The Contract Surrogate

The disinfectant in the hospital corridor pricked my nostrils like countless tiny needles. The tiled floor reflected a cold light, casting my frail shadow, trembling slightly. The payment slip in the nurse's hand was crumpled and wrinkled. She stood before me, brows tightly furrowed, her voice heavy with impatience: "Stella Yates, if your younger brother Mike Yates's surgery fees aren't fully paid by tomorrow, the medication will have to stop." I gripped the few crumpled bills in my pocket so tightly my fingertips turned white, my knuckles reddened from the strain. This little money isn't even enough to cover one day's hospital stay. "Could you please give me a few more days? I swear I'll raise the money." My voice trembled with desperation, my throat dry and constricted. The nurse sighed, a trace of helplessness in her eyes, but she still shook her head. "It's not that I don't want to help you—the hospital has its rules." Your younger brother's condition can't be delayed any longer. After stopping the medication... she didn't say more, but those unfinished words crashed into my heart like a heavy stone. Just when I was about to collapse under despair, a black car slowly pulled up in front of the hospital. The window rolled down, revealing the harsh, cold profile of the man in the back seat. Before long, a man in a black suit with gold-rimmed glasses stepped out of the passenger seat, holding a document, and hurried toward me. He stood before me, his stance respectful but distant. "Ms. Yates, I am Mr. Lewis's assistant, Simon Lynn." Mr. Lewis is willing to cover all the medical costs for your younger brother, Mike Yates, including his follow-up rehabilitation. I froze, unable to believe what I was hearing. Where in the world does something this good actually exist? I took the documents he handed me. The moment my fingertips brushed the paper, the two bold words "Contract Marriage" leapt out at me, making my head spin. "The condition is..." My voice trembled as my fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the paper. Simon Lynn's face was expressionless, his tone utterly calm: "Marry Mr. Lewis, have his child, then leave on your own." Mr. Lewis will pay you an additional compensation, enough to support both you and your younger brother's lives moving forward. The pen slipped in my hand, the ink bleeding into a small black blot on the paper. I remembered my younger brother, barely breathing on the hospital bed. Just yesterday, he gripped my hand and whispered, "Sister, I want to live," his fragile voice echoing in my mind over and over. "I'll sign." I took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat, and slowly wrote the name "Stella Yates" at the signature line, stroke by deliberate stroke. The sound of the pen gliding across the paper felt like it was carving a cold line, marking the boundaries of my future. The villa on our wedding night was terrifyingly vast; the crystal chandelier in the living room cast a piercing light, yet it couldn't warm the chill in the air, which was as cold as an ice cellar. Caleb Lewis sat on the leather sofa, a lit cigarette pinched between his fingers, smoke curling upward and blurring his expression. He wore black silk pajamas, the collar unbuttoned by two buttons, revealing sharply defined collarbones, but his eyes held not a shred of warmth. "Remember your place." He lifted his eyes to meet mine, his gaze sharp as a knife, stabbing straight into my heart. "You're just a tool for bearing children. Don't entertain thoughts you shouldn't, don't ask questions you're not allowed to." I clenched the edge of my clothes, my nails digging into my palm, quietly answering, "Okay." He took another drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke rings that slowly dissolved. "After the child is born, you take the money and leave. Don't ever show your face around me again." I stayed silent and quietly turned to walk into the guest room. The room was exquisitely furnished but carried a strange, icy chill that robbed me of sleep all night. It wasn't long before I was really pregnant. Caleb Lewis had me settled in a villa on the outskirts of town. The place was quiet, surrounded by towering camphor trees, but the isolation was unsettling—aside from the servants, I hardly saw a single outsider. Every Monday, a doctor dressed in a white coat would come to the villa to check on me. They were always polite but never spoke more than a few words; after the exam, they'd leave in a rush. Bella, the housekeeper, brought me various nourishing supplements every day—bird's nest, ginseng, fish maw—all steaming hot on the dining table, but none of it could reach the cold spot inside my heart. That morning, Bella placed a bowl of brown medicinal soup in front of me, her tone gentle: "Ms. Yates, this is today's medicine to keep the baby safe. It's warm—please drink it quickly." I took the bowl; the warm liquid slid down my throat, a bitter taste spreading across my tongue, yet I couldn't feel any warmth. "Bella, when will Mr. Lewis arrive?" I couldn't help but ask, a flicker of hope in my voice. Bella's eyes flickered; she avoided my gaze, then lowered her head and whispered, "Mr. Lewis is very busy, handling many company matters." Ms. Yates, just focus on resting and taking care of the baby. The gentleman will be thinking of you. I knew she was trying to comfort me, but I still nodded. Day by day, my belly grew bigger, and I had to hold my waist just to walk. The medical team came to the villa every month on schedule to perform the most detailed checkups. The ultrasound images showed the baby's outline more clearly, but my heart was always uneasy. This kind of 'sky-high care' felt like an invisible net, trapping me tightly inside the villa, suffocating me. I began to miss my younger brother at the hospital, but I couldn't even call him—the villa's landline only dialed Caleb Lewis's assistant, and my phone had long been taken away.