Chapter 4
I held her for eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes of her warmth against my chest, her tiny heartbeat matching mine. Eleven minutes of pretending we were safe.
Then Vivian ripped her away.
"That's enough. She's bonded." Vivian said it like she was returning a library book. Took my daughter from my arms and walked back to the camera.
I lunged. Got nowhere. The restraints snapped me back down and pain exploded through my stitches. Fresh blood soaked the gauze.
"Please—" I couldn't stop the sob. "She needs me. She needs her mother."
"I am her mother." Vivian said it flat. Final.
The stream had passed 30,000 viewers now. Comments were flying.
[Why's there blood on the table behind her?]
[Someone check on the surrogate? She doesn't look good]
[Mind your business, she signed a contract]
[Something feels off about this...]
Then a comment pinned itself to the top of chat. Gold-bordered. VIP.
[Beautiful baby. Send me the address. I'm sending flowers. — V]
My heart stopped.
V.
That username. That single letter.
Vivian didn't know what it meant. Derek didn't either. They both smiled at the expensive gift that followed—a cascade of digital fireworks worth thousands.
But I knew.
Dad was watching.
V for Victor.
Relief hit me so hard I almost passed out. Or maybe that was the blood loss. My fingers and toes were going numb. The cold was creeping up my legs.
Stay awake, Elena. Stay awake.
On screen, Vivian was doing a Q&A with her viewers. Answering questions about "her pregnancy journey." Making up stories about morning sickness she never had, cravings she never felt, kicks she never experienced.
My cravings. My kicks. My stretch marks still raw and bleeding under these bandages.
Another gold comment appeared.
[How's the surrogate doing? You're taking care of her, right? — V]
Vivian laughed nervously. "Of course! She's resting comfortably. We have the best doctors here."
Liar.
The "doctor" had left fifteen minutes ago. No one had checked my vitals since. The blood pooling beneath me was spreading slowly across the tile, dark and thick.
Derek was on his phone in the corner. Not watching the stream. Not watching me die. Texting someone, smiling at his screen.
Another gift from V. Bigger this time. A yacht icon sailed across the stream.
[Would love to meet the surrogate. Give her my personal thanks. What hospital are you at? — V]
Vivian's smile flickered. Just for a second.
"Oh, we're keeping that private for now. Security reasons, you know how it is!"
She ended the Q&A fast. Turned to Derek.
"Who the fuck is V?" she hissed under her breath. "They've dropped like ten thousand dollars in gifts."
Derek glanced up from his phone, shrugged. "Some rich simp. Ignore him. Take the money."
But I could see Vivian was rattled. She wasn't stupid—just cruel. And cruel people have survival instincts.
"We should move," she said quietly to Derek. "Get the baby out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
Yes. Move. Give my father something to track. Every second you're live, he's closer.
The baby started crying. That thin, reedy newborn wail that cuts straight through everything.
Vivian held her wrong. Didn't support the head. Bounced her too hard.
"Make it stop," she snapped at Derek. "Why won't it stop?"
"She's hungry," I croaked from the table. "She needs to eat."
"Then we'll get formula."
"She's an hour old, Vivian. She needs me."
Something ugly crossed Vivian's face. She walked over to me, baby still screaming in her arms, and leaned down close.
"You don't get to be needed anymore, Elena. You don't get to be anything anymore."
She reached over with her free hand and pulled the IV from my arm. The only thing keeping fluids in me.
Blood welled from the site immediately. She didn't bother to press gauze to it.
"I was going to let you bleed out slow. Peaceful, even. But you're annoying me now."
She picked up her phone and texted someone.
Thirty seconds later, the door opened and two men walked in. Big. Blank-faced. Not medical staff.
"Take her to the basement," Vivian said. "And make sure the camera doesn't catch it."
The men unlocked my restraints. I should have fought. I tried. But my limbs were numb, heavy as concrete.
They dragged me off the table and my stitches tore open. I screamed—couldn't help it. The sound was swallowed by the concrete hallway.
The last thing I saw before they pulled me through the door was my daughter's face, red and screaming, in the arms of a woman who would never love her.
Eleven minutes of her warmth against my chest, her tiny heartbeat matching mine. Eleven minutes of pretending we were safe.
Then Vivian ripped her away.
"That's enough. She's bonded." Vivian said it like she was returning a library book. Took my daughter from my arms and walked back to the camera.
I lunged. Got nowhere. The restraints snapped me back down and pain exploded through my stitches. Fresh blood soaked the gauze.
"Please—" I couldn't stop the sob. "She needs me. She needs her mother."
"I am her mother." Vivian said it flat. Final.
The stream had passed 30,000 viewers now. Comments were flying.
[Why's there blood on the table behind her?]
[Someone check on the surrogate? She doesn't look good]
[Mind your business, she signed a contract]
[Something feels off about this...]
Then a comment pinned itself to the top of chat. Gold-bordered. VIP.
[Beautiful baby. Send me the address. I'm sending flowers. — V]
My heart stopped.
V.
That username. That single letter.
Vivian didn't know what it meant. Derek didn't either. They both smiled at the expensive gift that followed—a cascade of digital fireworks worth thousands.
But I knew.
Dad was watching.
V for Victor.
Relief hit me so hard I almost passed out. Or maybe that was the blood loss. My fingers and toes were going numb. The cold was creeping up my legs.
Stay awake, Elena. Stay awake.
On screen, Vivian was doing a Q&A with her viewers. Answering questions about "her pregnancy journey." Making up stories about morning sickness she never had, cravings she never felt, kicks she never experienced.
My cravings. My kicks. My stretch marks still raw and bleeding under these bandages.
Another gold comment appeared.
[How's the surrogate doing? You're taking care of her, right? — V]
Vivian laughed nervously. "Of course! She's resting comfortably. We have the best doctors here."
Liar.
The "doctor" had left fifteen minutes ago. No one had checked my vitals since. The blood pooling beneath me was spreading slowly across the tile, dark and thick.
Derek was on his phone in the corner. Not watching the stream. Not watching me die. Texting someone, smiling at his screen.
Another gift from V. Bigger this time. A yacht icon sailed across the stream.
[Would love to meet the surrogate. Give her my personal thanks. What hospital are you at? — V]
Vivian's smile flickered. Just for a second.
"Oh, we're keeping that private for now. Security reasons, you know how it is!"
She ended the Q&A fast. Turned to Derek.
"Who the fuck is V?" she hissed under her breath. "They've dropped like ten thousand dollars in gifts."
Derek glanced up from his phone, shrugged. "Some rich simp. Ignore him. Take the money."
But I could see Vivian was rattled. She wasn't stupid—just cruel. And cruel people have survival instincts.
"We should move," she said quietly to Derek. "Get the baby out of here. This place gives me the creeps."
Yes. Move. Give my father something to track. Every second you're live, he's closer.
The baby started crying. That thin, reedy newborn wail that cuts straight through everything.
Vivian held her wrong. Didn't support the head. Bounced her too hard.
"Make it stop," she snapped at Derek. "Why won't it stop?"
"She's hungry," I croaked from the table. "She needs to eat."
"Then we'll get formula."
"She's an hour old, Vivian. She needs me."
Something ugly crossed Vivian's face. She walked over to me, baby still screaming in her arms, and leaned down close.
"You don't get to be needed anymore, Elena. You don't get to be anything anymore."
She reached over with her free hand and pulled the IV from my arm. The only thing keeping fluids in me.
Blood welled from the site immediately. She didn't bother to press gauze to it.
"I was going to let you bleed out slow. Peaceful, even. But you're annoying me now."
She picked up her phone and texted someone.
Thirty seconds later, the door opened and two men walked in. Big. Blank-faced. Not medical staff.
"Take her to the basement," Vivian said. "And make sure the camera doesn't catch it."
The men unlocked my restraints. I should have fought. I tried. But my limbs were numb, heavy as concrete.
They dragged me off the table and my stitches tore open. I screamed—couldn't help it. The sound was swallowed by the concrete hallway.
The last thing I saw before they pulled me through the door was my daughter's face, red and screaming, in the arms of a woman who would never love her.