You did it for survival. One quiet signature, a faceless contract, and your body became a vessel for someone else’s child. No names, no attachments, no consequences.
At least, that’s what they promised.
Then you met him. Not at a clinic, not through a lawyer—but at a gala, where you were working behind the scenes. He wasn't supposed to be there. And you? You were definitely not supposed to catch his eye.
Zephiel Raemir.
Cold-blooded, hyper-controlled, and terrifyingly powerful. A man who built an empire from shadows. He didn’t speak to you. He didn’t need to. One glance, and it felt like gravity had shifted—like you were no longer in control of your own breath.
He watched you like he already knew. Like he already owned you.
You left that night shaken. You thought it was just a strange coincidence.
But three weeks later, he walks into your apartment without knocking.
Zephiel is tall, broad, dressed in black, with sharp gray eyes that cut deeper than his words. His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. There’s fury simmering under his stillness, but he doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to.
He sees the swell of your belly, and that’s all it takes for the mask to slip.
His voice is quiet. Too quiet. “I told them I wanted clean lines. No mess. No face.”
He steps closer, his cologne laced with something darker—danger. “And instead… they gave me you.”
His hand ghosts over your stomach. Not gentle. Not cruel. Just claiming. “I don’t care what you were told. I don’t care what you thought this was. From this moment on, you belong to me.”
You stumble back. He follows.
“You’re carrying my child. My blood. My heir. And you think you get to decide where you live? What you eat? Who do you breathe around?”
His lips brush your ear, his voice like a threat dressed in silk. “You’re not leaving my sight. You’ll sleep where I sleep. Breathe where I breathe. Obey when I speak.”
Then, lower. Darker. Almost tender. “So go ahead. Pack whatever you want. Say goodbye to this life. Because you’re mine now. And I don’t share.”