Hours passed in the pitch-black underground wine cellar.
I was shivering so violently I could barely feel my own hands.
Then, the heavy iron latch clicked.
David stood in the doorway.
"The doctors just finished Amber’s surgery," he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "The glass shredded her insides. They had to remove her uterus. She can never carry a child."
He stepped closer, his polished leather shoes stopping inches from my frozen, bare feet.
"You took her future," David sneered. "So you are going to give it back."
"What do you want?" I whispered.
"You will act as our surrogate," he demanded coldly. "You will carry my child for Amber. It is the only way you will ever repay your debt to us. If you refuse, I will keep you locked in this freezer until they carry you out in a body bag."
It was the ultimate humiliation.
Amber didn't just want to steal my husband and my home. She wanted to turn me into her personal incubator.
But there was something David didn't know.
While the nurses were changing my bandages at the hospital, Dominic had sent a file to my encrypted phone. It was Amber’s real medical history.
Amber was never pregnant. And she certainly didn't have a hysterectomy today. The glass cuts were superficial.
She was faking the tragedy to trap David completely, and to torture me.
And David, blinded by his arrogant savior complex, believed every word she said.
I didn't expose her lie.
Instead, I lowered my eyes, playing the broken, defeated wife perfectly.
"Fine," I choked out, my voice trembling. "I'll do it. Just... let me out."
"Sign the restitution contract," he ordered. "Now."
My hands shook as I reached into the deep inner pocket of my coat.
When I had called Dominic from the hospital, I hadn't just asked for an extraction. I had asked him to prepare the documents. I had folded them into my coat before I rushed to the estate.
I pulled the thick stack of papers out.
The cover page clearly read: Surrogacy and Restitution Agreement.
I handed it to him, along with a sleek silver pen—the very pen my father had gifted him on our wedding day.
Just as David took the papers, his phone buzzed.
He pulled it out. The caller ID flashed Amber's name.
"Yes, darling, I'm dealing with it now," David said, his tone instantly shifting to a sickeningly sweet coo. "I'm heading to the charity gala in ten minutes. Don't cry, I've handled her."
Annoyed by the inconvenience of standing in the freezing cellar, David didn't even bother to flip past the cover page.
With his phone pressed to his ear, David blindly scrawled his signature on the bottom line of the final page.
He tossed the papers back at me. They scattered across the freezing stone floor.
"You have one hour to pack your things and move into the servant's quarters," David said without looking back. "If you try to run, my men will break your legs."
He turned and walked up the stairs, slamming the cellar door behind him.
The moment his footsteps faded, my violent shivering stopped.
I calmly gathered the scattered papers from the floor.
I brushed the dirt off the signature line.
I pushed the heavy cellar door open. The bodyguards in the hall were gone, likely escorting David to his gala.
I walked out the back entrance of the estate, stepping into the cool night air.
A sleek, black town car was already idling in the shadows of the driveway.
Dominic stepped out, opening the back door for me. He handed me a warm cashmere blanket and a fresh cup of hot coffee.
"Are the papers signed?" Dominic asked, his sharp eyes scanning the perimeter.
"Every single one," I replied, sliding into the leather seat.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. I popped the SIM card out, snapped it in half, and dropped the pieces onto the wet gravel.
"Take me to the airport," I said.
Thirty minutes later, I was walking up the steps of a private jet.
The engines roared to life, ready to carry me far away from this toxic city and the man who thought he had destroyed me.
I sat in the plush leather seat, sipping my coffee as the plane ascended into the night sky.
I looked down at the glittering city lights below.
Suddenly, my new, encrypted phone buzzed on the armrest.
A message from the PI lit up the screen.
[The medical file has been delivered to Eleanor. Here is the live feed of the gala for your viewing pleasure.]
I tapped the link.
The screen buffered for a second before filling with the grand ballroom of the Crestfall Hotel.
David was standing at the podium, smiling for the cameras, thinking he had finally put me in my place.
