The Surrogate He Discarded

Marco Pollus returned to his penthouse in a foul mood.

Only a few hours earlier, he had left with confidence bordering on arrogance. Everything seemed to be falling neatly into place.

His plan was simple, and he expected the pieces to move exactly where he wanted them.

But one woman had ruined that certainty.

Isobel.

She was not like the women he was accustomed to dealing with. Money had failed to tempt her. Neither fame nor promises of a comfortable life had been enough to make her bend.

And then there was the Hugo Renovation Project.

Even that, was not proceeding according to plan. The accident he arranged was handled cleanly, and Kristoff’s lawyers had done an excellent job of keeping the matter from escalating.

But Kristoff Dalton...

That man was proving to be far more troublesome than Marco had anticipated.

”Damn it.”

Marco dropped heavily onto the black leather sofa.

The expensive cushions sank beneath his weight as he loosened his tie and stared coldly at the panoramic windows overlooking the glittering city below. Thousands of lights shimmered beneath the night sky, but none of them managed to ease the irritation burning inside him.

”Kristoff Dalton...” he muttered, his jaw tightening. ”You’re a hard nut to crack.”

Before he could think of another way around the problem, the doorbell rang.

Marco’s eyes narrowed.

He hadn’t been expecting anyone.

He rose from the sofa and walked toward the door. After checking the security monitor, he unlocked it.

”Boss.”

A man standing more than six feet four inches tall filled the doorway. His broad shoulders and massive frame almost completely concealed the person standing behind him.

Marco’s expression remained unreadable.

”You can leave.”

The bodyguard stepped aside.

And then she appeared.

A tall, slender woman stood silently in the doorway.

She wore a black strapless dress that hugged her figure, the dark fabric contrasting sharply against her pale skin. A black blindfold covered her eyes, yet there was nothing uncertain about the way she carried herself.

She stood perfectly straight, one hand resting lightly against the wooden doorframe.

Poised.

Composed.

Almost as though she already knew exactly where she was.

Marco’s lips curved into a faint smile.

He stepped forward, took her hand, and lowered his head until his lips briefly brushed the back of it.

”Surprised?” he murmured.

The woman stiffened slightly.

Then her lips parted.

”Marcus?”

A low chuckle escaped him.

”Seems you know my voice too well.”

”Of course.”

There was a hint of amusement.

There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

”You and I are partners, so I know a lot about you.”

Marco’s smile deepened.

”Then show me how much you know about me, Baby.” he whispered into her ears.

Without explaining further, he took her hand and led her inside.

Charlotte followed without resistance.

The moment the door closed behind them, the muffled sound of the TV vanished.

She heard their footsteps crossing the polished floor.

”What’s with the blindfold?” Charlotte asked.

”Patience.”

Marco’s voice was low.

”Wait a little longer.”

He continued leading her deeper into the penthouse.

One step, then another.

Charlotte couldn’t see where they were going. All she could feel was the cool air-conditioning against her exposed shoulders and the faint scent of expensive wood and leather surrounding her.

Eventually, Marco stopped.

”We’re here.”

His fingers reached behind her head. The blindfold slipped away.

...

Charlotte blinked rapidly as the blindfold fell away. For several seconds, everything was a blur.

Then her eyes adjusted.

And her entire body went still.

Across the glass, illuminated against the darkness, stood the towering headquarters of Dalton Real Estate.

Its enormous logo gleamed against the glass facade, impossible to miss from her vantage point.

Charlotte’s breath caught. She knew that building. She knew it too well.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

Memories came rushing back before she could stop them.

The carpeted floors beneath her heels.

The quiet chime of the private elevator.

The secretary greeting her with a polite smile.

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the CEO’s office.

And him...

Kristoff.

For years, that building was more than an office to Charlotte.

It was a promise.

A promise she had once believed would become her future.

She spent countless hours there, walking through those halls with her head held high, convinced that she belonged beside the man at the top.

She remembered the way Kristoff used to look at her.

Or perhaps, she remembered the way she wanted him to look at her.

Her fingers slowly tightened around the fabric of her dress.

Why did it still hurt?

She had told herself she was over it.

She had repeated that lie so many times that she had almost begun to believe it.

But one glimpse of that familiar logo was enough to tear the carefully stitched wound wide open.

Charlotte swallowed hard.

A strange ache settled in her chest.

It wasn’t simply anger.

There was humiliation buried beneath it.

Regret.

Jealousy.

And something far more dangerous—the faint, stubborn remnants of feelings she recently killed.

She hated that building.

She hated the memories attached to it.

Most of all, she hated that a part of her still wished she could walk through those doors and have everything turn out differently.

Her eyes burned.

She quickly looked away, refusing to let Marco see how deeply the sight had affected her.

But Marco noticed.

He brought her here for precisely this reason.

Charlotte turned toward him, forcing her expression back into place.

”Why?”

Her voice came out quieter than she intended.

Marco said nothing.

She glanced at the Dalton headquarters again.

The lights in the upper floors were still burning.

Somewhere inside that building was the man who had once occupied far too much space in her heart.

Kristoff Dalton.

Her jaw tightened.

”Why bring me here?”

This time, there was steel beneath her voice.

Marco stepped closer.

”Because I knew you’d remember.”

Charlotte’s eyes flashed.

”Remember what?”

”Everything.”

The single word struck harder than she expected.

Her breath faltered.

Marco’s gaze remained fixed on her face.

”The man who didn’t choose you.”