Project Heir

Week twenty-four. The third trimester.

Sterling was in Tokyo for a merger. He would be gone for forty-eight hours.

Chloe knew the security protocols cycled at midnight. There was a five-minute window where the internal server refreshed its encryption keys.

She waddled to Sterling’s study. Her ankles were swollen, her back aching. She sat in his massive leather chair and booted up his terminal.

She wasn't a hacker, but she was a statistician. She knew how people created passwords. They used significant dates.

She tried his birthday. *Access Denied.*

She tried the company founding date. *Access Denied.*

She thought about his obsession. Legacy. Perfection.

She typed: *PERFECTION.*

*Access Granted.*

Chloe navigated the directories. She ignored the financial files. She went straight to the folder marked *PRIVATE*.

Inside, there was a subfolder: *PROJECT: HEIR.*

Her hands trembled as she opened it.

It wasn't a photo album. It was a spreadsheet.

There were columns of names. Hundreds of women. Each one listed with genetic markers, blood types, and IQ scores.

*Candidate 142: Rejected. Dominant gene expression too high.*

*Candidate 189: Rejected. Family history of instability.*

She scrolled down to the bottom.

*Candidate 204: Chloe Winters.*

*Status: Selected.*

*Reasoning: Subject possesses rare recessive Omega traits (Type-O Negative). Genetic profile indicates zero interference with paternal DNA expression. Subject is intellectually gifted but socially isolated. Financial leverage: High.*

Chloe clamped a hand over her mouth.

It wasn't fate. It wasn't a drunken mistake at a masquerade.

The masquerade was a field test. He had targeted her. He had sought her out.

She clicked on the next file: *Legal.*

It was a PDF. A custody agreement.

*Upon the birth of the asset (Male Heir), the surrogate (Chloe Winters) relinquishes all parental rights.*

*Compensation: $10,000,000.*

*Condition: Non-Disclosure Agreement. Permanent relocation.*

She wasn't a mate. She wasn't even a girlfriend.

In Sterling’s eyes, she was a petri dish. He had chosen her because her genes were weak enough not to dilute his own. He wanted a clone, and she was the canvas.

Chloe closed the laptop. The room spun. The baby kicked hard, a painful reminder of the life inside her—a life that was already sold.

She looked at the door.

She had to run.

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