The Surrogate Contract With The Ruthless Billionaire

I used to think guilt was something you could carry in your hands, a weight you could walk away from, but I was wrong. It lives in your chest, eats through your ribs, poisons every breath you take. I should've been with my mother. Instead, I was here, in a stranger's mansion, surrounded by luxury I had no right to touch, waiting for the moment I'd hand over the three lives growing inside me like a packaged deal. I sat on the bed, one hand resting on my belly, the other gripping my phone tightly.  It has been months since I last saw my mother. It's been about nine months now, and I don't even know how she was doing, months of not being there during the time she needed me the most.  I had to do what I had to do.  The only way to survive was to get money, her everyday chemotherapy, and her medication with no one to help.   It has been the two of us since that bastard left with her mistress.  I didn't think twice when I jumped on this offer. It was just for nine months; all I needed to do was carry a living human in my stomach, and my mother's health would be restored.  "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I should be there. I should've never let you go through this alone." I glanced down at my swollen belly, stretched tight under my dress. "Just a few more days," I murmured.  "Then this'll all be over. You'll be with your real parents, and I can finally go home." The money was enough to cover Mama's treatments for a year, maybe longer. I told myself that made it worth it. That renting out my body to the William's was the only way to fund her treatment, but I was so tired. I stood up, wincing at the dull ache in my back, and the pressure was worse today. I'd read about how everything got heavier right before labor started. Still, I might have another week until I have to get this over with. I took a slow breath, crossing the polished wooden floor toward the window when it happened. A sudden gush of warmth exploded between my legs. I gasped, freezing in place as wetness streamed down my thighs, soaking the floor beneath me. My heartbeat fastened, and my hands trembled in trepidation at how sudden this was. "No. No, no, please." Pain struck across my lower back. My knees buckled, and I grabbed the desk to keep from falling. "Angela!" I screamed, panic tightening my throat. "Angela, help!" Nothing. The silence of the estate suddenly felt like a coffin that was too tight even to take a breath. Another contraction slammed into me, sharper this time. My breath came in rough gasps as I lowered myself into the nearest chair, tears springing to my eyes. "Angela!" I shrieked. "Please! My water broke, and I need help!" Footsteps thundered down the hall. Angela burst in, her eyes wide. "Oh Dios mío! Miss Ava!" "It hurts," I choked. "I think...I think they're coming." She barked something in Spanish to the maid behind her and rushed to my side. "Hold on. We're getting the car, so try to breathe, okay? Just breathe." But breathing didn't help. The ride to the hospital was a blur of pain and panic; every bump on the road felt like a knife slicing through me. I gripped the seat so tightly my arms hurt, sweat pouring down my temples as I tried to remember the breathing techniques I'd watched in YouTube videos. But there was no rhythm or calm. Just agony. By the time we arrived, I was barely conscious, my world reduced to flashes of torment and the sound of my ragged sobs. They wheeled me into a delivery room, voices surrounding me with urgent, overlapping echoes through the fog in my brain. "She's nine centimeters, let's go!" I heard someone say. "I need more towels. And get an OB in here now." Another added. A mask went over my face as someone took off my soaked clothes. A voice whispered that I was doing great, but I knew they were lying; I wasn't doing great, I was dying. Then the first contraction hit. Not the false ones I'd felt for weeks, this was different.  It started like a cramp, but then it built and built, gripping my insides and twisting them until I thought I'd scream myself hoarse. My belly hardened, and my hips felt like they were splitting. I cried out, gasping, thrashing as another contraction ripped through me. My legs trembled uncontrollably, and I reached for someone, anyone, to anchor myself to something solid. A nurse gripped my hand tightly. "Breathe, Ava. In and out, in and out." She repeated. "I can't," I sobbed. "It hurts...oh God, it hurts so much!" "You're doing beautifully, they're almost here." The pressure in my pelvis was unbearable, like something was trying to push its way out of my body with brute force. Then came the urge to push. It was primal, and I couldn't stop it even if I wanted to, and I knew that there was no way I would be getting out of this other than going through the pain for the reward. "Okay, Ava, push with the next contraction. As hard as you can." The doctor's voice was firm, encouraging. But all I could think about was the fire ripping me from the inside. I pushed. Screamed. Pushed again. The pain was beyond comprehension. Like something sacred inside me was breaking. My throat was raw from screaming, and my fingernails dug into the nurse's palm. I felt every tear, stretch of muscle, and shred of resistance as my body surrendered to what it was made to do. But no one tells you what that feels like. The burning between my legs was unlike anything I'd ever imagined, not just pain but violation like I was being torn open by something too big for my body to contain. "There's the head! One more big push!" I gathered what little strength I had left, screamed until the air left my lungs, and bore down with everything inside me. A release. A strange, wet slither and then, crying-the first triplet. But I wasn't done. I collapsed back against the pillow, chest heaving, legs shaking uncontrollably, and before I could even catch my breath, the second contraction came. "No...No, I can't." "Yes, you can," the doctor said firmly. "The second baby is coming. You're almost there." I pushed again, sobbing from exhaustion. And pushed. My body didn't feel like mine anymore; it was just a vessel, soaked in sweat and blood, emptying everything it had left. Then the second baby slipped free. Another cry, but it was softer. At that point, when I realized that there was still one more baby, I almost gave up, but I couldn't because this was the final hurdle I needed to overcome to support my mom in the way she deserved, so letting her down was not an option. Which is why I gathered courage and proceeded to push as much as my body would let me until there was another cry, which the nurses confirmed with the looks in their eyes. I had finally delivered these babies that had been a part of me for almost a year, and that sparked a sudden sense of panic in me since they weren't mine to keep, but I managed to push the thought away; this wasn't the time for this. I already had a goal I had just accomplished, so my most important priority was to focus on my life and what steps to take now. The room erupted in movement, nurses whisking the babies away, voices confirming vitals, someone checking my pulse. Someone else was stitching me up. But I couldn't speak or move if I liked. The pain was fading now, leaving behind a dull, aching void. My legs trembled violently as my ears rang. But they were alive. Three perfect, screaming reminders of the choice I'd made. I turned my head, trying to catch a glimpse of them, but they were already behind a curtain. The nurse beside me patted my arm and told me to rest. "You did beautifully," she said again. I managed a weak smile before closing my eyes to process my emotions. The worst, I thought, was over. It wasn't. I had barely closed my eyes when the door slammed open again. Startled, I looked up. Nicholas Williams stood in the doorway like a shadow cut from steel. His suit was immaculate, but his face was tense, eyes wild. His mouth was tight with something that wasn't relief or joy. It was rage. "You've killed her!"  he ranged.  I blinked in confusion. "What! Who?" He stormed into the room. "You killed her! Why? Because you can't give the baby away! We paid you, didn't we? Why take her life?"  "Who are you talking about?- I managed to ask, looking confused.  "Vivian! She is dead, and you are the last person she had spoken with."   "Wait- what?! My heart froze. The mother of the babies, the same woman who treated me with so much care and kindness, was suddenly dead?! Even before she set her eyes on the babies!  Yes, Vivian and I spoke some hours before I was put to labor. How come she is suddenly dead? Fear immediately gripped my heart.  "That's not true!" I cried, struggling to sit up. "She said she was going out for a spa treatment. I didn't-" "You expect me to believe that?" he growled, eyes narrowing. "After everything we gave you, after everything we trusted you with..." "Mr. Williams," a nurse interjected nervously, peeking in from behind him, "please, your wife just  gave birth a few hours ago, so she needs rest." "She's not my wife!" he snapped, pointing at me in frustration. "She's the surrogate." The nurse's face went pale. "But we were told-" "You were told wrong," he said, never noticing me. I couldn't breathe. He wasn't here to meet his children or to say thank you. He thought I had something to do with Vivian's sudden death. And worse... maybe he wanted me to pay for it. "You have no idea what you're saying," I whispered, voice shaking. "I've done nothing but protect your children. And now you stand there accusing me?" "Protect," he chulked bitterly. "I promise you will regret this! I will make you pay for this! With your life!"  I stared at him, stunned. The pain of giving birth, and the fear I felt now. All of it swirled inside me like a storm. My vision blurred as my pulse raced. I didn't know if I wanted to slap him across the face or if my body was about to give out from everything it had endured. And then... Everything went black.