The chill of the autumn night seeped through the thin fabric of Catriona's worn jacket as she clutched her phone, her knuckles white. The voice on the other end had just confirmed it—she was in. A surrogate mother. A wave of dizzying relief, quickly followed by a sharp stab of dread, washed over her. Her brother, Edirne, lay in a hospital bed, his small heart too fragile, his future hanging by a thread. This was for him.

She said her goodbyes to Miss Olivier, a kind neighbor who had been a second mother to them, fabricating a story about a new job out of state. The lie tasted bitter, but necessary. Edirne, too young to understand, simply clung to her, his small arms a crushing weight on her already burdened heart.

Then, the cab ride. Through endless, silent woods, the setting sun casting long, eerie shadows. The isolation was profound, the quiet unsettling. When they finally arrived, her breath hitched. It wasn't a house; it was a fortress of elegance, a mansion that seemed to breathe history and power. A woman in crisp black, with an unreadable expression, called her name. Catriona Havers. Her new life, and perhaps her greatest sacrifice, had begun.