Henry Lewis was a 42-year-old man who had everything, money, power, and status. But that night, he realized that despite all the luxury around him, there was one thing his money hadn’t bought, an heir. He needed a child, but Henry didn’t want a family in the traditional sense. He had tried twice, and both marriages ended in failure and disappointment. He thought love was an illusion, something that only brought problems, but a child was different. It was an investment, a continuation of everything he had built.

And now he was determined not to seek a relationship for this. He needed a clear agreement, without emotional entanglements, just a contract. He knew that with his resources, he could find someone willing to carry the pregnancy without questions or emotional ties.

For Henry, this was a transaction. And like all his transactions, he would have total control. Now, he just needed to find someone who would accept the deal.

The next morning, Henry Lewis drove his sports car through the city streets. His mind, however, was focused on finding someone who would accept the contract. And while stopped at a light near downtown, something caught his attention.

On the corner of the sidewalk, a young woman sat on the ground, drawing on a piece of dirty paper. She had messy brown hair falling over her face, and her blue eyes shone, despite her tired-haired equals one appearance. She seemed invisible to others, but something about her caught Henry’s eye.

He tried to ignore her, but when the light turned green, he looked again, and thought, who draws on the sidewalk as if nothing else exists? Annoyed with himself, he sped away, leaving her behind. But a few blocks away, something bothered him. He stopped in a parking lot and sat there, staring at the steering wheel when an idea came to him.

This is ridiculous, he said to himself, but his instinct pushed him back. Reluctantly, he turned the car around and went back to where he had seen her. There she was, just the same, now leaning the paper against the wall.

He pulled up to the curb and rolled down the window, his tone direct and cold. Hey, you, come here. The young woman looked at him with suspicion, her eyes narrowed, evaluating the well-dressed man in the sports car.

She hesitated. I’m not asking. Come on, I don’t have all day, he insisted, not changing his tone.

Slowly and reluctantly, she approached. When she finally stood next to the car, her thinness and the wear of her appearance were even more evident. Despite this, there was something in her posture, in the way she looked at him.

What do you want? she asked, her voice low but firm. Henry studied her for a moment before responding. Get in.

I’ll take you somewhere we can talk, she laughed dryly. I’m not one of those, if that’s what you’re thinking. He frowned, clearly irritated by the assumption.

Don’t be absurd. I don’t have time for that. I just want to talk.

Now get in the car, or you can keep living on that sidewalk. The hesitation was still there, but something in his authoritative tone left her no room for argument. Finally, she opened the door and got in.

The silence between them and the car was heavy, but Henry didn’t seem to mind. He drove to a quiet cafe, away from the city noise, and parked. What’s your name? he asked as they sat at a table in the corner.

Layla Parker, but why does it matter? She retorted, keeping a suspicious look. Because I need to know who I’m dealing with. Tell me, Layla.