Escaping The Billionaire's Deadly Surrogate Trap

The sun had just risen when Blaire finished washing up. She changed into a pair of jeans and a plain sweater. Taking a deep breath, she opened her bedroom door and walked down the stairs to the first-floor dining room.

Blaire entered the sun-drenched room. She forced back the nausea rising in her throat and managed a polite, submissive smile at her foster parents and siblings seated around the long table.

"Good morning, Blaire." Clotilda's voice was sickeningly sweet.

"Good morning." Blaire pulled out a chair and sat down. She deliberately picked up a slice of whole-wheat toast and chewed it slowly. The repetitive motion helped her hide the slight tremor in her fingertips.

Clotilda set down her coffee cup. With a nauseatingly false, solicitous tone, she asked, "Blaire, dear, how did you sleep last night?" Yet her gaze swept over Blaire's abdomen like she was appraising a broodmare.

Blaire took a deep breath and looked Clotilda straight in the eye. "Very well, thank you for asking," she replied calmly. Then she dropped the bombshell. "I have something to announce. I've decided to move into the university dorms."

The air in the dining room froze instantly. Danita's knife screeched across her ceramic plate, leaving a harsh, unpleasant sound hanging in the air.

Ewald set down his morning paper. His brow furrowed deeply as he asked in a low, serious voice, "Move out? Why? Isn't home comfortable enough?"

Blaire recited the excuse she had prepared. "I need intensive, closed-door training to qualify for an MFA scholarship. The dorms are close to the studio, so I can practice several more hours each day." She used her academic ambitions as her shield.

Clotilda immediately objected, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. "No. An unmarried girl living on campus? What would that look like? What about the family's reputation?"

Blaire knew the real reason was Clotilda's fear of losing control over her "living organ bank." She didn't argue, just lowered her eyes.

Calhoun, who had been silent, suddenly set down his utensils. He spoke in an authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "Let her go."

Everyone looked at him. Clotilda opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a single look from Calhoun.

"But there's a condition." Calhoun stared at Blaire, his deep, bottomless black eyes devoid of any warmth. "Every weekend, you come home for dinner. Friday night through Sunday. No absences. Otherwise—"

"I accept." Blaire met his gaze. She knew this was his absolute底线. She clenched her jaw and nodded.

Danita, seeing the shift in power, rolled her eyes. In a fake, naive voice, she said, "Oh, speaking of which, Blaire, aren't you supposed to see Kamryn tonight? He specifically asked about you, you know."

At the mention of that name, Blaire's stomach convulsed violently. She managed a bitter, strained smile. "No, I don't have time. My course load is too heavy this semester. Some other time." She refused flatly, leaving no room for negotiation in her voice.

Breakfast ended in a suffocating, eerie silence. Blaire grabbed her backpack, muttered, "I'm going to the library," and practically ran out of the estate.

She walked several blocks away from the giant iron gates before her tense shoulders finally relaxed. She quickened her pace and headed toward a small, unassuming CVS pharmacy on the corner.

She pushed open the glass door. A blast of cold air hit her. Blaire pulled down the brim of her baseball cap and tilted her head away from the security cameras mounted on the ceiling.

She hurried to the feminine hygiene aisle. Her eyes scanned the shelves until she found the small box of Plan B. She picked it up, but as soon as she turned around, she collided with a large, sturdy woman pushing a shopping cart.

"Hey! Watch it!" the woman complained loudly.

Several other customers turned to look. Panicked, Blaire hid the box behind her back and muttered a stream of apologies. "Sorry... I'm so sorry, I didn't see you..."

"You got eyes in the back of your head or what?" the woman grumbled as she pushed her cart away.

Once everyone's attention had shifted, Blaire quickly went to the self-checkout machine. She fed crisp new bills into the slot, took her change, and crumpled the receipt into a ball before tossing it into the nearby trash can.

Leaving the pharmacy, Blaire ducked into a deserted alley. With trembling hands, she tore open the cardboard box. She popped the pill out of its blister pack and swallowed it dry, without any water.

The chalky tablet scraped down her throat. A bitter taste coated her tongue, but a fierce sense of satisfaction lit up her eyes. She whispered to the empty alley, "Step one, complete."

She had just sabotaged their elaborate plan.

Blaire walked to a nearby park and sat down on a wooden bench. She pulled out her phone and started searching for high-paying part-time jobs.

She scrolled past listings for coffee shops. Minimum wage would never be enough to fund her escape from New York. "Too little... not nearly enough," she murmured to herself.

Her thumb moved faster. She entered a hidden, underground New York forum, searching for off-the-books work.

A flashing neon banner caught her eye. Club Velvet was urgently hiring senior resident dancers. Daily cash payment. Strict privacy protection.

"Club Velvet..." She bit her lip, hesitated for a few seconds, then clicked the link.

The hourly wage displayed on the screen made her heart pound. It was the only way she could raise enough cash in a short amount of time.

She read the job description. It required revealing clothing and soft-core, sensual performances. Years of conservative upbringing made her stomach clench with shame.

Then, Clotilda's face, talking about draining her blood, flashed through her mind.

"No." Blaire clenched her fists. "I won't let them slaughter me like livestock."

The primal fear of death shattered all her moral hesitation in an instant.

Blaire gritted her teeth. Her eyes turned as hard as cold steel. Without a moment's further hesitation, she clicked the apply button.

An encrypted chat window popped up.

"Applying for Club Velvet?" the other person asked.

"Yes," Blaire typed back.

"Tonight at ten. Wear a mask. Come to the back alley door. Bring your ID. Don't be late."

"Got it."

Blaire locked her phone screen. She stared at her pale reflection in the black glass. "Starting tonight, I'm no longer Blaire Terrell," she whispered, her voice carrying a grim, determined calm.

To survive, she had to become someone else entirely.