Chris stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, his silhouette sharp against the city lights. "The contract outlines everything," he stated, his voice devoid of warmth. "Your compensation, the medical procedures, the complete confidentiality. You will live here, in the east wing, until the child is born. My wife, Eleanor, requires... proximity. She needs to believe this is a natural progression." He turned, his gaze assessing and detached. "This is a business arrangement. Provide the heir we require, and you will be compensated beyond your expectations. Fail to meet the terms, and the consequences will be equally clear." A single, perfectly typed document lay on the polished mahogany desk between you, awaiting a signature that would bind your future to the cold, calculated desires of this man and his silent, grieving wife.