Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
That’s why we keep the gates sealed shut. They open for us, but for others, they signify that not everything can be bought, no matter how deep your pockets. I’ve seen men and women of great means debase themselves for a seat at our table. Some succeed, but most fail.
Here, only the strongest survive, and Valentina is about to be put through the most brutal test.
15
VALENTINA
Iemerge from the sedation like I’m clawing my way out of a deep, dark well. My limbs are heavy, and my thoughts are sluggish. I’m unaware of my location and how I got here. The world is muffled, as if I’m wrapped in cotton wool, but gradually, sounds and scents filter through the blackness.
I don’t feel sick, and there’s no pain. Just bone-deep exhaustion that makes my eyelids the weight of concrete. I force myself to breathe while attuning my senses. The seat under me is buttery soft, a clear sign of the leather you find in luxury cars, and the ticking of cooling metal soon overtakes the gentle purr of a high-powered engine.
Giovanni’s cologne is the first scent that hits me. It’s distinctly him, but instead of tripling the output of my heart, it triggers sirens in my head. His powerful scent reminds me of whose world I’ve entered, and that I’m not a player on this team.
My name isn’t even on the signup sheet.
Against the screaming protests of my head, I crack my eyelids open. Though they barely open, the world comes into view. We’re parked in an estate so grand it could be a palace. The endless grounds feature vast lawns, marble statues, and impeccably trimmed hedges. Beyond the gates, the lights of Carlisle twinkle in the distance. No other houses or signs of life are close by. It’s seemingly just Giovanni, Valeria, and me.
I snap my eyes shut again and feign sleep when a conversation drifts through the haze.
Valeria speaks with a clear, professional tone, and it grates on my nerves. This is as personal as it gets. “I’ll have the attic room made up for her. It’s private, and she’ll have everything she needs, but it will keep her away from prying eyes.” I picture her raking her nails over Giovanni’s chest when scratching fills her brief pause. “We should keep news of her surrogacy on the down-low until we know if the transfer was successful.”
Surrogacy? The term is a brutal slap to the face. It twists my stomach with an equal amount of anger and humiliation.
Is that all I am to them? A vessel? A means to parenthood?
The thought of being called their surrogate for the next nine months makes my skin crawl. I’m not a part of their family, nor am I a willing participant in their prearranged agreement.
I’m the woman who got caught in the crossfire of their scheme.
Shame creeps across my face. I’m nothing but a problem to be managed. A dirty secret they want to hide in an attic room like a shameful mistake.
The sting of admitting it is intense and deeply gutting. It maims my chest and makes it hard to breathe. I loathe how I am being treated, but more than anything, I can’t stomach the idea of carrying their baby only to hand it over at the end.
Anger replaces my shame when I imagine the months ahead. How will I look at myself in the mirror, knowing I’m growing someone else’s child? How will I survive them taking what I’ve carried and nurtured for nine months like my sacrifice meant nothing?
The thoughts are unbearable.
Mercifully, a car door opening before gravel underfoot jolts me back to reality.
It’s a struggle, but I control my breathing so I can maintain my lie that I’m asleep.
Giovanni’s cologne is still dominant, so Valeria must have exited the car. Though I’d rather not possess this skill, I can feel the tension radiating off him. Beneath his anger and frustration, a darker, unidentifiable feeling seethes within him. I can’t pinpoint it, but it’s extremely suffocating.
It’s a fight not to sigh in relief when Giovanni intervenes with Valeria’s plan to make me the villain of her story. “Valentina will stay on the main floor. Put her in the room next to mine.”
The air crackles with tension during a brief pause, and I hear Valeria’s back molars grinding together. “That isn’t necessary. The attic is—”
“I said, put her in the room next to mine. I want her close.”
“The staff—”
“I don’t care about the staff,” Giovanni snaps, his voice a roar. “She isn’t to be hidden away like a dirty fucking secret. She is to stay on the main floor. End of discussion.”
Silence falls, thick and resolute, as a peculiar blend of relief and humiliation melds through me. I’m glad I won’t be imprisoned like a monstrous creature, yet I feel degraded that my destiny was determined without my consent.