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I press a hand to my bloated belly as I nibble an apple slice. A faint swirl of nausea has me uninterested in the fruit, but I’ve hardly eaten much since Nurse Ratched jabbed me with a trigger shot full of egg stimulants thirty-plus hours ago. I’ve been counting down the days since my first injection, crossing numbers off on my internal retrieval calendar. Fourteen days. A slew of ultrasound check-ups have been sprinkled in over the past two weeks, where I’m subdued with laughing gas and half-carried to a sterile room for monitoring.

What must be a rewarding, life-fulfilling experience for expectant mothers and egg donors across the world has become a nightmare for me. Cold, unforgiving, and cruel. I feel assaulted. Exploited.

Victimized.

And those babies born from my non-consent will have no knowledge of the woman who will likely be giving her life for them.

Sadness leaks in as I collapse backward onto the mattress, shoving my plate of uneaten lunch aside. Moaning with discomfort, I glance down at my stomach—distended, stretched, and heavy. It feels like I’m carrying an iron basketball.

Isaac’s plate clinks against the tile beside me as I massage my swollen belly, imagining it full of Jasper’s child. How different that would be. How tragic, knowing it will never come to pass.

What would our baby look like? Fair-skinned, with inky tufts of soft hair?

Hazel eyes, or blue?

“Find anything resourceful yet?”

My eyes lift to the ceiling as I swallow back a wave of queasiness. “Not yet. I’m sure they wouldn’t have made it that easy for me.”

“There has to be something.”

“I’ve been saying that for over two years. It’s useless.” Tears blur my vision, and for a moment, the ceiling morphs into a pillowy white sky. Birds tweet and sing from the farthest corner of my mind. Sunlight drapes golden stripes across my face. “Do you think my time is almost up?”

Considering Isaac seems to be the glass-half-empty type, I don’t think I want his answer.

Or maybe I do.

After all, hope has gotten me nowhere.

Isaac drags his chain closer to the wall, and I wonder if he senses the defeat bleeding into every broken word.

“Don’t know,” he says, and it’s nothing but honest. “My guess is you’re a giant payday for them. It wouldn’t be their best interest to get rid of you.”

“Lucky me.” I close my eyes when the clouds above me fade into hopeless white panels. “Have you ever made a decision that’s haunted you?”

“Way more than one.”

“I guess we’ve all been there. My decision just came with a death sentence.” Rubbing my lips together, I think back to the gala—my last good night. “Before I was taken, I’d received numerous requests to become a surrogate for a couple. My husband wasn’t on board, and I feel like I sealed my fate when I declined.”

“Maybe it’s unrelated.” He pauses, knowing it’s not. “Regardless, there was no way for you to know.”

“It’s funny, though, isn’t it? How one simple choice can alter the course of your entire life?” Sighing, I pan my eyes to the little friendship bracelet circled around my wrist. It hangs loosely at the edge of my palm, too big for my shrinking arm. “I wonder what Joy did to end up here. Desiree. Mitchell. You. One wrong move, one split decision, and poof …life as we know it is over.”

I’m depressing today.

A mere twenty-four hours have passed since our intimate chat that left me feeling bright and tingly— human . And now I’m dead inside. Empty.

Things change so quickly when trapped between these walls.

My eyes puddle with more tears as I twist my head to face the wall, wishing for laser-beam eyes. A way to see right through it. “I wish I could see you.”

He’s quiet for a few beats. “That wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

“Maybe not. But I’d give anything for just one look.” I’ve spent hours, days, trying to envision him. I don’t think I’ve ever yearned to know what someone looks like quite this much—not even the countless men who came before him.

Not even Joy.

Not even Sara and her songful voice.

I loathe the connection that’s been growing between us, and I want nothing more than to stomp it out like petals crushed beneath a heavy boot. But I can’t. I’ve given it too much life already.

Isaac’s head thumps against the wall, as if he’s leaning back against it. “There’s only one way for that to happen,” he tells me, his voice edged with a hint of emotion. “Find a way out.”

I hate that answer. “I’ll get right on that.”

“Keep looking. Keep thinking. Work your magic on the ogre. He’s got to crack one of these days. I’ve never given a woman flowers, let alone a trove of twisted hand-me-downs.”

“Would you give me flowers?”

“No. We’ve discussed this.” He chuckles lightly. “I’d give you multiple orgasms, a few spankings, and a collection of well-earned bruises, and then I’d send you on your merry way.”

I bite my lip to tamp down the smile. “Swoon.”

“It’s a wonder I’ve been single my whole life.”

A lightness seeps inside, countering the gloom. I start fiddling with the bracelet again, allowing the pastel yarn to soften my hard edges. I roll the beads between my finger and thumb. Graze my fingertips along the worn fabric. I give it a pinch…

And then I freeze.

I blink down at the bracelet, squeezing again.

“Better yet, I’d?—”

“Isaac,” I cut him off, my heartbeats pinwheeling, my cramped stomach doing somersaults. “I think I have something.”

A few tense seconds roll by like a ticking bomb as he processes my words. “What do you mean?”

Swallowing hard, I shoot up into a sitting position and yank the bracelet off my wrist, studying it. Analyzing it. “The bracelet.”

“Elaborate.”

“This friendship bracelet Roger gave me. The yarn is held together by a thin wire. Seems sturdy, though.” Pure elation sweeps through me, and I can hardly catch my breath. “A wire. We can use that, right?”

“Shit.” His voice is strained. Eager. “The cuff… I need you to find a way to get that wire to me.”

“Get it to… I don’t—” Mind whirling with possible scenarios, I glance at my lunch plate. It was delivered an hour ago, meaning Roger will bring me supper in about four more hours. “Okay. I’ll figure something out.”

“Work your flirty mojo on the ogre. Slip it in his pocket somehow. He brings you your food first.”

I pull to my feet and start to pace.

How can I get close enough to him?

Is this even possible?

“Right.” I bob my head, frazzled yet buzzing with new conviction. “Okay. I’ll try. I can do this.”

“You can.” His voice sounds closer, like his lips are a hair’s breadth from the wall. “Get that wire on Roger and I’ll take it from there. I’ll get us out of here.”

Wetness streaks my cheeks.

I’m crying.

I’m crying because…

I believe him.

Not once have I ever believed any of them. I’d always disregard their gallant words and false promises.

“I’m not sure how long it will take me to pick the ankle lock, especially since I’ll have to be covert about it,” he continues. “But I will. Then I’ll tear the bastard’s head off and snatch his keycard.”

A new thought strikes me, and I halt my pacing feet. “Isaac…you need to get out fast. The cameras. You won’t have much time before someone sees.”

“I’m aware.”

“I’m serious. You can’t…” My ribs ache from the weight of what I’m about to say. “You can’t try to save me, too. Run. Get help. Tell them to come back for me.” More tears. More choked-up words. “For all of us.”

Isaac doesn’t speak for a while. Twenty-two harrowing seconds.

And then…

“I know.” Voice dipping with a trace of regret, he clears his throat. “I’ve already thought this through.”

Of course he has. He’s smart, resourceful.

Trying to take me with him would be suicide.

I nod through an ambush of conflicting emotions, even though I want to shake my head, slap the wall, scream until my throat is shredded raw, and reject every word I just purged. I want to take them all back.

Bring me with you, Isaac. I’m begging you.

But I can’t.

He can’t.

All I can do is believe that he’ll send help, and soon, I will see the other side of these walls.

Because, somehow, despite everything…I trust him.

With my life.

“Okay,” I croak out, placing my fate in the hands of this elusive stranger. This brash, brilliant, confusing man. “Roger will bring me dinner in a few hours. I’ll make it happen. And then…I’ll see you soon.”

A few beats pass. “Yeah.”

I glance up at the camera. All video, no sound. Thank God for that. My captors feel untouchable, too arrogant to ever suspect that this broken-down model would have the brains to concoct an escape plan with the unruly man next door.

They’ll regret that one day.

I spend the next few hours pacing. I try to read, but the words bleed together, becoming illegible drivel, and I obtain nothing. Pacing some more, I fill my cheeks with a heavy breath and blow it out slowly. Isaac and I don’t talk much. I’m too on edge for chitchat, the anticipation of what I’m about to do spiraling me into a mess of anxious jitters. There is no room for slip-ups or falters. Everything hinges on this moment.

I can do this.

“I hear you pacing over there,” Isaac says, nearly three hours later.

I move in aimless circles, wringing my hands together. “I’m nervous.”

“I can distract you, if you want.”

Biting my lip, I almost smile. I’ve become well-versed in his version of distractions , and the offer is tempting. But I’m too wired for that. I can hardly remember how to breathe properly. “Sorry, but Chloe is out of the office at the moment.”

A light laugh travels over to me. “Nick must’ve really worn her out.”

“We can go with that.”

He hesitates. “You can do this, Everly.”

I stop pacing. A shaky breath journeys up my windpipe and hits the air like hope. Eyes falling shut, I drop my arms at my sides and curl my fists, allowing his words to give me strength. My body is weak, but I’ve spent years keeping my mind sharp, my wits keen.

Maybe all I needed was someone else to believe in me.

Licking my lips, I resume my pacing, walking up and down the length of the wall and dragging my fingertips along the cool surface. “I know how you can distract me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep.”

“Conveniently enough, I’ve come prepared for bondage.” He rattles his cuff chain for effect.

This time, I do smile. “I’ll name a song, and you tell me something you associate with it.”

Isaac’s chain jingles again, lighter this time, and I imagine him twisting on his mattress to face our wall. “Not what I had in mind, but if that’s what gets you going.”

“All right.” I clear my throat, surprised he agreed. “‘Bad Moon Rising’ by Credence Clearwater.”

“A buddy of mine. He turned into an old married guy and got a boat. We’d go out on the lake every summer and blast CCR.”

A smile hints. “So, you do have friends.”

“I had one, once upon a time, before life fucked me over and nothing mattered anymore.”

A twinge of heartache pinches me.

I want to know more; I want to know everything about him.

But that would be a mistake, and I’ve made far too many of those already. Even knowing his real name feels like something that will come back to haunt me one day.

“Do you think he’s looking for you right now?” I wonder.

“That’s the kind of guy he is.” He says it almost regrettably. “I would do the same for him.”

I allow his answer to sink in before I inhale a breath and continue, “‘Separate Ways’ by Journey.”

“Mm. My sister playing that cringey music video that goes with the song in an endless loop. She was obsessed with eighties music. Drove me insane.”

Sara?

I don’t push the subject, too afraid to snap the moment like a delicate thread. “‘I Kissed a Girl’ by Katy Perry.”

He scoffs. “No.”

“‘Hey, Soul Sister’ by Train.”

“You have terrible taste in music. Next.”

A laugh slips out. “‘Blackbird’ by The Beatles.”

He pauses long enough that I nearly give up. When his voice finally reaches me, it’s low, strained with a tension that wasn’t there a moment ago. “My mother used to sing it while doing the dishes.”

Twenty responses sit on my tongue, everything from “that’s nice” to “I love that song” to “tell me about your mother.” That’s the one I want to ask—the one his tone tells me not to ask. The silence has grown thick, and I’m not sure how to bridge it.

Then he adds, “It made me feel…jealous.”

“Jealous?” I want to cry, and I’m not entirely sure why.

“It’s a song about hope. It always felt like she was rubbing it in.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” He pauses. “Give me another.”

Inhaling softly, I turn my face toward the divide between us and offer him one final song, my hand pressing firmly against it. “‘The Scientist’ by Coldplay.”

He goes quiet.

Seven charged beats pass between us, sounding as loud as my heart.

When he replies, I’m already calmer, the low rumble of his voice the strangest lullaby.

But I hear it, clear as day.

“You.”

And when the door whooshes open a half-hour later, I have all the courage in the world.

It’s not Roger.

Why isn’t it Roger?

Terror infiltrates me, siphoning every bit of courage from my bones. I stumble backward until my spine hits the wall, shaking my head.

Was there sound on the video, after all?

Did we just seal our fate?

Do they know?

The nurse stalks over to me, her face unreadable, and pulls a needle from her front pocket. I glance at my cold plate of untouched lunch, knowing it’s dinnertime. Roger should have been the one coming through that door, bringing me supper, not her.

Where is he?

I swallow back the acid in my throat, shifting my petrified gaze to the long needle glinting under the overhead lights. Sharp, merciless. It doesn’t look like my medication.

It looks like…

“Time to go,” she says, her voice cold. There’s nothing there—she can’t be human. “I suggest you cooperate.”

Cooperate.

All I’ve done is cooperate, and it’s gotten me nowhere. I’m still here. Trapped and helpless, a caged bird with broken wings.

“Stay away from me.” Tears well in my eyes, blurring her wretched face. “Where’s Roger?”

Isaac’s chain moves, dragging toward the wall. He’s listening, waiting. He knows there’s been a change of plans. A plot twist, dismantling our escape.

But he can’t help me right now.

I need to get out of here.

My pulse thrashes as my attention ping-pongs between the still-open door, the needle, and the nurse. I swallow again. It burns my throat, tastes like ashes. “Please,” I beg, eyeing the doorway. I can run. I’ll make a break for it, consequences be damned. “Don’t touch me.”

The woman sighs, almost boredly, and advances on me.

I recognize the needle. The moment it pricks my vein, I’ll be gone. Paralyzed. Dragged unconscious into that operating room with Doctor Frankenstein, then mutilated from the inside out.

It’s procedure day.

And I can’t help but worry it’ll be the last one. My time might be up.

She steps forward.

I dodge.

An annoyed glare gleams in her eyes as she reaches for me again. She misses. My eyes flick to the cracked door, and it’s then she realizes she left it open. Her attention is stolen for a beat. A glimmer of panic. I use it to my advantage and make my move.

Smaller and faster, I dip underneath her thick arm and run for my life.

“Hey!” she barks.

Stars twinkle behind my eyes. Self-preservation fuels me. Isaac pounds on the wall, the sounds muffled by the shrill beats of my heart. My feet skid across the floor, but I stay standing, keep running, and reach for the door handle, flinging it open wider.

But I don’t get far.

A scream tears through me when I crash into a massive body.

Roger.

He grabs me.

And it all happens so fast.

“Isaac!” I screech.

Two meaty hands fist my upper arms, bruising and unbreakable. I can’t move, can’t flee. I can only scream his name.

“Isaac!”

The needle finds my neck before I can take another breath.

It’s over.

I failed.

I blink slowly as the drugs take over, and I sag against Roger’s chest, succumbing.

The last thing I hear is my name.

His nickname for me.

Bee.