Billionaire Surrogate Wife

The marble floors echoed with each reluctant step Emilia took, the sound a cold reminder that this house was not a home-it was a prison, a pristine cage crafted with glinting chandeliers, gold-trimmed mirrors, and walls that seemed to watch her every move. She clutched the delicate fabric of her dress, feeling out of place in her own skin as she made her way down the corridor toward the main living room. She had been summoned, of course. In this house, nothing was her choice.

When she reached the arched entrance, she paused. There, framed by the blinding sunlight pouring in from floor-to-ceiling windows, stood Alessandro DiLaurentis-Alex, the man she'd been forced to marry. His figure was imposing, tall and severe, with an aura that felt more like a threat than a presence. He wore a tailored black suit that accentuated his athletic frame, every inch of him radiating authority. He didn't look at her; he didn't even acknowledge her presence, his sharp gaze fixed on something beyond the glass, his expression unreadable.

"Alex," she said softly, her voice almost swallowed by the vastness of the room.

He turned his head slightly, as if it took an effort to bring her into focus. A faint scowl twisted his features, barely concealed under his polished exterior. He took his time answering, as though the sight of her was a chore he preferred to avoid.

"Emilia," he said, his tone edged with that familiar disdain. "You're late."

"I... I didn't know you needed me here so soon," she replied, keeping her voice steady, though her heart beat faster under his scrutiny.

"That's no excuse," he cut in, his eyes narrowing. "When I ask for you, you come. Is that clear?"

She nodded, biting her lip, feeling that sinking sensation she'd grown used to-the feeling of being diminished, of becoming something small and inconsequential under his gaze.

"Yes. I understand," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

For a brief moment, silence hung between them, thick and stifling. He looked away again, his gaze drifting back to the view outside, where the sprawling estate stretched in all directions. There was a stiffness in his posture, a tension she couldn't quite place.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a cold drawl. "My grandfather is expecting us for dinner tomorrow. You'll wear something appropriate."

Emilia blinked, thrown by the abruptness of his words. "I... of course. I'll find something."

He gave a slight nod, clearly already dismissing her in his mind. But just as she was about to turn and leave, his voice halted her.

"Make no mistake, Emilia," he said, each word slow and deliberate. "This arrangement between us-it's nothing more than a contractual obligation. You're here to serve a purpose, and once that's fulfilled, we'll part ways. Don't forget that."

Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to stand a little straighter. She had known this marriage was only a transaction, but hearing him say it so plainly made her chest ache with a hollow sort of pain. Yet, she wouldn't let him see it.

"Believe me," she replied, her voice steady this time, "I have no illusions about what this is."

A ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips, amused by her attempt at defiance. "Good. Then we understand each other."

Another long silence followed, his gaze lingering on her, studying her in a way that made her skin prickle. She felt exposed, like he could see every thought, every flicker of insecurity she fought so hard to hide.

"What?" she finally managed, desperate to break the oppressive quiet.