The Billionaire's Virgin Surrogate

Evelyn's POV

Evelyn Carter learned early that exhaustion didn’t excuse failure. It didn’t matter how little she slept, how much her body ached, or how tightly anxiety wrapped around her chest, life didn’t pause for anyone. Bills still came, rent still waited, and hunger still demanded attention.

That morning, she woke before her alarm.

The ceiling above her bed was cracked in three places, faint lines spreading like veins. She stared at it for a moment, counting her breaths, before swinging her legs over the side of the mattress. The floor was cold beneath her bare feet.

Across the small room, Carmen was still asleep, curled on her side with her phone clutched loosely in her hand. Evelyn moved quietly, careful not to wake her. Carmen worked late shifts too, and sleep was precious.

Evelyn dressed quickly—plain jeans, a faded blouse, flats she’d owned far longer than she should have. She tied her hair back in a simple bun, studied her reflection briefly in the mirror, then looked away.

She didn’t linger in the front of mirrors anymore.

The kitchen was barely big enough for two people to stand in without touching. Evelyn poured herself a glass of water, drank it slowly, then checked her phone.

She had three missed calls, and one voicemail.

Her chest tightened as she pressed play.

“Miss Carter,” the man’s voice said smoothly, unpleasantly familiar. “This is a reminder. Your payment deadline has passed, we expect the full amount by the end of the week. Failure to comply will result in further action.”

Then the line went dead. Evelyn lowered the phone slowly.

End of the week.

She did the math automatically, even though she already knew the answer. Tips from last night, half her paycheck coming in two days, what was left in her savings.

It still wasn’t enough.

By the time she left the apartment, the weight of it sat heavy in her chest. She walked fast, shoulders squared, refusing to let panic show on her face. Panic never helped, panic made mistakes.

The restaurant was already busy when she arrived.

“Morning, sunshine,” the manager called out distractedly as she clocked in. “You’re on doubles again.”

Evelyn forced a smile. “Of course.”

She tied on her apron and got to work. Carmen arrived later.

The day moved fast with orders. Plates. Polite smiles. Apologies she didn’t owe. Compliments she didn’t believe. By noon, her feet throbbed, and her back aches, but she kept moving. She always did.

At table seven, a man snapped his fingers to get her attention. She pretended not to notice until he raised his voice.

“Miss? My coffee is cold.”

“I’ll replace it right away,” she said calmly, even though it wasn’t.

As she turned away, she heard him mutter, “Figures.”

She swallowed the sting and carried on.

During a brief break, Carmen leaned against the counter beside her, lowering her voice. “You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” Evelyn said automatically.

Carmen didn’t believe her. “You heard from them again,