Sophia's POV

I stood outside Elite Family Planning Agency at 8:52 a.m. the next day, staring up at the tall glass building that reflected the city like a mirror. The sign above the revolving door gleamed gold against the soft sunlight.

I called in sick at the coffee shop this morning with a trembling voice as I told my manager I wasn’t feeling well — a half-truth, because my stomach was a battlefield of anxiety and doubt. Cassandra doesn't know I made the call. I wanted to see for myself first.

I stepped into the sleek building, the air inside smelled of lavender. The reception area was all marble floors and white walls, with soft instrumental music humming from invisible speakers. A woman behind the desk, dressed in a navy-blue suit, smiled politely.

“Good morning. Welcome to Elite Family Planning. How may I help you?”

I clutched my tote bag tighter. “Hi, um… I have an appointment. Sophia Bennett.”

She typed something on her computer, then looked up with a nod. “Yes, Miss Bennett. Please have a seat. Mrs. Gianna will see you shortly.”

I thanked her and sat on one of the cream-colored chairs by the window. My palms were damp, so I rubbed them on my jeans, trying to breathe steadily. Women came and went through the lobby — some elegantly dressed, others looking just as nervous as I felt. I wondered which ones were like me — desperate, hopeful, or simply trying to survive.

At exactly 9:00 a.m., a woman appeared at the doorway opposite the reception.

“Miss Bennett?”

I stood quickly. She had that kind of poise that only years of experience could teach. Her silver hair was neatly pinned back, her suit was perfectly tailored. She looked to be in her late fifties, her expression was calm but assessing.

“I’m Gianna,” she said warmly, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Her handshake was firm. “Thank you for seeing me,” I said.

She smiled, motioning for me to follow. “Let’s talk in my office, shall we?”

Her office screamed luxury and quiet sophistication. A crystal vase of fresh lilies stood on her desk beside a tablet and a cup of tea that filled the room with a faint scent of bergamot. She gestured for me to sit, then took her place across from me.

“So,” she began, folding her hands gracefully, “you’re interested in joining our surrogate program?”

I nodded, my throat felt dry. “Yes. I… I heard about it from a friend.”

“I see.” Her eyes softened, though her voice remained professional. “Before we proceed, I’d like to understand a little more about you. “How old are you?”

“Twenty four.”

“Are you currently employed?”

I gave a small, nervous laugh. “I have three jobs, actually. Morning shifts at a coffee shop, evenings at a diner, and sometimes I help out at a bookstore on weekends.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “That’s quite the workload.”

I looked down. “I’m paying for my sister’s medical bills. She’s sixteen. She has… aplastic anemia.”

Gianna nodded slowly, empathy flickering across her face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.” My voice came out small. “The doctors say she needs a bone marrow transplant soon, but we don’t have the money. That’s why I’m here.”

She studied me for a long moment, then she smiled gently.

“You’d be surprised how many women come here with stories like yours, Miss Bennett. Life pushes us into impossible choices sometimes. What matters is that you’re doing this for love.”

Her words caught me off guard. For love. I wasn’t sure that made it easier, but it made it sound noble.

“I’ll explain how our process works,” she continued. “All our surrogacy arrangements are confidential and carefully matched to ensure compatibility — medically, genetically, and emotionally. If you’re selected, you’ll be compensated generously.”

“How generous?” I asked quietly.

She leaned back, watching me. “The client you may be matched with has agreed to pay one million dollars.”

I froze. “One million?”

“Yes.” Her tone was calm. “I’m sure it could cover your sister’s treatments and much more.”

My heart thudded against my ribs. That number sounded unreal — like something out of a dream or a cruel joke. One million dollars for nine months of my life.

“But,” she added, “we take this process very seriously. You’ll need to undergo medical and psychological evaluations. We'll only proceed if we’re confident that you are fully prepared.”

I nodded quickly. “I understand.”

“Good.” She smiled faintly, rising from her chair. “If you’re ready, we can start with the preliminary medical tests today.”

*****

The next hour passed in a blur.

A nurse led me down a pristine hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic and vanilla. Everything was spotless — gleaming floors, soft white walls, minimal décor. I have never seen a medical facility that looked this peaceful.

They drew blood, checked my vitals, asked me a thousand questions — some about my health, others about my emotional stability. I tried to answer honestly, though each question made me more aware of how surreal this all felt.

As I sat waiting for the nurse to return, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror opposite me. My dark hair was tied messily, my blue eyes rimmed with exhaustion. I looked out of place in this polished world.

“Miss Bennett?”

I turned. Gianna stood by the door again with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

She smiled faintly. “We’ve completed your tests and background check. Everything looks excellent.”

“Already?”

She gave a small nod. “Our process is efficient. You’ve been pre-selected for a very specific client. One of our most important, actually.”

Something in her tone made my pulse quicken. “Who?”

She hesitated for just a moment, then said, "You'll find out if you get selected. This arrangement is time-sensitive.”

“Time-sensitive?”

She gave a small smile. “You’ll learn more when you meet him, if you choose to proceed.”

If I choose to proceed.

I swallowed hard. The walls suddenly felt closer, and the air heavier.

One million dollars.

Eve’s life.

The weight of it all pressed down on me.

“I want to proceed ,” I said even though I was really nervous.

“Alright then. We’ll arrange a meeting between you two as soon as possible.” Gianna said gently.

She handed me a folder.

“Read everything carefully. Let me know if you need any more explanation.”

It was almost noon when I stepped outside. The sun was bright, and the noise of traffic was loud. I walked down the sidewalk clutching the folder like it was a lifeline.

One million dollars.

Nine months.

For my sister’s life.

Maybe this was my only chance to save Eve.