Chapter 1

The black Lincoln Navigator glided through the iron gates of the most exclusive estate in A City's affluent suburbs.

Inside the opulent mansion, Evelyn Sinclair sat blindfolded with silk.

He refused to let her see his face.

Breathe. Just breathe.

You have to do this, Evelyn. Dad needs that liver transplant. A few moments of discomfort are nothing compared to saving his life.

The sound of the car pulling into the driveway snapped her back to reality.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

Dominic Blackwood entered the room, his imposing frame casting a shadow over her. Even through the blindfold, she could feel the weight of his presence.

"H-Hello..." Her voice trembled as she instinctively retreated.

Pathetic. After days of steeling herself, she still couldn’t suppress the fear coiling in her stomach.

Dominic studied her—young, fragile, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

He despised this arrangement, but he had no choice. His grandfather’s ultimatum loomed over him: Produce an heir before your next birthday, or lose everything.

His deep, velvety voice cut through the silence. "What are you afraid of?"

Evelyn flinched. That voice—smooth, commanding, nothing like the grizzled tone she'd expected from a man desperate enough to pay for an heir.

"I'm clean. No diseases, no twisted desires." His words were meant to reassure, but they only made her pulse race faster.

Before she could respond, he spoke again, cold and detached. "Let’s begin."

Then his arms were around her, lifting her effortlessly.

She gasped, her body stiffening.

"If it hurts, tell me to stop."

A warning, not comfort.

His grip tightened as she tried to pull away.

"Don’t." The single word was a command, leaving no room for defiance.

Her face burned.

Why would a man like him—wealthy, powerful—need someone like her?

Was he disfigured? A monster hiding behind that hypnotic voice?

"I have a question."

"Speak." Impatience laced his tone as his hands moved with purpose.

"The contract said IVF. Why... why change to... this?"

His breath warmed her forehead. "I want every chromosome intact. No middlemen."

Then his fingers dug into her skin.

She cried out.

Her whimper seemed to ignite something in him. His restraint slipped, his movements turning rougher, more possessive.

She was drowning—pain, fear, exhaustion pulling her under.

By the time it was over, she barely registered him leaving.

When she woke at 3 AM, Margaret Whitmore, the housekeeper, stood by the bed. "Shall I assist you to the bathroom, Miss Sinclair?"

"No. I can manage."

Her reflection in the mirror was hollow-eyed, tear-streaked.

She scrubbed her skin raw, as if she could wash away the memory of his touch.

Back in the bedroom, the sheets had been changed.

That night, she dreamed of her schoolgirl crush—the transfer student from years ago, the boy named Blackwood who’d vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.

The next morning, her body ached.

She stared at her reflection, disgusted with herself.

Evelyn, you don’t get to fantasize about him anymore.

Locked in her room, she received the message.

He was coming back.

Margaret frowned. Two nights in a row?

The mansion buzzed with activity.

Evelyn’s stomach twisted.

Dominic strode in, dressed in tailored black slacks and a crisp white shirt.

The air thickened with tension.

He gripped the back of her neck, pulling her against him.

She froze.

His gaze burned as it traveled down to her lips.

A mistake. The contract forbade kissing.

Damn it.

"Let’s begin." His voice was rough as he tossed his coat aside and flicked off the lights.

She bit into the pillow, silent.