It's done

The sharp buzz cut through the stillness. Luna jumped slightly, wiping her face before glancing at the screen.

Amalia.

Of course.

She cleared her throat, pressed "accept," and tried to sound steady. "Hello?"

"Hey," Amalia's voice came softly, almost sweet. "I just wanted to check in. Are you okay? Do you need anything?"

Luna hesitated, her hand tightening around the phone.

"I'm fine," she said quietly. "Everything's fine."

"That's good." There was a pause. "You should rest early. It's important—for your health, I mean."

Luna knew what she meant.

Her body wasn't hers anymore. Not really. Not to rest when she chose or eat when she wanted. It belonged to the contract now—to the promise she had made. She had become a vessel, carefully managed and closely monitored.

She had sold herself—but not for comfort, not for wealth.

She did it for her mother, who lay in a hospital bed recovering from a near-death heart attack.

She did it for her little brother, who still flinched every time a police car passed by, afraid their father had come to drag them back.

And now… she would do everything they asked of her.

"Okay," Luna said softly, voice low. "I'll rest early."

"Good." Amalia's tone was kind but distant, as if she had already moved on. "We'll talk soon."

The line went dead.

Luna stared at the phone for a long moment, then slowly placed it on the nightstand. She didn't cry—not this time. She was too tired. And too aware that weakness would make everything feel heavier.

The rest of the week moved like water slipping through her fingers—quiet, controlled, clinical.

Samuel drove Luna to the clinic for the next appointment. Amalia and Mrs. Montenegro were already at the clinic. They did more scans and paperwork, and finally, the insemination. Amalia smiled through it all, holding Luna's hand like they were sisters. But Luna felt more like a stranger wearing someone else's skin.

When the process was completed, the doctor smiled and said, "Now we wait." Luna nodded. Wait for good news. Wait for life.

As she stepped outside, the wind caught her scarf and lifted it slightly, like the universe whispering a fragile promise.

"Get enough rest, Luna," Amalia said again before slipping into her own car. Luna didn't answer. She just nodded and let the driver open the door for her.

She sat in the backseat, watching the city blur past through tinted windows, her hands resting lightly on her belly, still flat.

The grand doors of the Montenegro mansion opened with their usual creak, and Lucas looked up from the staircase as the soft clack of heels echoed across the marble floor.

His mother walked in first, her chin lifted with quiet triumph, followed by Amalia, her expression unreadable, composed, yet distant. Lucas came down the stairs, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt.

"You're back," he said casually. "Was the appointment today?"

Amalia paused mid-step, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "Yes," she replied. "It's done."

Lucas furrowed his brow. "Why didn't you tell me? I would've liked to come with you."

Mrs. Montenegro stepped forward smoothly, her voice calm and cool as always. "There was no need, Lucas. It was a routine visit. Nothing more."

Amalia added, "We just have to wait now for the good news."

Lucas glanced between them, sensing something unsaid passed between their eyes. He nodded slowly but didn't speak. There was a growing space between what he knew… and what he was being told.

Before he could ask more, a familiar voice drifted into the hall.

"Well, what good news?" Susan asked, striding in with her usual dramatic flair, a glass of wine in hand. "Mother, Amalia… are you finally pregnant?"

The air in the room tightened.

Amalia smiled—but said nothing.

Lucas offered a polite chuckle, his mouth curving into a forced smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he said lightly.

Susan blinked at them all, curiosity ignited by their silence. "Hmm." She sipped her wine. "Must be something juicy. Secrets always are."

No one responded.

Amalia looped her arm through Mrs. Montenegro's and walked away, her heels clicking softly as they disappeared down the hallway together. Lucas followed slowly, his steps quieter, heavier.

Behind him, Susan watched, her head tilted slightly.

"Well, well," she murmured to herself. "Something's cooking... and it's not just in the oven."