The contract. Nancy's eyes were sore from staring at the pages. All that legal-speak, it started to swim in front of her. Words like "fiduciary responsibility" and "pre-natal protocols." Big, bulky words that meant one simple thing: she was property now. A human incubator with a price tag.
God, this place was quiet. You could hear a pin drop. No, you could hear the dust settling. It was the kind of silence that pressed on your eardrums. So when the sound of heels hit the marble floor—click, CLACK, click, CLACK—it was like gunshots in a church.
Nancy's head snapped up.
It wasn't Peter. Wasn't Theodore.
This woman… she filled the doorway. A storm in a black dress. Hair pulled back so tight it looked like it hurt. Her eyes—cold, dark chips of stone—swept over Nancy. You could almost feel the temperature drop.
"You must be the surrogate." The woman's voice was like ice water.
Nancy stood up, feeling small in her sweats. "Who are you?"
A smile, thin and cruel. "Vanessa. I keep Theodore's life running. Something you wouldn't understand." She took a step inside, her heels echoing. "I see you're making yourself at home. How… quaint."
Something twisted in Nancy's gut. "What do you want?"
"I want to make sure we're on the same page." Vanessa's gaze was a physical weight. "This fancy apartment, the view… it's not real. You're a temporary fixture. A glorified oven. When the timer dings, you're out."
The bluntness of it was a slap. Nancy's hands curled into fists at her sides. "You have no right to talk to me like that."
"I have every right." Another step closer. "I see girls like you all the time. You think this is your big break? Your Cinderella story? Honey, you're not even a footnote. You're the pen he'll use to sign the next check."
Rage, hot and blinding, shot through her. "Get out of here." Nancy was in her face now, close enough to smell her expensive perfume.
Vanessa didn't flinch. Her smile just got sharper. "Make me."
Then it happened. A hard shove, two hands to Nancy's shoulders. She wasn't expecting it. Her feet went out from under her and she landed hard on the cold, hard floor. The impact jarred her teeth. For a second, she just lay there, stunned, the humiliation burning worse than her throbbing elbow.
Vanessa peered down at her. "Oh, do get up. You look ridiculous."
Scrambling up, Nancy's whole body shook. "You psycho! You can't just push people!"
"I can," a new voice cut through the air, deep and controlled.
Theodore.
He stood there, a statue in a tailored suit. His eyes, those storm-gray eyes, took in the scene. Nancy, flushed and breathing hard, looking like a mess. Vanessa, cool and collected, the picture of innocence.
Vanessa spoke first, her voice sweetening. "Theodore, darling. I was just clarifying the rules. She became… agitated. I was afraid she'd hurt herself."
"She's lying!" Nancy's voice cracked. "She pushed me! Look at me!"
Theodore's gaze shifted to her. It was like being scanned by a machine. No warmth. No concern. Just… assessment.
"Is that what happened?" he asked, his tone flat.
"Yes! Why would I lie?"
He stared at her for a long, painful moment. Then he turned his head slightly. "Vanessa. A word outside. Now."
Vanessa smoothed her dress. "Of course." As she passed Nancy, she dropped her voice to a venomous whisper. "See? He knows his real team."
Then she was gone, her footsteps fading away.
The silence she left behind was a thousand times worse.
Nancy stood there, waiting. Her heart was a wild drum in her chest. Now, she thought. Now he'll see. Now he'll do something.
Theodore looked back at her. His expression was… impatient.
"This is a multi-million dollar arrangement," he said, his voice low and final. "Not a schoolyard catfight. Do not create drama."
The words landed like a physical blow. Nancy actually took a step back. "Drama? She assaulted me!"
"You knew this wouldn't be easy," he stated, as if reading from a memo. "Focus on the objective. Nothing else matters."
And in that moment, the last little spark of hope inside her sputtered and died. He didn't care. He truly, honestly, did not care if she was hurt or humiliated. She was a box to be checked.
Her throat tightened. She felt tears pricking her eyes but refused to let them fall. "I'm not a robot," she whispered, her voice thick. "I'm a person."
Theodore didn't answer. He just gave her one last, long look—a look that said she was a problem he had to manage—and walked away.
The great room felt enormous and suffocating all at once.
---
Alone in her bed, Nancy stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Her mind was a riot. The shove. The cold floor. The look on his face.
He'd chosen his side. And it wasn't hers.
A single, hot tear escaped and traced a path to her pillow. She smashed it away with the heel of her hand. No. No crying. Crying was for people who had someone to hear them. She had no one.
But then she thought of her dad. His laugh. The way his eyes crinkled. He was fighting for his life in a hospital bed. He was her reason. Her only reason.
A new feeling began to burn in her chest, smothering the hurt. It was hard. It was cold. It was determination.
Okay. Fine. If this was a war, then she'd become a soldier. If she was just a thing, she'd become the most valuable, unbreakable thing they'd ever seen.
They thought they could push her around? They hadn't seen anything yet. Nancy Andersen was down, but she was far, far from out. The game was on.