The headboard slammed against the wall. The sound was a steady, hollow beat in the huge, dark room. Theodore Roosevelt moved with a fierce, angry energy. The woman beneath him cried out, her nails digging into his back.
But Theodore was not there. His body was, but his mind was somewhere else. It was trapped in his father's office, hearing the old man's cruel words again and again.
"No heir, no inheritance. You will have nothing."
He pushed harder, trying to drown out the voice in his head. He used the woman's body like a tool, not for pleasure, but for silence. He needed to feel the numbness that came after. He needed to burn away the fear that was growing inside him.
The woman moaned in his ear, begging for more. He gave it to her, not because he cared, but because he needed to be exhausted. He needed to be so tired that he could not think.
Finally, it was over. A rush of heat, and then… nothing. The same empty feeling he always had. The silence in the room felt louder than the noise had been.
She tried to curl against him, her skin damp with sweat. "Theo…" she whispered, her voice soft.
Theodore flinched. He pulled away from her touch. It felt like a threat. He swung his legs out of bed and stood up. The cool air hit his skin. He did not look back at her as he pulled on his black boxer shorts.
"Time to go," he said. His voice was a rough stone.
"What?" she said. She sat up, clutching the silk sheet to her chest. "Now? It's the middle of the night."
Theodore walked to the dresser. On it was a thick white envelope, always prepared. He picked it up and tossed it onto the bed. It landed with a heavy thud. The sound of money.
"There's your bonus. Take it and leave."
Her face crumpled. The sweet, dreamy look was gone, replaced by hurt and anger. "Is that all this was? A transaction? I'm not a prostitute, Theo!"
Theodore finally turned to look at her. He let his eyes travel over her, from her messy hair to the expensive sheets. He felt nothing. "Aren't you?" he asked, his voice cold and flat. "The door is that way. Don't make me ask again."
He saw the tears well in her eyes before she quickly looked away. He heard the rustle as she got out of bed. He did not watch her dress. He stood by the window, looking down at the city lights. They looked like tiny, cold stars.
He heard the sharp click of the door closing. Then, the silence returned. It was a thick, heavy silence that filled the giant penthouse. It was the silence of being completely alone.
He caught his reflection in the dark glass of the window. A tall, strong man with a tired face. He had everything you could buy with money. But his eyes were the eyes of a man who had nothing at all.
He had to get this done. He needed that heir.
---
The coffee shop was the kind of place Theodore hated. It was too bright, too clean, and smelled too sweet. Sunlight poured through the large windows, hurting his eyes. He slid into a leather booth in the back corner. He kept his dark sunglasses on.
His lawyer, Peter, sat across from him. Peter was a neat man in a perfect gray suit. He always looked calm. "She will be here soon, Mr. Roosevelt. Her name is Nancy Andersen. Her file is clean. She is healthy. And she is very motivated."
Theodore just grunted. He was bored already.
Then the door chimed. A woman walked in. She looked around, her eyes scanning the room. When she saw Peter wave, she walked toward them.
Theodore watched her. This was Nancy Andersen.
She was all wrong for this place. She wore old, faded blue jeans and a simple black jacket. One of the pockets had a small tear. Her shoes were clean but worn. Her hair was black and curly, pulled back into a simple ponytail. She wore no makeup. No jewelry. She carried a small, cheap bag.
But her face… her face was not plain. It was strong. She had high cheekbones and a firm mouth. And her eyes… they were a warm brown, and they were direct. They did not look away from things.
She stopped at their table. She looked at Peter, then at Theodore. She did not smile.
Peter stood up. "Mr. Roosevelt, this is Nancy Andersen. Nancy, this is Mr. Theodore Roosevelt."
Nancy put her hand out across the table. It was a brave thing to do.
Theodore looked at her hand. He did not take it. He let his own hands rest on the table. He saw a flicker of something in her eyes—not hurt, but understanding. She slowly put her hand back in her lap.
"Why are you here, Nancy?" Theodore asked. He kept his voice low and relaxed.
"I need the money," she said. Her voice was clear. There was no sweet talk. No fake story.
Theodore was surprised. Most people tried to lie. They tried to make it sound noble. "For what?" he asked, curious.
"My father is sick. His heart is failing. He needs a very big operation. It costs twenty million dollars. I do not have that money. I have no one to ask." She stated the facts. Her voice was steady, but he could see the pain in her eyes. It was a real pain. Not an act.
"So, you will sell your body?" he asked. He wanted to test her. To see if she would get angry or cry.
Nancy's cheeks turned a light pink. But she did not look down. She lifted her chin a little. "I am not selling my body, Mr. Roosevelt. I am offering to carry a child. There is a very big difference."
Theodore felt a slow smile spread across his face. It was a real smile, but it was not warm. It was the smile of a man who has found a fighter. He liked her answer. He liked her fire.
Peter opened his briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of papers. He laid it on the table between them. "This is the contract, Ms. Andersen. It explains everything. The payment schedule. The medical tests you must pass. The doctors you must see. The rules you must follow. There are many rules."
Theodore held up his hand. Peter stopped talking.
"I will make it simple," Theodore said, leaning forward. He took off his sunglasses. His eyes were a dark, stormy gray. He wanted her to see how serious he was. "You will have my baby. You will eat what the doctors tell you to eat. You will go where they tell you to go. You will do this for nine months. When the baby is born, you will take your money. Then, you will disappear. You will never try to see me. You will never try to see the child. We will be strangers again. Do you understand me?"
Nancy listened. Her hands were clenched together in her lap. He could see her knuckles were white. But her voice did not shake. "I understand."
"And if you change your mind?" Theodore's voice dropped to a whisper. It was a dangerous whisper. "If you try to cause trouble for me? If you ask for more? You will learn what the Roosevelt name can do. It will not be a pleasant lesson."
He was trying to scare her. He wanted to see a crack in her brave face.
But it did not come. Nancy Andersen looked back at him. Her gaze was unbroken. She was doing this for her father. That love was a shield against his threats.
"I will not change my mind," she said.
Peter slid a silver pen across the smooth table. He opened the contract to the last page and pointed to a blank line. "Sign here, please," he said.
Nancy picked up the pen. It was heavy and cold. For one second, her hand trembled. Theodore saw it. He saw her take a deep, quiet breath. Then her hand became steady.
She bent over the paper and signed her name. Nancy Andersen.
The scratch of the pen was the only sound.
It was done.
She placed the pen down carefully. As she did, a cold shiver ran down her spine. It was a feeling, a deep warning from her soul. She had just signed away nine months of her life. She had agreed to give a part of herself to this cold, powerful man.
Theodore watched her. He felt that strange feeling again. It was respect. This woman, with her old jeans and her proud eyes, had more courage than any billionaire he knew.
He had won. He had found his surrogate. He was going to get his heir and keep his fortune.
So why did he feel, for the first time, that he might have just met his match?