Reject Being a Surrogate Incubator: The Tech Genius Returns

Finley tightened her hands around the steering wheel until the leather groaned. Twenty minutes later, she pulled up the winding, cobblestone driveway of the Beaumont estate in Kalorama. The imposing brick Georgian mansion rose against the gray sky like a gilded mausoleum.

She turned off the ignition, grabbed her purse containing the folded genetic report, and stepped out into the rain.

She pushed open the heavy oak front door.

Low laughter drifted from the formal drawing room.

Finley’s footsteps froze. On the living room sofa, Jaison was leaning slightly forward, gently tucking a strand of blonde hair behind Charlotte Wright’s cheek. His gesture was tender and instinctively intimate, utterly natural.

Charlotte Wright, Finley’s younger cousin.

Charlotte appeared completely unaware of Finley’s arrival. She tilted her head up and smiled at Jaison, her blue eyes brimming with undisguised dependence and adoration. The soft warmth etched into Jaison’s side profile was one Finley had never once seen in three years of marriage.

The scene unfolded like a perfect, loving couple’s portrait. And she, the rightful mistress of this house, was nothing more than an unwelcome intruder.

Finley stepped forward with a blank, expressionless face. The click of her heels against the marble floor was quiet yet sharp, instantly cutting through the light atmosphere and drawing the attention of the two people in the room.

Jaison lifted his head. The softness on his features vanished the moment his gaze landed on her, melting back into his usual cold impatience. “You're back.”

Charlotte stood up at once, putting on a flawless act of flustered innocence. “Finley, you’re home! Jaison and I were just going over some math problems from my thesis.”

Finley watched her perform with icy detachment. A gifted MIT mathematician? Right now, the title felt nothing short of filthy and ridiculous.

Ignoring Charlotte entirely, Finley fixed her gaze steadily on Jaison. “I have something to tell you.”

Jaison frowned, glancing sideways at Charlotte, his tone laced with clear warning. “Whatever it is, it can wait. Charlotte is a guest.” His unspoken message was clear: do not lose your composure and cause a scene.

Before Finley could respond, footsteps echoed from the staircase. Their ten-year-old son Esteban came running down.

A faint flicker of warmth stirred in Finley’s frozen heart at the sight of her child. She held out her hand softly. “Esteban, honey.”

Esteban darted straight past her without a glance, skidding to a stop beside Jaison. He tilted his head up and complained loudly. “Dad, Mom didn’t answer any of my calls all afternoon.”

There was no longing in his tone, only pure, childish resentment for being ignored. He did not even bother to meet Finley’s eyes.

Charlotte knelt down instantly, gently straightening Esteban’s collar with a soft, soothing smile. “Don't be mad at your mom, Esteban. She was probably busy with her own things.” Her words sounded like consolation, yet subtly implied Finley’s neglect of her child.

Pacified yet still displeased, Esteban shot Finley another disapproving look before grabbing Jaison’s arm. “Dad, can I go back to the main estate with you tonight? I don't want to stay here.”

This was his home, yet he spoke of it as if he were merely a temporary guest. Finley’s heart sank completely into cold despair.

Without so much as a glance in Finley’s direction, Jaison nodded indifferently at his son. “Of course. Go pack your things.”

A husband’s betrayal. Her own child’s rejection. In that crushing moment, Finley felt utterly abandoned by the entire world.

She stood rooted to the spot, watching Esteban race excitedly upstairs to pack. She watched Jaison and Charlotte exchange a quiet, knowing look that excluded her entirely.

Minutes later, Esteban came back downstairs with his backpack slung over his shoulder. He reached out naturally and took Charlotte’s hand. “Aunt Charlotte, can you read me a story tonight?”

“Of course, sweetie.” Charlotte’s smile was sickly sweet and warm, and she threw Finley a subtle, triumphant glance over her shoulder.

Jaison grabbed his coat, tossing a cold, dismissive sentence toward Finley. “The Beaumont family dinner is tomorrow night. Don't be late and embarrass me.”

With that, he walked past her with his new little family, leaving her alone in the hollow mansion.

The vast living room fell deathly silent. Traces of Charlotte’s perfume and the faint echoes of their laughter still lingered in the air, making Finley’s solitary presence all the more pitiful and redundant.

She walked slowly toward the sofa, sinking into the spot where Jaison had just been sitting. The faint warmth of his body still lingered on the cushion.

Her gaze fell on a tiny diamond-studded earring tucked in the sofa crevice—the matching piece to the pair Charlotte had been wearing earlier.

A cold, mocking smile tugged at Finley’s lips. A clumsy, childish attempt to claim territory.

She pulled out her phone and typed a quick text to her lawyer, Nathan Hayes: I have a new discovery. Revise our strategy. I want full custody of Esteban, at all costs.