The office is enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the entire city. I could fit my apartment in here ten times over.
• And then I see him.
• Dante Romano stands with his back to me, looking out at the city like he owns it. Which, for all I know, he might.
• "Thank you, Claire," he says without turning around. "That will be all."
• The door closes behind me. I'm alone with him.
• He turns, and my breath catches. The man is beautiful in the way dangerous things are beautiful. Tall, broad shoulders, perfectly fitted suit that probably costs more than I make in a year. Dark hair with touches of silver at the temples. A face that belongs in magazines: strong jaw, straight nose, intense blue eyes.
• He must be at least nine or ten years older than me.
• "Ms. Thompson." His voice is deep, accented slightly. Italian, I guess. "Please, sit."
• He gestures to a chair across from his desk. I sit, trying not to look as intimidated as I feel.
• He doesn't sit. He walks around the desk and leans against it, looking down at me. A power move.
• "Do you know who I am?" he asks.
• "You're Dante Romano," I say. "The father of the baby I'm going to carry."
• His mouth twitches, almost a smile. Almost.
• "I am many things, Ms. Thompson. A businessman. An investor. A philanthropist, some would say. But yes, most relevantly to you, I am the man whose child you will be carrying."
• He studies me openly, his eyes moving over my face, my body. Not in a sexual way, but in an assessing way. Like he's inspecting merchandise.
• "You're younger than I expected."
• "I'm twenty-eight," I say. Old enough to know better than to get myself into this situation.
• He nods. "The clinic says you're in excellent health. No genetic concerns despite the unknown factors in your family history."
• Unknown factors. A polite way of saying I'm an orphan with no idea what diseases might run in my family.
• "I'm healthy," I confirm.
• He moves back behind his desk and sits. The chair looks like a throne.
• "Let me explain how this will work," he says. "You will be moved to a property I own. It's comfortable, secure, and monitored by my staff. You will follow a diet and exercise regimen designed by my personal doctors. You will attend all medical appointments as scheduled. You will have no contact with anyone I have not approved."
• My stomach tightens. "I'll be a prisoner?"
• His eyes narrow slightly. "You'll be the vessel carrying my child. I protect what's mine."
• The word "vessel" hits me like a slap. Not a person. A container.
• "And what about my life? My things?"
• "As the contract states, essentials will be moved with you. The rest placed in storage. Your bills will be paid. Your apartment maintained, should you wish to return to it after."
• "My job—"
• "You don't have one," he interrupts. "We investigated thoroughly before selecting you, Ms. Thompson."
• Of course they did. That's why they approached me. Not because I'm ideal. Because I'm desperate.
• "So I'll have no freedom for nine months."
• "You'll have comfort, security, and compensation few could dream of." His tone hardens. "Many would be grateful for such an arrangement."
• I should be grateful. I should nod and thank him and accept whatever terms he sets.
• But something inside me rebels.
• "I signed up to be a surrogate, Mr. Romano. Not a possession."
• The words come out before I can stop them. His eyes flash with something. Anger? Surprise?
• "Brave," he says after a moment. "Foolish, but brave."
• "I'll follow your medical requirements," I continue, my heart racing. "I'll take care of myself and your baby. But I need some freedom. Some dignity."
• He studies me, his expression unreadable. "What exactly are you asking for?"
• "Visitors. The ability to go outside. Books, movies, things to keep me occupied. I'm a person, not an incubator."
• I expect him to refuse. To remind me of my desperate situation. To tell me I have no choice.
• Instead, he almost smiles.
• "Reasonable requests," he says. "As long as visitors are approved by my security team. As long as outings are accompanied. As long as you remember that the child's welfare comes first."
• I wasn't expecting him to concede anything. I don't trust it.
• "Why me?" I ask suddenly. "There must be hundreds of women who could do this. Women with known medical histories. Women who would be easier to control."
• He leans forward slightly. "Because you have nothing to lose, Ms. Thompson. And people with nothing to lose are dangerous unless given something to protect."
• The way he says it sends a chill through me.
• "I'll have a contract addendum drafted with your... requests," he says. "You'll move to the residence tomorrow. A car will pick you up at nine."
• Just like that, the meeting is over. He presses a button on his desk, and the door opens.
• I stand up, not sure what just happened.
• "One more thing, Ms. Thompson." His voice stops me as I reach the door. "The child you'll be carrying is everything to me. Remember that."
• It's not a threat. Not exactly. But the message is clear.
• "I understand," I say.
• And I do. I understand that I've made a deal with someone powerful and dangerous. I understand that the next nine months will change my life in ways I can't imagine.
• But as I leave his office, I make a promise to myself. I may be desperate. I may be alone. But I won't let Dante Romano take my dignity.
• I'll fulfill my end of the bargain, but I won't let him break me.
• That's the one thing I have left that money can't buy.