Chapter 3

Evelyn

Even after I'd dressed, the soreness in my body wouldn't stop reminding me of everything that had happened the night before.

I looked down to fasten the top button of my coat, my fingertips trembling uncontrollably. Just then, the phone in my pocket buzzed. Victoria's name flashed across the screen.

I drew a deep breath and answered.

"Good morning, Evelyn." Victoria's voice came through the receiver, gentle as always. "How are you feeling? Last night must have been hard on you."

"I'm fine." I kept my voice low, forcing it to sound calm. "I'm about to leave the apartment."

"All right, dear. But there's something I need to make clear to you first." She paused on the other end of the line. "The doctor just spoke with me. A single natural conception can't guarantee success. He'll recalculate the timing based on your ovulation cycle, and until we've confirmed you're actually pregnant, you'll need to keep coming back to this apartment."

My feet froze. I stood rooted to the spot.

"That's not what I understood the arrangement to be." The words came out at once, my voice shaking. "You said it would only take... only once."

"Evelyn, I think you may have misread the terms." Victoria let out a soft laugh. "The contract is quite clear. It says 'to assist in achieving pregnancy,' not 'to make a single attempt.' And since we've already come this far, walking away now would mean throwing away everything you've put in."

I gripped the phone hard, choking back the emotions surging in my chest. "Then how many more times?"

"Until you're pregnant."

Four simple words, and they landed on my chest like a slab of stone. For the first time, I truly understood that last night hadn't been something I could grit my teeth through and put behind me for good. It had only been the beginning.

"I can't do this, Victoria. I—"

"Evelyn, don't be so quick to decide." She cut me off, her tone soft, almost coaxing. "The private medical center just received an advance payment for the next stage of treatment. And the oncology team we've been in contact with will be joining your mother's consultation this week. If all goes well, the treatment plan that was stalled over the cost—it can be restarted today, right away."

All that came through the receiver was the sound of my own heavy breathing.

I knew exactly what she was doing—reminding me why I'd agreed to this bargain in the first place. And I had no way to argue back. Because that leverage was the only lifeline I had.

I closed my eyes. The whole world seemed to sway around me.

"The times we meet... you have to tell me in advance." My voice came out hoarse as I forced myself to lay down my terms. "And the moment the pregnancy is confirmed, whatever exists between me and Alexander ends immediately. I won't see him again."

"Of course. That's absolutely fine." Victoria agreed without hesitation, even offering a considerate word of comfort. "Don't worry. It won't last long."

After she hung up, I stared at the darkened screen for a long time. I forced myself to believe that maybe it really would only take another time or two—that once I was pregnant, I'd get all the money and be able to escape for good.

At nine that morning, I hurried to the private medical center where my mother was admitted.

When I pushed open the door to her room, she was propped up in bed with a book. The moment she saw me, she asked anxiously, "Evelyn, where were you last night? You didn't pick up when I called."

I instinctively tightened my grip on the strap of my bag, then turned away to hang it on the wall, answering as casually as I could. "I took a temporary translation job—it paid very well. I'd signed a confidentiality agreement, so my phone was off the whole time. I can't say much about the details."

She didn't doubt a word of it. She only studied my face carefully, frowning. "Why do you look so pale? Were you up all night?"

"Mm. I was working through documents until late." I managed a smile, went over to adjust the pillow behind her, and deliberately steered the conversation elsewhere. "By the way, did the doctor come by today? Is there a new treatment plan?"

At that, a light I hadn't seen in a long time returned to her eyes.

"I was just about to tell you." She took my hand, her voice carrying a note of relief. "First thing this morning, the hospital said an advance payment had come through. All the tests and imported medications that had been held up are being arranged now. The nurse also told me that a top team of specialists will be reviewing my case again this week."

She looked at me, tears glistening in her eyes. "Evelyn, does this mean we've finally made it through? Once I'm a little stronger, I'll go home and cook for you again. And you can go back and finish the counseling course you had to give up..."

I listened as she mapped out our future, sentence by sentence, watching the smile return to her face. Something hard seemed to lodge in my throat, and more than once I nearly failed to hold my own smile in place.

All I could do was clasp her hand in return and nod, hard. "Mm. This time, no matter what, you're going to get proper treatment. Everything's going to be all right."

It was only in that moment that I understood, completely, that there was no turning back for me. However much I loathed everything that had happened the night before, there was no way I could tear away, with my own hands, the hope my mother had just been given.

After leaving her room, I made my way down the corridor to the lounge on the first floor and shut myself inside the stall at the very back.

For the past dozen or so hours, I hadn't dared to lose my composure in front of Alexander, hadn't been able to show weakness in front of Victoria, and in front of my mother I'd had to pretend that nothing had happened at all.

Only now, in this small, sealed space, did all the details I'd pressed down so hard the night before—the shame and the helplessness I'd forced myself to swallow—come flooding back like a tide. And what made it even more hopeless was this: soon it would happen again, a second time, a third time...

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The tears came, fat and heavy.

I told myself over and over: This is a choice you made. No one held a gun to your head. The money you're getting can save your mother's life. You have no right to cry here, and even less right to regret it.

But the more I tried to reason with myself, the stronger that bone-deep humiliation and helplessness grew.

I don't know how long it was before I dried my eyes and stood, crossing to the sink. I splashed cold water over my cheeks again and again, until the face in the mirror showed nothing of my tears—nothing but a slight paleness.

My mother was still waiting for me upstairs. I didn't even have the right to fall apart.

A little after three in the afternoon, the nurses' station let me know that one of the supplementary medications my mother had been taking long-term needed to be replaced, but the hospital pharmacy was temporarily out of stock. I'd have to pick it up from a partner pharmacy a few streets away. I took the prescription and left the hospital.

The New York sky was overcast that afternoon. As I walked, I kept my head down, reading through the detailed medication instructions the doctor had sent, thinking I'd pick up some painkillers while I was there.

When I reached the pharmacy, I pushed open the glass door to go inside. My eyes had been fixed on the messages on my phone, and the exhaustion of the night before had left my body weak. The instant I pushed the door, I collided head-on with someone coming out, caught completely off guard.

"Sorry—"

I stumbled, my balance gone, and started to fall backward. Just as I thought I was going down, a strong arm shot out and gripped my upper arm, steadying me firmly.

I regained my footing and looked up, flustered, meaning to thank him.

But the moment his face came into focus, the words caught in my throat, and I went rigid where I stood.

The tall, commanding frame. The familiar face. And those gray-blue eyes.

The man standing before me was Alexander Whitmore.