Breaching the Billionaire's Contract

Avery’s POV

“Stop running around!”

“I came first!”

“Who started the race?”

“Don’t play with the swing!”

The noise from the children in the kindergarten fills my ears as I stand in the distance, watching them. My eyes sting with unshed tears as I watch the little boys run happily around the slide. Vivid memories of when I first held them in my arms flood my mind, and I bit my lip to prevent myself from sobbing loudly and attracting attention.

A nice-looking lady, presumably the kindergarten teacher, holds the children to play with the rest of the other kids who were running around with so much energy in the open space of the kindergarten playground.

I finally move my feet and settle on a bench, some distance away from the playground. The cool breeze and the noise from the children in the background bring a kind of serenity to me—a rare occasion for my turbulent mind. Sometimes, it is hard to face reality, and I still can’t believe my reality from five years ago, when my whole life came crashing down.

I lost my mother when I was three and had been singlehandedly raised by my dad, a businessman who ran one of the fastest-growing logistics companies across the entire country.

He showered me with so much love and attention that I hardly felt the absence of my mom, despite his busy schedule. I was the typical rich brat who went shopping all the time with her friends, and I always cringe whenever I remember how I behaved back then.

Then the unexpected happened. I was on my usual shopping spree one day when I had my card declined and received a call informing me that my father had been rushed to the hospital. I raced off the mall and wasted no time in arriving at my father’s VIP hospital room.

For the first time, I saw my father wear a dispirited look. He confessed to me about a failed project that rendered the company bankrupt and how we were in serious debt to the tune of a billion dollars. I had cried, promising to find a way out, but he gave me a weak smile and told me not to worry.

Like a solution to the promise I had made to my father. The next day, when he was about to be discharged, I overheard a conversation between the hospital’s dean and a man about a surrogacy plan with a payment of one billion dollars.

I waited for the other man to leave before approaching the dean, who was shocked at my request to apply to be a surrogate but nevertheless agreed to assist, and I made him promise my father didn’t know about my request.

Unexpectedly, I received an email two days later requesting my presence at the hospital. I was made to go through all kinds of tests, some of which I can’t even remember, and five days later, after convincing my father that I had a new job that required me to leave the country, I signed the contract and the money was transferred to my father’s account as I had requested. I was later blindfolded into a mansion in an unknown location.

After nights of sleeping with my client, whose face I never saw, I was confirmed pregnant a month later after arriving at the mansion. receiving care from the best professionals and was never allowed to step a foot outside the mansion unless necessary till I gave birth, and all means of communication with the outside world were blocked.

I had given birth to twins—both boys—on a rainy night. I cried when I held them because the thought of handing them back after three months, as stated in the contract, was devastating, but I clearly underestimated who was their father.

Exactly three months later, after taking dinner and returning to my room for the night, I woke up in a hotel room the next morning with a letter informing me the contract was over. I nearly lost my mind because I had already formed a bond with the children, but I reminded myself that dad needed me the most. Nothing in the world could prepare me for the news that greeted me when I went back home.

Dad had died in an accident while I was away, and all our properties were seized by the authorities. I was broke, and there was absolutely nobody to help me. Even the so-called friends ignored my calls and avoided me like a plague whenever I ran into them. I managed to find a job as a waitress in a club, but it was barely enough to cover my expenses.

I was so broken that I never knew the point of living until one day when I received a package from an unknown sender. contents was a photo of the twins who were already six months old. This person never relented in updating me about the twins, which is why I knew their kindergarten even though it was not allowed.

The fact that I can watch them from a distance is probably enough for me, and thankfully, I made a new friend over the years, Jake. He is an artist and also loves photography.

My phone vibrates continuously beside me, momentarily distracting me from my thoughts, and a smile finds its way to my lips as I pick up the phone, speaking of the devil. “Hello, dear friend.”

“What are you doing?” His bright voice questions cheerfully. Jake has a vibrant aura, and I sometimes envy his happy-go-lucky personality.

I am about to jokingly reply that we have no business together when a handkerchief is pressed into my nose from behind. I try to struggle, but my efforts are futile, and I hear Jake’s fading voice asking if everything is okay. As I slowly succumb to the darkness, I wonder if this is the end of my unbelievable reality.

***

Ethan’s POV

The air in the conference room is oppressive, and a smirk finds its way to my lips as I watch the man who is giving the financial report for one of my hotels stutter. The bastard thinks I am an idiot and is trying to manipulate the figures for a financial year.

“You must think I am stupid, and you dare to steal from me.” A mirthless chuckle escapes my throat before I continue. “At least make an effort when you are trying to lie to me. Your accounts are not corresponding, and I can even spot your fraud at a glance.”

Anger fills me as I speak. Even my four-year-old sons would complain if their sums were not adding up, and this filth probably thinks he can steal from me.

His eyes widen in fear, and he falls to his knees. “Forgive me—”

“I don’t forgive your type. Take him out.” I instruct coldly. The loud wails from the man fade into the distance as my men drag him away.

This is why I never easily trusted people; give them an inch, and they want a mile from you. I never entertained dishonest people and was termed ruthless by the entire city because of the way I treated dishonest people, but I don’t care about such insignificant talks.

Marcus, my secretary, signals me. Ah, good news, at least.

I rise to my feet and walk out of the conference room, ignoring the look of relief that appears on the faces of the old men in the conference room. Those old fools, I would be back for them.

Taking the private elevator, we arrive at the underground garage where my limited edition Maybach is parked, and my guard quickly opens the back seat door where I settle before taking off my tie and massaging my temples, my eyes slowly closing in relaxation.

The car speeds through the city, and my thoughts wander. The twins would soon be five and usually ask of their mother, to which I skillfully divert the topic each time. The question always reminds me of the woman I chose as a surrogate.

It has been five years since I saw her, and how she constantly appears in my dreams all these years is beyond me. It doesn’t help that the younger twin has her piercing green eyes, and I am constantly reminded of her.

I had changed the contents of the contract when I saw her picture from the application. She is stunningly beautiful with her shoulder-length red hair and green eyes. I am not into commitments, and all I do are flings with no strings attached, and there should be no difference with her. The only people I would ever be fully committed to are my kids.

I received a strange report months ago from my men about a woman stalking the twins. It was quite a surprise that the stalker was actually the surrogate, and I am not surprised that I was at a loss for what to do.

The fact that I know she is the one stalking my sons doesn’t help me either; I unknowingly find myself thinking about her more. I wonder if she has ulterior motives for stalking the kids.

It is probably just lust.

Thank goodness, I have a way to clear that little minx out of my head. A smirk forms on my lips as a plan concocts in my mind.

Call me whatever, but I am not ready to get committed to anyone except my sons. I have been scarred from trusting people, and they are part of the things that built me to be this successful, and I wouldn’t allow moments of pleasure to disrupt my thoughts or the personality I have built over the years.