Chapter 1

When my wife, Victoria Bennett, was three months pregnant, her mother, Evelyn Bennett, forced me to move into her villa to take care of Victoria. From then on, my life was completely dictated by a detailed pregnancy plan.

What I ate, when I slept, and even how I felt had to follow the schedule. If I slipped up even a little, Evelyn would give me that sharp, hawk-eyed stare and remind me, "Lucas, everything is for my grandchild."

I always thought the Bennett family was just obsessed with their next heir, until one day I found a prenatal screening report in Victoria's nightstand, one that definitely wasn't hers. There was no name on it, only a code: Donor A.

What really freaked me out was that the blood type on that report was exactly the same as mine. After all, Victoria and I had never even discussed our blood types.

*****

At exactly three in the afternoon, my smartwatch vibrated. The screen lit up, and a message popped up: [Snack time: one glass of fresh celery and pear juice, two walnuts.]

I set down my programming book and rubbed my aching eyes. Sunlight streamed through the triple-height floor-to-ceiling windows, slicing sharp geometric shapes across the polished marble floor.

The air carried a blend of lemon disinfectant and pricey aromatherapy—crisp and sterile, more like a hospital than a home.

"Lucas, it's time," Evelyn's voice called from the open kitchen, cold and mechanical, like a machine running on autopilot.

I turned to see her in a perfectly tailored gray suit, supervising as the maid set a glass of nearly black-green juice and a small silver tray in front of me.

She didn't even glance at me. Her eyes were locked onto the juice, as if that was the only thing she cared to monitor.

"I'm not really thirsty," I said, forcing a smile, but my stomach twisted at the overpowering celery smell.

Her gaze finally shifted from the glass to my face. Her eyes were well-kept, but sharp as a hawk's.

She didn't say a word, stared at me in silence, and the air felt like it had frozen solid. My jaw tightened, and I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back.

"Lucas," she finally spoke, her voice soft but with an edge that brooked no argument, "every item on the schedule was designed by nutritionists and doctors, down to the gram. Everything is for the baby Victoria is carrying."

There it was again. Ever since Victoria got pregnant and I moved into this so-called home, which felt more like a prison, those words had become my misery.

I picked up the glass, held my breath, and forced down the cold, earthy-tasting liquid. The icy juice slid down my throat, making my stomach clench even harder.

I set the glass down, grabbed the two perfectly peeled walnuts, and mechanically chewed them.

Only then did Evelyn nod in satisfaction. She turned to the maid and ordered, "Record it in the log. The three o'clock snack is done. Get ready for the five o'clock workout."

I kept my head down, staring at my blurry reflection in the silver tray. The walnuts left a rich, oily taste in my mouth, but all I could really feel was a deep, lingering bitterness. Victoria was resting upstairs.

These days, we barely saw each other. She spent most of her time asleep, only coming down for meals. The way she looked at me had changed, too.

The love in her eyes had faded, replaced by a growing distance, and sometimes, I even caught a flicker of avoidance.

This villa was filled with invisible eyes everywhere. The chandelier in the living room, the smoke detector in the bedroom, and even the potted plant in the hallway had hidden cameras inside.

Every move I made, every bite I took, every sip of water was all being logged and analyzed. I wasn't a husband or a man about to become a father. I was a well-kept animal, raised under constant surveillance.

One night, I jolted awake, my throat so dry that it felt like it was on fire, and my stomach burning with discomfort.

I crept out of my room, the villa eerily silent except for the steady tick of the wall clock, each sound pounding against my frayed nerves.

The living room was dim, a single floor lamp casting shadows. I'd poured myself some water and was about to head upstairs when I caught muffled, intentionally hushed voices coming from Evelyn's room.

I felt rooted to the spot.

"Don't worry. Everything's going smoothly here." Evelyn's voice drifted through the heavy door with a hint of icy satisfaction. "Yeah, the seed is top-notch, and Victoria's reaction is as expected."

Seed? My heart dropped like a stone.

"Once the baby is born, everything will be settled." Evelyn paused, her voice dropping even lower, like a venomous snake whispering threats. "Then, it'll be time to get rid of the incubator."

My mind went totally blank. My fingers clenched the glass so hard my knuckles turned white. Incubator? Who did she mean? In this whole villa, besides Victoria, the only one tied to the "seed" was me.

Cold water spilled over the rim, soaking the back of my hand, but I felt nothing. A chill shot up from my feet to the top of my head, freezing me in place.

So all this smothering "care", this suffocating "schedule" was to nurture me, the "seed"? And to them, I was nothing but a throwaway incubator?