The Billionaire's Virgin Surrogate

Evelyn's POV

Evelyn Carter learned early that exhaustion didn’t excuse failure. It didn’t matter how little she slept, how much her body ached, or how tightly anxiety wrapped around her chest, life didn’t pause for anyone. Bills still came, rent still waited, and hunger still demanded attention.

That morning, she woke before her alarm.

The ceiling above her bed was cracked in three places, faint lines spreading like veins. She stared at it for a moment, counting her breaths, before swinging her legs over the side of the mattress. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet.

Across the small room, Carmen was still asleep, curled on her side with her phone clutched loosely in her hand. Evelyn moved quietly, careful not to wake her. Carmen worked late shifts too, and sleep was precious.

Evelyn dressed quickly—plain jeans, a faded blouse, flats she’d owned far longer than she should have. She tied her hair back in a simple bun, studied her reflection briefly in the mirror, then looked away.

She didn’t linger in the front of mirrors anymore.

The kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in without touching. Evelyn poured herself a glass of water, drank it slowly, then checked her phone.

She had three missed calls, and one voicemail.

Her chest tightened as she pressed play.

“Miss Carter,” the man’s voice said smoothly, unpleasantly familiar. “This is a reminder. Your payment deadline has passed, we expect the full amount by the end of the week. Failure to comply will result in further action.”

Then the line went dead. Evelyn lowered the phone slowly.

End of the week.

She did the math automatically, even though she already knew the answer. Tips from last night, half her paycheck coming in two days, what was left in her savings.

It still wasn’t enough.

By the time she left the apartment, the weight of it sat heavy in her chest. She walked fast, shoulders squared, refusing to let panic show on her face. Panic never helped, panic made mistakes.

The restaurant was already busy when she arrived.

“Morning, sunshine,” the manager called out distractedly as she clocked in. “You’re on doubles again.”

Evelyn forced a smile. “Of course.”

She tied on her apron and got to work. Carmen arrived later.

The day moved fast with orders. Plates. Polite smiles. Apologies she didn’t owe. Compliments she didn’t believe. By noon, her feet throbbed, and her back aches, but she kept moving. She always did.

At table seven, a man snapped his fingers to get her attention. She pretended not to notice until he raised his voice.

“Miss? My coffee is cold.”

“I’ll replace it right away,” she said calmly, even though it wasn’t.

As she turned away, she heard him mutter, “Figures.”

She swallowed the sting and carried on.

During a brief break, Carmen leaned against the counter beside her, lowering her voice. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Evelyn said automatically.

Carmen didn’t believe her. “You heard from them again, didn’t you?”

Evelyn hesitated, then nodded.

Carmen sighed. “Evie… you can’t keep doing this alone.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Evelyn almost laughed. Instead, she focused on wiping down the counter, her movements precise. “What choice would you suggest?”

Carmen hesitated. “The agency.”

Evelyn’s hand stilled. “Don’t,” she said quietly.

“I know it scares you,” Carmen continued gently. “But it’s legal, safe, and they pay more than anything else you could do in a year.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Because it wasn’t just a job. Because it involved a child. Because it meant carrying something precious for someone who would never look back. Because what if she couldn’t let go? Evelyn didn’t say any of that. She just shook her head and went back to work.

The rest of the day blurred together.

When her shift finally ended, the sky outside had darkened, the city glowing with evening lights. She changed quickly and stepped back onto the street, exhaustion dragging at every one of her muscles.

She walked home instead of taking the bus. She needed the time, the air and the movement.

By the time she reached the apartment, her legs felt like lead.

Inside, she dropped her bag, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the edge of the bed. The silence pressed in around her.

She stared at the wall.

Then, slowly, she reached for her phone.

Her thumb hovered over the contact Carmen had saved weeks ago—the one Evelyn had sworn she wouldn’t touch.

She told herself she just wanted information, and nothing more. Just to understand what it meant, just to see if it was even possible.

Her thumb pressed down. A website loaded. Words like discretion, medical care, financial security stood out sharply on the screen.

Her heart pounded, as she scrolled.

Requirements. Health screenings. Contracts.

The compensation figures made her breath catch. Nine months. One decision. A way out.

Evelyn set the phone down, her hands trembling.

“No,” she whispered to the empty room.

She stood abruptly and paced, trying to shake the thought off. It clung to her anyway, relentless.

She remembered the debts, the calls, and the fear of falling behind again.

Her phone vibrated suddenly. It was an email notification.

She froze.

With shaking fingers, she picked it up and read the subject line.

New Inquiry – Surrogacy Program Application

Evelyn stared at the screen, her pulse roaring in her ears.

She hadn’t applied. Had she?

Her breathing came shallow as the realization settled in. At some point—exhausted, desperate, and barely thinking—she had filled out the preliminary form.

Her finger hovered over the email. Once opened, there would be no pretending this wasn’t real.

Evelyn swallowed hard. And tapped the screen.