Chapter 2
Hannah's POV
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Peter sat forward, his entire body tense with anticipation.
"Ms. Lancaster?" the man prompted.
Peter's lips moved: "Please."
I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Edward's kindness, Peter's desperation, and my own powerlessness crushing down on me. "Yes," I whispered. "I'm applying for the position."
The rapid clatter of keyboards on the other end of the line. Hushed whispers between multiple people, their voices quick and urgent. I'd caught fragments of their conversation—mentions of my background, my family's tragedy, Edward's financial situation. They were already investigating me. In real time. While I was still on the phone.
What I'd thought was just a tentative inquiry, a simple phone call to test the waters, had already pushed me into something irreversible. They already knew everything. And I'd barely said a word.
The voice on the phone had been clinical, detached. "Congratulations, Ms. Lancaster. You've passed the preliminary screening. A car will collect you tomorrow at nine a.m. for your final interview."
Now I sat rigid in a cold metal chair, my hands folded nervously on my knees. The spotlight above me was mercilessly bright, making it almost impossible to keep my eyes fully open. It burned down on me like an interrogation lamp, creating a stark divide between the illuminated circle where I sat and the darkness that surrounded it.
The room had been deliberately designed to feel like an interrogation chamber. I was placed in the light, vulnerable and exposed, while those evaluating me remained hidden in the shadows. Though I couldn't see them clearly, I could make out silhouettes—at least three figures. Two men and one woman, judging by their voices.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This was real. This was actually happening.
"She's quite beautiful," a man's voice commented from the darkness, as if I were a painting on display. "The bone structure is excellent. Good genetics."
"Harvard education. Fallen aristocracy from one of America's oldest families," another voice added. "The Lancaster bloodline is impeccable, despite their... recent misfortunes."
"Turn around, dear," commanded a woman's voice—elderly but sharp as a blade. Her tone left no room for refusal.
Rising shakily to my feet, I slowly turned in a circle, feeling their eyes examining every inch of me. The humiliation burned hotter than the spotlight. I was being assessed like livestock at an auction, my worth determined by my physical attributes and breeding potential.
This is for Peter, I reminded myself. For Edward. For the people who saved you when you had nothing.
"Good figure. Healthy. How old are you again, Miss Lancaster?" The woman's voice cut through the darkness.
"Twenty-five," I answered, fighting to keep my voice steady.
"Perfect childbearing age," one of the men remarked. "And her medical records show no complications."
I felt sick to my stomach. My hands trembled slightly, and I clasped them tighter to hide it.
"Sit," the elderly woman commanded.
I sank back into the chair, grateful to escape their scrutiny, even momentarily.
"The total compensation is two million dollars," she continued, her tone businesslike. "You will receive an initial payment of five hundred thousand upon confirmation of a viable pregnancy. The remaining one and a half million will be paid once the child is born and custody is transferred to us."
Five hundred thousand. Enough to start Peter's treatment immediately.
"However," she continued, and something in her tone made my stomach drop, "there are... complications you should be aware of."
A contract slid across the desk toward me, pushed by unseen hands. I leaned forward, squinting in the harsh light to read it.
"You will spend five days with the father to ensure conception," the woman said. "During this time, you will reside in his private residence and comply with all reasonable requests."
My throat tightened. "Reasonable requests?"
"The gentleman in question was recently blinded in an accident," one of the men said, his voice carefully neutral. "He's... having difficulty adjusting. He's refused all professional assistance and has been, frankly, violent toward previous caretakers."
The room seemed to tilt. "You're asking me to be both surrogate and caretaker to a violent blind man?"
"Your experience with special needs education makes you uniquely qualified," the elderly woman said smoothly. "You work with disabled children daily. Surely one adult won't be beyond your capabilities."
"Children are different—"
"Five days, Miss Lancaster. Five days, and you'll have enough money to save your friend's life."
I stared at the contract, my vision blurring.
"May I at least know his name?" I asked, my voice barely steady. "If I'm to spend five days with him, if I'm to carry his child—I deserve to know who he is."
The silence stretched.
"You make a fair point," the woman said finally. "His name is Finn Sterling."
The name hit me like a physical blow.
Finn Sterling.
Everyone knew that name. The black sheep of the Sterling family, one of the most powerful dynasties in the country. The rumors that followed him were dark—whispers of criminal enterprises, violence, ruthlessness.
And now he was blind. A dangerous man robbed of sight.
"I see you recognize the name," the woman said dryly.
Five days. Just five days.
My hand shook as I reached for the pen they slid toward me. The metal was cold against my fingers.
This was it. The moment that would change everything.
I thought of Peter's desperate face. I thought of Edward, who had saved me when I had nothing.
The pen touched paper. My signature began to form.
And then—
Slow, deliberate applause echoed through the room.
I froze, my spine stiffening as the sound came from behind me, from a door I hadn't even noticed. The clapping was mocking, sardonic, each strike of palm against palm deliberate and cruel.
"What a brilliant deal," drawled a male voice—cold and dripping with contempt. "My grandmother finds a desperate woman willing to be both my broodmare and nursemaid for the right price. How... efficient."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I turned slowly in my chair, my heart hammering against my ribs.
A figure stood in the doorway, backlit so I couldn't make out his features. Tall. Broad-shouldered. His posture radiated danger even in stillness.
"Finn," the elderly woman said sharply. "You weren't supposed to—"
"Wasn't supposed to what? Meet the woman you've hired to carry my child?" His laugh was harsh, bitter. "Tell me, Miss Lancaster—do you have any idea what you've just agreed to?"
