Cassie London sat across from Byron Prescott, her back straight, her hands resting lightly in her lap. The billionaire regarded her with an intensity that sent a ripple of awareness through her, his dimpled chin propped against his interlocked fingers. His olive-toned skin, kissed by the Caribbean sun, contrasted against the sharp navy of his suit. His presence was magnetic, demanding attention with every measured word he spoke.
“Ms. London, it is of utmost importance that I produce an heir for what I consider to be my kingdom.” His voice, smooth as aged rum, carried a weight that settled between them. “You come highly recommended.”
Cassie met his gaze with unwavering professionalism. “Sir, I take my work extremely seriously. My body is in peak condition. This is not my first or even second time serving as a surrogate, and I assure you, there are no emotional strings attached.” She wondered why the man was even single. It would not surprise her one bit if women were lined up for a chance to be the regent’s babies’ mother.
Byron leaned back, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the mahogany desk, the scent of polished wood lingering in the air. His full, mustache-rimmed lips curled into a contemplative smile before he spoke.
“There is one thing I wished to tell you in person.”
“I’m listening,” she said, her voice steady, though something in his tone sent a flicker of unease through her.
“I do not want artificial insemination.” His words hung between them, heavy with implication. “I want my children to come directly from me — full control. On the Lotus Isles, where I am from, it is believed that this will begin the bond and ensure their emotional stability. Tradition is not something I take lightly and I do not wish to share decisions about their upbringing with any other person.”
Cassie blinked, absorbing his statement. The Lotus Isles were known for their immense wealth and secrecy. Tourism was restricted, their customs almost mythical in the outside world. There were rumors that their spiritual system incorporated elements from the pre-Christian era.
“So… so you’re saying you want to conceive through…” She hesitated, her normally unshakable composure faltering. “A physical act?”
Her own boldness took her aback, and Byron’s reaction was instant. His lips curved slightly, as though her flustered response amused him. He straightened in his chair, eyes locked onto hers in almost a demonic way.
“Ms. London, your price tag is steep,” he said, his voice a smooth caress against her senses. “I am prepared to pay a bonus of $1,000,000 per attempt to ensure my requirements are met and that your detachment remains firm.”
Cassie inhaled sharply, gripping the arms of her chair. She had always prided herself on keeping emotion out of her work, treating surrogacy as the athletic endeavor it was. Yet, with Byron Prescott rewriting the rules before she had even signed the contract, she felt the firm ground beneath her begin to shift.
She exhaled slowly thinking of her own safety. “I’ll need to add some revisions of my own.”
The first pregnancy had been seamless. Byron remained distant yet unfailingly courteous, ensuring she had the best care money could buy. The second was different. Something had changed between them. He started attending her appointments personally, arranging intimate dinners to celebrate each milestone. His touch, once incidental, began lingering—a guiding hand on her lower back, a brush of his knuckles against her wrist. Each time, her pulse betrayed her.
She told herself it was hormones. Nothing more.
Then came the third pregnancy.
For the first time, their efforts did not yield instant success. Weeks turned into months, and with each failed attempt, the professional distance between them crumbled. The tension between them, once carefully restrained, unraveled in whispered confessions, in shared frustrations, in moments that stretched longer than they should have. She, in fact, felt fear that he would choose another.
“Again?” she had asked breathlessly one night, her body still tangled with his, her skin warm beneath his touch.
He had laughed then, a deep, throaty sound. “I’m nothing if not determined.”
They stopped pretending it was just business. Their bodies spoke in ways their contract never allowed.
And then, finally, the pregnancy was confirmed.
By then, there were no walls left between them. But the cruelest truth was yet to come.
Byron was not just a billionaire. He was a regent and head of the spiritual law. Their contract was not a private arrangement—it was a government-sanctioned decree that had been approved by the parliamentary elders, so long as the carrier of the children was a native. Each child she bore was classified as government property, bound by sovereign law. If Cassie dared to claim them, if she admitted to loving them—or him—her actions could be considered an act of treason, since she was considered an infidel. All interactions between them, to this point had been done in private.
One night, as they lay entwined in the dim glow of candlelight, she whispered, “There’s no way around this, Byron. They will never let me keep them. They will never let me… have you.”
His grip on her tightened. “I’ll find a way.”
She turned to face him, searching his face. “Even if it means going against your own theocracy?”
His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with an emotion too fierce to name. “Even if it means tearing down the system that keeps us apart.”
Tears pricked her eyes. “The contract—”
“To hell with the contract.” He cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of her lips. “Say you feel it too.”
She swallowed hard. “You know I do.”
“Then we rewrite the rules.” His fingers threaded through hers. “Together.”
Cassie exhaled shakily. The billionaire who had once been nothing more than a client now held her heart in his hands.
The risk was great. But love was greater.
