Chapter 2

The steady sound of clinking dishes and murmured conversations in the diner was oddly comforting. Anaïs moved between tables with practiced precision, her mind preoccupied even as she took orders and refilled coffee cups.

From the counter, Margaret called out, "Hey, Anaïs, table five wants extra cream."

"You got it," Anaïs replied, grabbing a small pitcher. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her thoughts remained fixed on the surrogacy offer.

Approaching table five, she saw a familiar face, Marco, the fisherman, seated with a few of his coworkers. He smiled as their eyes met.

"Taking over the world one coffee at a time?" he teased as she poured the cream.

Anaïs managed a faint smile. "Trying," she replied.

Marco’s expression turned serious. "You look tired. Everything okay?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Just busy."

He leaned back, concern etched across his face. "Anaïs, you know, if you ever need help, "

"I’m fine," she interrupted, her tone sharper than intended.

Marco raised his hands in surrender, but his gaze stayed on her as she moved to the next table.

By the end of her shift, her feet ached, and her resolve felt as fragile as ever. Outside, the cold evening air was a relief. Anaïs pulled the flyer from her pocket and ran her fingers over the bold words: "Generous compensation. Immediate payment."

The line below caught her eye again: "Exclusive client, requiring discretion."

It wasn’t a solution, it was a lifeline. One she could no longer ignore.

The clinic smelled of linoleum and disinfectant, and the bright fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead. Anaïs sat beside her father, who clung to her arm, his breathing shallow and labored. Each step into the building had been a struggle, and his gasps felt like the ticking of an invisible clock.

A nurse approached with a clipboard. "Mr. Iluak? The doctor will see you now."

Anaïs helped him stand. His weight pressed heavily against her as they walked, his skin cold and clammy beneath her hand. Her chest tightened as she took in how weak and dependent he had become.

In the cramped examination room, the doctor’s expression was composed but concerned. After a thorough evaluation, he spoke carefully. "His condition has progressed but while the current medication is helping, it’s no longer sufficient. He needs more intensive care."

Anaïs nodded, her thoughts spinning. "What will it cost?"

The doctor hesitated, then scribbled a number on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk. Her breath caught as she read it. The amount was more than she could earn in three months of double shifts at the diner.

"We can arrange a payment plan," the doctor offered, though his clipped tone suggested he doubted she could afford even that.

"Thank you," Anaïs said, but the weight of the figure crushed any remaining hope.

As they left the clinic, Tuarik tightened his grip on her arm. His voice was barely a whisper. "I told you, Anaïs. You don’t have to do this."

She didn’t reply. Her heart ached badly as he spoke. 

The Doctor had spoken to her privately.

“Even with the new plan, your father can only be afforded a little more time. The new plan is only effective in delaying the inevitable, ultimately, he would require surgery to save his life”, he had said.

The flyer in her pocket felt like a brand against her skin. Was this her only hope? Was there even any other option?

She had no option, she had to act quickly. The surrogacy agent had contacted her earlier. The agency had already confirmed a follow-up and a meeting for 10 am. 

This could be our only way out, she thought. 

The agency’s office was sleek and sophisticated, a world away from the small-town simplicity Anaïs was used to. Clutching her purse tightly, she looked around the minimalist decor. The receptionist, a composed woman in her mid-thirties, greeted her with a polite smile.

"Ms. Iluak? Please have a seat. The coordinator will see you shortly."

Anaïs nodded and sank into a plush chair, her heart hammering in her chest. She felt like a fish out of water, awkward and out of place.

A tall, sharp-featured woman with a clipboard stepped through an open door. "Ms. Iluak? Please follow me."

Standing, Anaïs adjusted her skirt and followed the woman down a hallway lined with abstract art. The woman led her into a private office and gestured for her to sit.

"Thank you for coming," the coordinator began, her tone firm yet professional. "After reviewing your application, the client has expressed interest in moving forward."

Anaïs felt even more anxious. "Already?"

The woman offered a small smile. "The client is extremely selective, but they value tenacity and resilience. Your background stood out."

"Can you tell me who the client is?" Anaïs asked cautiously.

The coordinator’s expression remained neutral. "It's not in my place to answer that question but what I can tell you is that the compensation reflects the exclusivity of this arrangement."

Anaïs nodded, gripping the arms of the chair nervously.

"Are you prepared to proceed?" the coordinator asked.

"Yes," Anaïs said, her voice firm despite the storm raging inside her.

"Please follow me. The client will see you shortly."

Each step down the hallway heightened Anaïs’s nerves. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, the sound amplified by the silence around her. The frayed edges of her purse strap brushed against her fingers, grounding her amid her rising anxiety. What if it doesn't work out? What other options were available?

The receptionist stopped in front of a heavy, polished door and motioned for her to enter. Anaïs hesitated, smoothing her coat before gripping the cold brass handle and opening the door.

A man stood by the window, his silhouette framed against the sprawling skyline as he stood staring out at the city as it glittered, vibrant, and untouchable. He turned slowly, his sharp, commanding features coming into view. He was tall and impeccably dressed, his tailored suit emitting dignity, and confidence visible in his every movement. His grey eyes, piercing and enchanting, locked onto hers causing her to lose her cool momentarily. He seemed quite aloof.

"Anaïs Iluak," he said, his voice low and steady.

"Yes," Anaïs replied, her throat tightening as she tried to steady her breath.

He extended a hand. "Cael Moriane."

His handshake was firm, his touch warm despite the cool detachment in his demeanor. Something about his presence was overwhelming, as though he carried the weight of the entire room with him.

"Please, have a seat," he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

Anaïs lowered herself into the chair, the soft leather swallowing her completely. She placed her trembling hands in her lap, painfully aware of the contrast between her worn nails and the elegantly furnished desk before her.

Cael sat across from her, his movements deliberate. He leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering. Anaïs felt as though he could see through every wall she had carefully built, his eyes probing the vulnerability she worked so hard to conceal.

"Thank you for coming," he began, his tone formal.

"Thank you for considering me," Anaïs replied, her voice composed despite how anxious she felt.

"I assume you’ve read the terms of the agreement?" he asked, his tone measured.

"Yes," she answered quickly.

"And you understand the conditions?"

"I do."

Cael studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he said, "You’re not like the others."

Anaïs blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Most applicants are opportunists," he said bluntly. "You’re here because you have no other choice."

Her cheeks flushed, but she refused to look away. In a quiet voice, she replied, "I need this. That’s why I’m here."

For a fleeting moment, something shifted in Cael’s expression. His eyes softened, just barely, before his composure returned.

"Honest," he murmured, almost to himself, before straightening in his chair.

Cael proceeded to consider issues on logistics, medical examinations, expectations, and confidentiality clauses. But throughout the conversation, Anaïs couldn’t shake the weight of Cael’s gaze. Every question he asked felt carefully calculated, as though he were testing her resolve.

Then, breaking the flow of the meeting, she asked abruptly, "Why surrogacy?"

Cael’s brows lifted slightly, not expecting that question. "It’s practical," he replied.

"Practical?" she echoed.

"I need an heir," he stated plainly. "And I don’t have time for complications."

His words were cold, and calculated, and yet they stung. Anaïs nodded, swallowing the knot in her throat. "I understand."

"This is a business arrangement," he added, his tone cool and detached. "Nothing more."

But when their eyes met again, Anaïs saw something flicker, a vulnerability, brief and unspoken, before it disappeared behind his composed exterior.

Her question must have touched a part of him seldomly seen.

Stepping into the crisp afternoon air, Anaïs felt a strange mixture of relief and unease. The towering buildings around her seemed alive with energy, but she felt disconnected, as though floating in a world that wasn’t hers.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her from her thoughts. A message from the agency read: "Ms. Iluak, congratulations. The client has accepted your application. Further details will follow."

For a moment, she simply stared at the screen. The weight of her decision pressed against her chest, but there was no turning back now.