Chapter 1: The Blood Contract
The room was located on the highest floor of the Sterling Tower—spacious and silent enough to hear the faint scratch of a pen gliding over paper. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a golden hue across the room, swallowing the shadows tucked away in the hearts of the two people seated across from each other.
Leon Sterling—young, cold, and composed—was meticulously reviewing the contract laid before him. His long fingers paused from time to time, tapping lightly on the edge of the document. His expression was unreadable, his eyes as deep and frigid as a winter lake—stunning, yet chilling.
Across from him sat Anna Monroe, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, spine held rigid. She wore a simple pale-blue dress with the collar fastened to the top. Her eyes were rimmed red, as if she had recently cried—but she had wiped the tears clean, determined to appear strong.
The contract on the table was the thread tying them together—a legal surrogacy agreement, void of love, void of attachment. It was a transaction, plain and simple, between two strangers.
He needed a child. She needed the money—to save her mother.
And so it began.
"You’ve read through all the terms?" Leon’s voice cut through the silence—cool and precise.
Anna gave a faint nod. Her voice was soft, almost weightless. "Yes. I’ve read them. I agree to everything."
Without another word, Leon pushed the contract across the table. A sleek fountain pen rolled gently toward her. Anna hesitated for a heartbeat, then reached out and signed.
The pen stopped at her name—Anna Monroe.
And in that moment, her life turned a page she could never return from.
After the signing, a staff member from the medical center entered the room, carrying documents and detailed instructions. Everything unfolded with the sterile precision of a well-oiled machine.
No one asked how Anna felt.
No one cared if she was scared.
She was just the surrogate—a faceless role in Leon Sterling’s perfectly orchestrated plan.
At Sterling Care, the private hospital, the procedures began with clinical tests. Anna sat silently in the waiting room, surrounded by the sterile scent of antiseptic and the harsh white lights. The nurses’ voices were gentle, but their words slipped past her like wind.
In her mind, questions tumbled endlessly:
Is this really how I’ll become a mother?
A child that isn’t mine?
Will it hurt later, giving them up?
She already knew: that child, when born, would belong entirely to Leon Sterling.
The IVF procedure used his sperm and an anonymous egg donor. Anna was merely the vessel—a womb for rent.
The doctor informed her that the embryo had been successfully created and would be implanted in three days. Anna nodded without reaction, but inside, her thoughts were a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty.
That night, her small rented room was eerily quiet. Outside, the wind slipped through the cracks in the window, carrying the musty scent of the old neighborhood.
Inside, her mother, Mrs. Tracy lay in a fragile sleep on a creaky bamboo bed, her breathing thin and wispy like smoke drifting through the final hours of dusk.
Anna sat by the bedside, holding her mother’s frail hand—calloused, wrinkled, and cold from years of hardship.
“Mom… next week, I’ll start a new job. But I’ll have to be away for a while. They agreed to cover all your treatment expenses… as long as I take the job,” Anna said, trying to keep her voice steady, though her eyes glistened.
Mrs. Tracy frowned gently. “A job far from home? But who will stay with me? What kind of job is it? Will it be hard, dear?”
Anna smiled, a quiet strength in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Mom. Aunt Sally will come stay with you and take you to the clinic every week. I’ve arranged everything. All you need to do is rest and get better.”
Of course, she didn’t tell her mother everything— She didn’t say how difficult the job truly was.
She didn’t say she’d be living in a place completely unfamiliar.
And she didn’t say that every dollar she earned came with invisible shackles.
Mrs. Tracy squeezed her daughter’s hand weakly, eyes filled with a sorrowful warmth. “If it ever gets too hard… just come home. All I want is for you to live in peace and be happy.”
“I will, Mom. I’ll live in peace… and I’ll be happy,” Anna whispered, lowering her head as tears spilled freely. She gripped her mother’s hand tighter, as if drawing strength from its worn lines.
Mrs. Tracy gently stroked her daughter’s hair, her hand trembling but still warm—just like the old days, when Anna came home in storms, and her mother waited at the door, arms wide open, ready to embrace her little girl and shield her from the world.
But now, Anna would become the one protecting a fragile life—a child not bearing her name.
That night, as she reached into her bag for her phone, Anna’s fingers brushed against something caught in the zipper. She reached in, pulling it free.
A white handkerchief, its border embroidered with delicate silver patterns.
She held it up, a flicker of something indefinable passing over her face.
The fabric was soft, luxurious. But it wasn’t its beauty that stopped her breath—it was the sense of strange familiarity, like déjà vu with no memory to anchor it.
Her mind drifted to a hazy image—an accident.
She had fallen in the street, hit her head, and in the daze before the ambulance arrived, she vaguely remembered a hand…
And a handkerchief, pressing against her bleeding temple.
The same silver embroidery.
The same softness brushing her skin.
She clutched the handkerchief, her heart quickening. A feeling crept in—quiet and persistent—as if something important was slipping through her fingers, just before she could name it.
“Weird…” she murmured, placing the handkerchief on the table. But her fingers lingered, unwilling to let go.
Still, it didn’t matter now.
In just a few days, her life would change forever. She would become a protector of new life— Of a child who would never belong to her.
This wasn’t just a journey. It was a battle.
One paid for with blood, tears— And perhaps… her live.