Valerie learned very quickly that silence in rich people's houses was not peaceful.
It was loud.
It pressed against her ears when she woke up the next morning, heavy and expectant, like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if she'd mess up.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. White. Smooth. Probably imported. Everything in this place felt like it had a passport.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
7:00 a.m.
Cynthia: Medical evaluation. Be ready in thirty minutes.
Valerie rolled onto her side and groaned. "Good morning to you too, Satan."
She dragged herself out of bed, showered, and changed into the clothes laid out for her- soft, neutral, very wealthy woman who doesn't spill coffee.
She hated that someone else had picked them. She hated more that they fit perfectly, like this house had already measured her without asking.
When she stepped into the main house, a doctor, a nurse, and a woman with a clipboard were already waiting, seated neatly like furniture.
"Miss Falls," the doctor said warmly. "This won't take long."
Valerie smiled weakly. "That's what everyone keeps promising me lately."
The evaluation was… a lot.
Blood samples. Vitals. Questions about her health, her past, her cycle, her stress levels. Questions that were necessary, she knew, but still made her feel like she was being disassembled and inspected for defects.
By the time it was over, her arm ached and her head felt light.
She wasn't a person anymore.
She was a checklist.
She was heading back toward the guest house when Cynthia appeared beside her, perfectly timed, matching her steps like this was rehearsed.
"We need to go over expectations," Cynthia said.
Valerie didn't stop walking. "I figured."
They entered a small sitting room. Minimalist. Glass table. Neutral colours. Nothing you could throw without it costing a fortune. Valerie clocked that immediately.
Cynthia tapped her tablet once. "You are expected to follow the schedule provided. No unsupervised outings. No interviews. No social media posts."
Valerie dropped into a chair. "So I've officially become a ghost."
"A protected one," Cynthia replied coolly.
"Lucky me." Valerie said sarcastically.
"This arrangement requires discretion."
Valerie tilted her head. "And obedience?"
Cynthia met her gaze. "Professionalism."
Valerie laughed softly. "You say that like it's not the same thing."
Cynthia's lips thinned. "You are here for a purpose, Miss Falls. Not comfort. Not attachment."
Valerie leaned back, crossing her arms. "Trust me. If I wanted attachment, I wouldn't have signed a contract with a billionaire who barely remembers my name."
That hit.
Cynthia's eyes flickered just for a second before she masked it. "Good. Then we understand each other."
Later that afternoon, Richard asked to see her.
Not summoned. Asked. That alone felt strange.
He was in his study again, jacket off, sleeves rolled up. He looked… tired. Not billionaire tired. Just human
"Sit," he said.
Valerie did. "Am I about to be fired from pregnancy?"
"No." He paused. "Today's evaluations cleared you."
She blinked. "That's… good, right?"
"Yes." He hesitated, then added, "The process will begin tomorrow."
Her chest tightened.
"The process," she repeated.
"Insemination," he clarified, calmly. Clinically. Like he was discussing a meeting.
Valerie swallowed. "Right. That."
"You'll meet the fertility specialist. Everything will be explained. You'll have choices within medical limits."
She nodded slowly. "Okay."
Richard watched her carefully, like he was measuring her reaction.
"You can still ask questions," he said.
She laughed quietly. "I have about a thousand. I'm just deciding which ones won't make me sound like I'm spiralling."
"That's acceptable."
She looked at him. Really looked. Same face. Same man. The one who had cut off the sponsorship. The one who had changed her life without even noticing.
And here he was now, trusting her with something permanent.
"I don't want special treatment," Valerie said suddenly.
Richard frowned. "Explain."
"I don't want pity. Or guilt money. Or you checking on me because you feel bad." Her voice stayed steady, even though her hands weren't. "Just… be decent. That's enough."
He considered that for a moment. "I can do decent."
She nodded. "Good. Then we're aligned."
That night, Isabel called.
Valerie answered on the second ring. "I think I officially sold my soul."
Isabel gasped. "You're alive!"
"Barely. They took my blood. And my coffee."
"That's where I draw the line."
"They're starting the insemination tomorrow," she continued.
There was a pause.
"Oh," Isabel said softly. "How do you feel?"
Valerie stared out the window at the manicured lawn. "Like I jumped off a cliff and only just noticed there's no water."
"You can still walk away."
Valerie closed her eyes. "No, I can't."
She ended the call not long after.
Later, lying in bed, the silence crept back in.
Her thoughts drifted to the dinner. The argument. The email that never came. To realizing, too late, that one decision had pushed her here.
To him.
She wondered how many lives Richard Crane had brushed past without seeing.
She wondered if she'd become just another one.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Tomorrow, 9 a.m. Clinic visit. Do not eat after midnight.
Valerie placed the phone face down.
Tomorrow, it would stop being theoretical.
Tomorrow, it would become re
al.
She pressed a hand against her stomach, not out of affection. Not yet.
Just awareness.
This wasn't about hope.
It wasn't about dreams.
It was about survival.
And for now, that would have to be enough.