Up until now, I've hated a few people. Currently, Mike and Kate top my list, but they're not alone. Dominic Sinclair, however, is rapidly rising and vying for the top spot. Mike and Kate's betrayal hurt deeply because I cared for them both, but Sinclair might be the first person I've disliked this intensely after such a short time.

He eyes me with the predatory bearing of a wolf assessing its rabbit, and I realize that's all I am to him. All those intense looks over the past couple of years, every encounter, every smile—he's always considered me prey. Perhaps, like Mike, he found me attractive, but ultimately, they're the same kind of monster.

"There is no offer you could ever make that would convince me to give you my child," I tell him sharply. "I am not for sale, and neither is my baby."

"Now you're just being stubborn," Sinclair sighs. "Digging in your heels because you don't like me."

"What gave it away?" I scoff. For the second time, he seems tempted to smile, but he resists.

"Use your head, Ella," he instructs patronizingly. "Let's say I believe you didn't do this just for money."

"You obviously don't!" I interrupt, earning a stern look that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Let's say I do. What are your options? How will you raise this child? If you try to abort it, I will take you to court, and I guarantee the judge will prevent you from going through with it. So, you can either keep the baby and try to manage on your own, or let me have it."

"Take me to court," I challenge, though my resolve to terminate the pregnancy has weakened since learning it was real. "You forget it's my body."

"Which you intentionally inseminated. It's not like you got pregnant after a one-night stand or were assaulted. I'm offering the child a good life, and I have more political influence than you can imagine," he flashes his teeth—alarmingly fang-like. "Not to mention, I'm a donor to every hospital in the city; no physician will risk my defunding their facility by performing the procedure."

Suddenly, I understand his power and wealth. He's cunning, with a clear killer instinct. He's right; the judges and doctors will side with him, whether bribed or convinced—he'll win.

He's trapped me, and I didn't even realize it. He's as ruthless as he seems, meaning I'll have to carry this baby to term, regardless of cost. My best hope is to find another job, but even then, I'd only be able to offer my baby a life of poverty. Disgraced nannies don't become CEOs.

Sinclair clearly sees my despair, and he presses his advantage. "If you cooperate, I'll pay off your debts. I'll help you find a job and cover all your medical and living expenses. If you deliver me an heir, I'll also pay you a handsome bonus, and give you anything else you want—a house? A car? A business investment? Be my surrogate, and you can have anything your heart desires."

"But I'm not just a surrogate," I remind him, my heart crumbling. "I'm this child's mother. It has my DNA; it's half human. It has a right to that heritage as well as yours."

He shakes his head. "This child will be a werewolf, a powerful one—my genes guarantee it. It will be raised with its own kind. And it will have a wonderful life, Ella—I promise."

"Why should I trust you?" I ask. "You clearly don't trust me; why expect me to give you something you refuse to offer in return?"

"I have good reason not to trust you, but you have no reason not to trust me. I've never wronged you," he says, as if this justifies everything.

"Bull," I retort. "You cost Cora her job, you cost me mine—even if you didn't make the call, whoever did reported that I was begging at your gates."

"Cora cost herself her job," he insists. "Mistake or malice, my sperm ended up in your womb—where it never should have been." His expression softens slightly. "And I truly am sorry about your job—I know how much Jake and Millie loved you. If you want your job back, I can make it happen."

I'm torn. I'd love to see my former charges again, but I don't know if I can forgive their mother's cruelty. "Money can't fix everything," I reply. "And all your promises—what good is having everything I need if I'll never have what I want most?"

"If it's a child you want, I can help you adopt a human baby," he offers, circling me like a predatory vulture. He senses he's closing in, and he's right.

Tears threaten. It feels selfish to say 'but I want this baby,' especially having grown up an orphan, knowing how many children need homes. Sinclair is offering me the world—my baby will have a good life, my problems will be solved, and I can adopt a child. Am I being foolish, clinging to my childhood desire for a family bonded by blood? After all, blood doesn't guarantee love—how many children did I know whose parents abandoned or abused them?

Ultimately, I don't think I have a choice. I have to do this. Knowing my baby will be loved and cared for will have to be enough. It's the best solution for both of us, and the fact that it hurts doesn't mean it's wrong.

"Draft a contract before I change my mind," I grind out, hating him more than I can express.

Sinclair nods and strides to the door. Shortly, one of his men arrives with a thick stack of documents, which takes me nearly an hour to read. When I finally nod my approval, the lawyer places the contract before Sinclair, who signs it.

"You're doing the right thing, Ella," he says over his shoulder, triumph evident in his voice.

"That's easy for you to say," I retort, watching him sign. "Are you proud of yourself? Bullying a weak human into giving you the only child she'll ever have?" I ask his back. "You sent your sperm here because you struggled with infertility, didn't you? How would you feel if someone took your baby from you?"

Sinclair freezes, but doesn't respond. When he turns, his expression is impassive. "Actually, I'm not married," he says. "Not anymore."

"Way to miss the point," I mutter, snatching the pen and moving to sign. Before I can, the room begins to spin. I brace myself, my vision blurring. My ears ring.

"How long have we been in this room?" I ask, my words slurring. "Are you alright, Ella?"

My legs give way, and I collapse against Sinclair. His scent fills my nose—deep and rich. "You smell nice," I murmur, sounding drunk, before blacking out.

This time, however, I hear a strange grumbling sound as I sink into darkness. At first, I think it's Sinclair, but the sound seems to be coming from...inside me?