Escaping The Billionaire's Deadly Surrogate Trap

The yellow cab pulled up to the red brick dormitory of the arts college. Blaire paid the fare, grabbed her single suitcase, and walked into the loud, chaotic lobby.

She took the elevator to the third floor and unlocked room 302. A light, comforting scent of citrus filled the air, immediately easing the tight knot in her chest.

Her roommate, Phoebe Adler, was barefoot on a yoga mat. When she saw Blaire, she jumped up and threw her arms around her in a massive hug.

The genuine warmth melted the last of Blaire's defenses. She hugged Phoebe back, a real, exhausted smile touching her lips.

Blaire opened her suitcase and started unpacking. When she pulled out the black leather boots she wore at the club, her hands shook. She quickly shoved them into the darkest corner of her closet.

Phoebe noticed the single bag. She tilted her head and asked why the daughter of the wealthy Terrell family packed so light.

Blaire's fingers stiffened. She turned around and delivered her rehearsed lie. She smiled and said she wanted to try minimalism and didn't want to be weighed down by stuff.

Phoebe bought it completely. She handed Blaire a cold soda and casually asked why Blaire was always disappearing on the weekends.

Blaire looked down at the condensation on the can. She lied again, saying she was desperately saving money for a study abroad program in Paris.

To sell the story, she sighed heavily. She complained that the Terrell family had strict rules and demanded she become financially independent before they let her go abroad.

Phoebe was outraged on her behalf. She ranted about the twisted rules of rich families and promised to help Blaire find a good campus job.

Looking at Phoebe's innocent face, a heavy wave of guilt washed over Blaire. But she knew she could never tell anyone the truth about the surrogacy and the heart harvesting. It was too dangerous.

The scene shifted to the Terrell estate study. Danita screamed in rage, sweeping a delicate bone china teacup off the desk. It shattered against the floor.

Her shrill voice echoed off the walls. She yelled at Clotilda, complaining that Blaire running away had completely ruined her chances to bond with Kamryn.

Clotilda sat behind the massive oak desk. She watched her daughter throw a tantrum with cold, dead eyes. When Danita finally stopped to breathe, Clotilda handed her a tissue.

Clotilda's voice was a low, dangerous hiss. She warned Danita to control her temper, reminding her that her failing heart couldn't handle the stress. She told her not to die before the transplant.

The word "transplant" made Danita freeze. The fear of death and the desperate greed for life flashed in her eyes.

Clotilda walked around the desk and stroked Danita's hair. She whispered like a snake, assuring her that Blaire could not run far.

Clotilda sneered. She explained her plan. "I already made a phone call to Eleonora Finch at the arts academy this morning," she stated, swirling her wine. "I cut off her credit cards, and now I've severed her academic lifelines." She promised Danita that by systematically destroying every legitimate way Blaire had to make money, she would force Blaire to come crawling back to the estate like a starving dog.

Danita's angry face slowly twisted into a sick, triumphant smile. She could already picture Blaire begging on her knees.

Back in the dorm, it was late at night. Phoebe was fast asleep, her breathing slow and steady.

Blaire sat at her small desk. The light from her desk lamp cast long shadows. She was counting the cash she had made at Club Velvet.

The bills smelled like smoke and cheap perfume. They were dirty, but they were the only thing keeping her safe right now.

She carefully hid the stack of cash inside a false bottom of an old shoebox, then shoved the box deep under her bed.

She opened her banking app on her phone. Seeing the low balance made her stomach drop.

The club money was fast, but the risk of running into Kamryn or Calhoun again was too high. She needed a massive amount of clean money, and she needed it fast.

Her eyes landed on a thick dance textbook on her desk. An idea sparked in her mind.

She opened the book. Tucked inside was a flyer for the National Youth Dance Competition. The grand prize was a staggering five hundred thousand dollars.

If she won, she could pay back the Terrell family's "raising fees" and buy a one way ticket out of the country.

Blaire traced the numbers on the flyer with her fingertip. Her eyes hardened with absolute resolve. This was her only way out. She had to win.