Christine's pregnancy came at the perfect time.
Rebecca wept with joy, falling to her knees in prayer, thanking God for this miracle. She immediately called the housekeeper to contact family doctors and nutritionists, planning for Christine's prenatal care.
The driver waited downstairs. As Rebecca walked Christine to the lobby, she looked into her eyes and said she'd saved her son's life.
Christine sat nervously in the car's backseat.
In her bag was the ultrasound report she'd asked Rachel to fake this morning. She felt panic rising - what if Rebecca found out? What if Ethan discovered the truth? What about all the unknowns ahead?
But she'd taken the first step. No turning back now.
Ethan's treatment could only wait twelve months.
She had to fulfill his dream of becoming a father within this year.
IVF was her first thought. Some of her older friends had babies that way. But the process took too long - screening, waiting for embryos to grow, implantation. Worst of all, the success rate was under forty percent. And there were risks of birth defects.
She couldn't take that chance.
That left only one option - finding a man to have sex, getting her pregnant.
With luck, once would be enough.
But who?
A stranger was too risky - diseases, plus the truth might come out when the child grew older.
What would Ethan think if he knew?
So she needed someone familiar, someone willing to help her have a baby.
Who fits these conditions?
Outside the car window, streets flew by. The AC blew cold. Christine touched her stomach absently.
Actually, when she first thought about pregnancy, one perfect candidate came to mind.
Someone she knew, and most importantly - Ethan's blood relative. A child with him might save Ethan's life.
Ethan's brother, Adrian.
The brothers were six years apart but looked similar - both tall and handsome with sharp features. But while Ethan was always smiling with gentle eyes, Adrian was cooler, more distant.
A child with Adrian would surely resemble Ethan somewhat.
The Blackwood family fortune began in Europe, dealing antique furniture to old nobility. After moving to the states, they expanded into art auctions, building warehouses just as the art investment boom hit.
Mr. Blackwood had groomed Adrian as his successor long before. Once Adrian took over, his investment genius showed immediately. After acquiring several regional auction houses, the Blackwood Group became an industry leader through spectacular exhibitions and record-breaking sales.
Now they ranked among the top three globally in annual art transactions. Their business empire included galleries, art funds, art banking, and secure storage. Adrian himself chaired several international art associations, managing private collections for royalty and nobility.
Would such a man, so devoted to art, almost otherworldly, agree to her absurd request?
Christine felt uncertain.
She opened the family message group - just hollow holiday greetings. The Blackwoods' vast wealth created hidden tensions; maintaining surface peace was their best attempt at dignity.
She found Adrian's number, staring at his blank profile picture before messaging: "Hi Adrian, sorry to bother. Do you have time for a call tonight? I need your help."
This wasn't a negotiation - she had nothing to bargain with.
She could only hope their family ties meant Adrian wouldn't let his brother die.
Near dinner time, Adrian finally called, his voice flat: "What is it?"
His voice reminded her of his ice-cold demeanor. She'd only seen him at family dinners - hooded eyes, steel-gray pupils never settling on anyone, sharp features bordering on harsh. He'd barely nod at relatives' compliments, speaking minimally even to his mother Rebecca. His gaze could freeze people mid-breath.
"I... I'd like to talk in person."
"..."
She heard an assistant's voice in the background reporting something. Worried he'd be too busy later, she quickly added: "I-I can come to your office now? It won't take long, won't disturb your work."
Adrian gave a brief "Mm" and hung up.
Christine realized her palms were sweating when she put down the phone.
No time for doubts now. She texted the driver, threw on a short-sleeve blouse and skirt, grabbed her purse, and rushed out.
Passing the kitchen, Martha was explaining Christine's diet to the new nutritionist. "Mrs. Christine, where are you going? Dinner's almost-"
"Sorry, something came up. Don't wait for me."
The driver was ready in the garage. "To Adrian's office," she said as she got in.
Rebecca had personally chosen this driver - discrete, never asking questions.
The car glided out of the garage. The summer evening was still bright, cool breeze touching Christine's damp temples as her heart pounded.
Thirty minutes later, they reached the Blackwood Group headquarters' underground parking. Christine took the staff elevator to the lobby for visitor registration. Adrian must have given instructions - as soon as she gave her name, the receptionist called someone to escort her.
Soon, a familiar assistant arrived. He introduced himself as James, led her to the executive elevator, used his fingerprint, and took her to the top floor - the 26th.
James showed her to the reception area sofa. The entire floor was divided into reception, secretary space, and the CEO's office at the back. Everything was black, white, and grey, without a hint of color. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the distant city lights below.
Unlike CEO offices in movies, there was no music, no fragrance, not even plants. As an art trading company, the space felt coldly impersonal.
Besides James, several young women worked in the secretary area. They greeted Christine briefly before returning to work. Phones rang constantly, secretaries handling tasks efficiently. Besides phone calls, the office was deathly quiet.
James approached with a tablet. "Mrs. Christine, what would you like to drink? We have coffee and tea."
Christine glanced at the options: Black Ivory from Thailand, Panama Geisha, Japanese Gyokuro... and a bunch of names she couldn't recognize.
She smiled awkwardly. "Just water, please."
Moments later, she stared at the intricate patterns on her bone china cup, watching water droplets form as her thoughts raced.
She dreaded both rejection and acceptance.
Either outcome meant falling into an abyss - her husband's life on one side, her dignity on the other.
Eventually, footsteps approached. James gestured for her to follow him to Adrian's office.
They crossed the corridor. At the door, he knocked. A cold "Enter" came from inside.
She swallowed as the assistant motioned her in.
The owner of this billion-dollar building sat behind his desk, reading thick documents. His gray eyes swept over her, examining without emotion. He wore a pure black suit, broad-shouldered, thin-lipped, expressionless, his features sharp as sculpture.
Adrian glanced back, and James immediately understood, leaving and closing the door.
Click.
Christine stood frozen, her heart thundering.