Chapter 2 2.

Chapter Two: Ashley’s POV

I used to think staying home all day sounded luxurious.

Turns out, it’s only fun when you actually have somewhere else to be.

By week six of pregnancy, my apartment had started feeling less like a home and more like a prison with decorative pillows.

The television was on purely for background noise. I wasn’t even watching it anymore. Some cooking show host was aggressively excited about garlic while I lay sprawled across the couch in oversized pajamas, staring at the ceiling like a woman slowly losing her mind.

Morning sickness was a scam, by the way. Whoever named it that clearly never experienced it. Mine lasted all day.

I groaned and rolled over, pulling a blanket over my face. This was my life now.

Nausea. Prenatal vitamins. Silence.

I missed the noise. I missed dancing until two in the morning. I missed tequila shots with Mia. I even missed terrible decisions.

Now the most exciting part of my day was deciding whether crackers or toast would make me throw up less.

Pathetic.

My gaze drifted toward the dining table where unopened bills sat in messy piles. I immediately looked away. Money had become a dangerous topic in my life.

Or rather…

My lack of money.

When Dad died two years ago, he left me a decent inheritance. Not billionaire money, obviously, but enough to start over properly if I’d been smarter.

Unfortunately, I was grieving and stupid at the same time. Terrible combination. Instead of being responsible, I spent money like someone trying to outrun sadness.

Trips. Designer bags. VIP tables. Luxury shopping sprees. Random business investments I didn’t understand.

For one glorious year, I lived like heartbreak could be cured with expensive champagne.

By the time reality caught up to me, the money was almost gone. Completely gone, actually.

And unlike Simone, who had married rich, I had no safety net waiting for me.

No stable career. No savings. No plan. Just debt.

A knock sounded at my apartment door. I frowned. Nobody visited me before noon unless someone was dying. Slowly, I dragged myself off the couch and opened the door. Mia stood there holding iced coffee and a paper bag of pastries.

She froze the second she saw me.

“Oh my God,” she whispered dramatically. “You look horrifying.”

“Thank you.”

“What happened to you?”

“I’m creating life. Apparently it’s very exhausting.”

Mia pushed past me into the apartment. “You haven’t answered texts in three days.”

“I was asleep.”

“You posted nothing online.”

“I’m clinically depressed.” She stopped in the middle of my living room and stared around suspiciously.

“You cleaned.”

“Okay first of all, rude.”

“Ashley Martin only cleans when emotionally unstable.”

Fair point. Mia handed me the coffee automatically before suddenly yanking it back.

“Wait. Can pregnant women drink coffee?”

“I’m allowed one small cup.”

“Wow. Motherhood really is suffering.” I collapsed back onto the couch while she unpacked pastries onto the table.

“You know,” Mia said carefully, “you could still go out sometimes.”

I laughed weakly.

“If Simone sees me within ten feet of alcohol, she’ll probably put me on house arrest.”

“You agreed to this too easily.” Her words made me glance up.

“What?”

“The surrogacy thing.” Mia shrugged. “You joked about it so much that I didn’t think about it before, but Ash… this is huge.”

I looked down at my stomach instinctively. But what was I supposed to say? That I needed the money badly enough to rent out my body? That the blank check Nash handed me had felt less insulting than my unpaid bills?

That part of me was still ashamed every time I remembered signing the contract?

“You know Simone needed me,” I said quietly. Mia’s expression softened instantly.

“And who’s taking care of what you need?”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because honestly? I didn’t know anymore.

Mia stayed for another hour before leaving for work. The moment the door closed behind her, the apartment became painfully quiet again.

I hated how quickly loneliness returned. I grabbed one of the pastries she brought and took a bite, immediately regretting it when nausea twisted my stomach again.

“Fantastic,” I muttered, throwing it back onto the plate.

My phone buzzed across the couch.

Nash.

I stared at the screen for a second before answering.

“Hello?”

“How are you feeling today?”

Polite. Controlled. Businesslike. Like always.

“Alive,” I answered.

A brief pause.

“The doctor said your symptoms are normal.”

“Well, tell the doctor I hate him.” I heard the faintest exhale on the other end. Not quite a laugh. Nash didn’t really laugh.

“I’ll transfer additional funds for your expenses this month.”

And there it was.

Money.

Everything always circled back to money somehow.

“You already gave me enough,” I said automatically.

“This pregnancy requires proper care.”

Not you deserve help. Not you shouldn’t struggle. Proper care. Like I was part of an investment that needed maintenance.

Something bitter curled inside my chest before I shoved it down quickly. It wasn’t fair to resent him. Nash had been honest from the beginning. This arrangement was transactional.

I agreed to it.

“Simone’s worried because you haven’t been answering much,” he continued.

“I’ve been sleeping.”

“You should consider moving into the Orwell estate for the remainder of the pregnancy.”

I sat upright immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“It would be more comfortable for you.”

“I’d rather throw up in my own apartment, thanks.”

Another pause.

Then, calmly, “Ashley, this situation is no longer only about you.”

The words hit harder than they probably should have. No longer only about you.

Right.

Because my body technically belonged to three people now.

Me. Simone. And the baby growing inside me. I suddenly felt exhausted.

“I know,” I whispered.

Nash’s tone softened slightly. “Get some rest. Simone will visit tomorrow.”

The call ended shortly after. I lowered the phone slowly and stared at the dark screen. Then I laughed once under my breath.

A few months ago, my biggest concern was whether a bartender liked me enough to give free drinks. Life was ridiculous.

I stood up and wandered toward the bathroom mirror. For a long moment, I just stared at myself.

Messy hair. Oversized shirt. Bare face. Tired eyes. I looked nothing like the Ashley Martin everyone knew.

The fun one. The reckless one. The happy one. Maybe that girl had disappeared long before the pregnancy.

Maybe she disappeared the moment Dad died and left me alone with money I didn’t know how to handle and grief I didn’t know how to survive.

My gaze slowly lowered toward my still-flat stomach. Nothing looked different yet.

But somehow…

Everything already was.