EMMA'S POV
The two-week wait is torture.
I go back to work at the hotel, pretending everything is normal while obsessively analyzing every twinge and symptom. Is that nausea morning sickness or leftover hormones? Are my breasts tender because I'm pregnant or because I want to be pregnant?
Dominic texts daily. "How are you feeling?" "Any symptoms?" "Are you resting enough?"
I keep my answers short, afraid of reading too much into his concern.
Eight days after the transfer, I'm plating desserts when the room tilts sideways. I grab the counter, but my knees buckle.
I wake up on the kitchen floor with Chef Marco hovering over me.
"Emma! Can you hear me?"
"I'm fine," I mumble, trying to sit up.
"You passed out. I'm calling an ambulance."
"No! I mean, I don't need an ambulance. Just low blood sugar."
But Marco's already on the phone.
An hour later, I'm in the ER when Dominic storms through the curtain, his face pale.
"What happened? Are you okay? Is the baby—"
He stops, realizing we're not alone. The nurse raises an eyebrow.
"I'm fine," I say quickly. "Just fainted at work."
The doctor arrives with test results. "Ms. Chen, congratulations. You're pregnant. The fainting was likely due to low blood pressure, which is common in early pregnancy. You're carrying twins."
The room spins again.
"Twins?" Dominic's voice sounds far away.
"Yes. Fraternal twins. Both embryos took. It happens sometimes." The doctor smiles. "You're about four weeks along. Everything looks healthy, but given that it's twins and you fainted, I'm ordering modified bed rest. Light activity only. No long shifts on your feet."
After the doctor leaves, Dominic pulls a chair close. "Twins. We're having twins."
"You're having twins. I'm just the incubator, remember?"
He flinches. "Don't say that."
"It's true."
"Emma, we need to talk about the bed rest order. You can't work at the restaurant and you can't be alone in that apartment."
"I'll be fine."
"You just fainted at work. What if it happens when you're alone? What if you fall and hurt yourself or the babies?"
"What are you suggesting?"
He takes a breath. "Move into the penthouse. Mrs. Kowalski is there all day. She can help. You'd have your own room, complete privacy. It's just until the babies are born."
"Absolutely not."
"Emma—"
"I'm not moving into your house like some kept woman. People will talk."
"Let them talk. This isn't about appearances, it's about keeping you and the babies safe."
"I don't need saving."
"You fainted at work!"
We glare at each other until I look away first. Because he's right, even if I hate admitting it.
"Separate bedroom," I finally say. "And this doesn't change anything. I'm still leaving after the babies are born."
"Of course. Whatever you need."
Three days later, James helps me move my pathetic collection of belongings into Dominic's penthouse. Mrs. Kowalski greets me at the door like I'm coming home, not temporarily occupying space.
"Oh, kochanie!" She pulls me into a hug. "Twins! What a blessing!"
She shows me to a guest room that's bigger than my entire apartment. There's a private bathroom, a sitting area, and a view of the city that makes my breath catch.
"Mr. Dominic says you need rest. I make you good Polish food, put meat on your bones. You're too skinny for two babies."
"Mrs. Kowalski, you don't have to—"
"Shush. I take care of family. You're carrying his babies, you're family now."
The words make my chest tight. This isn't permanent. I'm not family. But Mrs. Kowalski looks so happy that I don't correct her.
Dominic works late most nights. I see him at breakfast, where he asks about symptoms and doctor's appointments, then he disappears into his office. Polite. Distant. Exactly what the contract specified.
So why does it bother me more now?
Two weeks into the arrangement, I'm reading on the couch when the elevator opens and a woman steps out. She's stunning—tall, blonde, perfectly dressed in designer everything.
"Who are you?" she demands.
"Emma. I'm... staying here temporarily."
Her eyes narrow. "I'm Victoria Sterling. Dominic's girlfriend."
My stomach drops. "He didn't mention—"
"We've been on a break while I was in London. But I'm back now." She looks me up and down. "You're the surrogate. How... quaint."
Before I can respond, Dominic appears from his office. "Victoria. What are you doing here?"
"I heard you were having a baby. Or babies, rather. Twins!" She laughs. "Dominic, this is absurd. You can't raise children alone."
"I'm not discussing this with you."
"Why not? We could make this work. Once the babies arrive, we could marry. Raise them properly, together. I've always wanted children, and this way you keep your inheritance."
Each word is a knife. She's talking about my babies like accessories to her perfect life.
"That's not happening," Dominic says coldly.
"Don't be stubborn. You need a wife, I want a family. It's perfect."
"Victoria, we broke up. That hasn't changed."
"We took a break. That's different."
I stand up, needing to escape, but the room spins. I grab the couch.
Dominic's beside me instantly. "Emma? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Just dizzy."
Victoria watches with thinly veiled contempt. "How far along is she?"
"Eight weeks," Dominic says, still watching me.
"And you moved her in? People will talk, Dominic."
"I don't care what people say. Emma needs help and I'm providing it."
"How noble." Victoria's smile is sharp. "Well, think about my offer. Call me when you're ready to discuss this rationally."
She leaves, and I sink back onto the couch.
"I'm sorry about that," Dominic says quietly. "Victoria and I dated for six months. We broke up before I decided to pursue surrogacy. I didn't know she was back in the city."
"She seems to think you're getting back together."
"She's wrong."
"Is she? Because marriage would solve your problems. Wife, instant family, grandmother happy."
"I don't want to marry Victoria."
"Why not? She's perfect. Beautiful, sophisticated, from your world—"
"And completely wrong for me. Emma, look at me."
I meet his eyes.
"Victoria doesn't care about these babies. She cares about the lifestyle. You care. You're already protective of them and they're barely the size of grapes."
"They're your babies. I'm just—"
"Don't finish that sentence. You're not 'just' anything."
My phone rings. Lily's medical team.
"I have to take this."
I answer, and the nurse's voice is gentle but devastating. "Ms. Chen, I'm sorry. Lily's latest scans show the treatment isn't working as well as we'd hoped. The cancer is more aggressive than we thought. We have other options, but they're expensive and experimental..."
The room tilts. "How expensive?"
"The next round of treatment would be about two hundred thousand. Insurance won't cover experimental therapies."
I hang up and stare at the wall. Two hundred thousand dollars I don't have.
"Emma?" Dominic's voice is careful. "What's wrong?"
"Lily. The treatment isn't working. They want to try something experimental but it costs—" My voice breaks.
He's quiet for a long moment. "Let me help."
"I can't ask you to—"
"You're not asking. I'm offering. I'll pay for whatever Lily needs."
"That's too much. I already owe you—"
"You don't owe me anything. Let me do this. Please."
I should say no. I should refuse to be further indebted to him. But this is Lily's life.
"Okay," I whisper.
He makes a call. Ten minutes later, it's arranged. Lily's medical bills will be paid by an anonymous donor.
That night, I lie in bed feeling like I'm drowning. Victoria's words echo: We could raise them properly, together.
She's right. Dominic should find someone from his world, someone who fits. Not a broke restaurant worker carrying babies she'll have to surrender.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is his face when the doctor said "twins." The fear and wonder and something that looked almost like joy.
And I know I'm in trouble.
Because somewhere between the contract and the embryo transfer and moving into this penthouse, I started caring about Dominic Westbrook.
And that was never part of the plan.