Page 8 of The Bratva Bosses' Surrogate

“These are yours if you choose to stay,” Ivan states matter-of-factly, indicating the briefcases.

For a moment, the thought of walking away from all this – the luxury, the danger, the unknown, is tempting. But then, my mind wanders to the three million dollars, the freedom and security it could bring. The things I could do with it.

After a moment of intense contemplation, I make my decision. “Fine,” I say, the words heavy but resolute. “I’ll stay.”

I sit down on the huge bed, taking in the room. Maybe this situation won’t be as horrendous as I initially thought. They wouldn’t hurt me, not if I’m carrying their child, right?

“Can I ask you something, Ivan?” I inquire, looking up at him.

“Sure,” he responds, closing the door behind the men who brought in the money.

“Why do you need a kid? I need to know,” I press, needing some clarity in this sea of confusion.

“We need an heir,” he answers simply.

“An heir? For what?”

Ivan walks closer and sits right next to me on the bed. “We come from a long line of powerful individuals,” Ivan starts, his voice carrying the weight of history. “In our world, bloodlines are everything. They represent strength, loyalty, and influence. Without an heir to carry on the family legacy, we risk losing everything.”

Despite my initial reluctance to believe him, there’s sincerity in his gaze that speaks volumes. “And you see me as the means to secure this legacy?”

Ivan’s face softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress my cheek. “Sofia,” he starts, his voice laced with genuine concern. “I understand this is overwhelming for you. But believe me when I say we will do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

I pull away from his touch. How can I trust him? How can I trust any of them? They’ve taken away my freedom, my choices, and now they expect me to play their game without question.

Gathering my composure, I decide to steer the conversation towards the practical aspects of this whole arrangement. “So, how will this, pregnancy, work?”

He smirks, a hint of mockery in his tone. “I thought you were old enough to know how pregnancy worked. Did you need me to demonstrate, princess?”

I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks at Ivan’s insinuation, but I quickly regain my composure. His attempt to embarrass me only strengthens my resolve to remain focused and professional.

“No, no. I mean the medical aspect of it,” I clarify firmly, “like, the procedure for the implantation, the health protocols, the kind of care I’ll be receiving, things like that.”

Ivan’s smirk fades slightly as he realizes I’m serious about understanding the logistics and not just the basic mechanics of pregnancy. “Ah, I see. Well, we’ve arranged for top-notch medical care for you. The implantation will be done by a highly skilled team. They’ll ensure everything goes smoothly, and that the pregnancy is as comfortable as possible for you.”

Then, leaning in closer, he lowers his voice to a whisper, his breath warm against my ear. “If you prefer, we can always go the traditional way, of course.”

“What does this, um, traditional way include?”

Ivan’s eyes hold mine, a glimmer of something unreadable in their depths. “I’ll show you later if you want. For now, you should rest, get used to this.” He smirks.

At least they’re taking my well-being and the well-being of the baby seriously. But there’s still a lingering doubt in the back of my mind, a voice which questions their true intentions.

“What about after the pregnancy?” I ask, my voice steady but laced with curiosity and caution. “What happens to me then?”

Ivan’s expression softens, his eyes filled with something akin to regret. “After the baby is born, you will be free to go,” he says, his voice gentle yet tinged with sadness. “You will have fulfilled your purpose, and we won’t stand in your way.”

Free to go. The words ring in my ears, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos. But can I really believe him? Can I trust they won’t track me down, use me again or worse?

Ivan stands up, his demeanor shifting back to something more formal. “Rest up. You’ll need it tomorrow when the doctors arrive.”

“Can I, uh, lock my door?” I ask tentatively, seeking some semblance of privacy and control in this overwhelming situation.

Ivan chuckles, a sound that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Sure, but know that no one will touch you,” then he adds with a smile, “not unless you ask us to.”

The implication behind his statement sends shivers down my spine, and I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks once again.

What would it be like to do it in the traditional way he mentioned?

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