The Billionaire's Virgin Surrogate

Damian's POV

“You will never carry my heir.”

Damian Blackwood said it without turning around.

He stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse office, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders squared beneath an impeccably tailored suit. New York glittered below him—restless, alive, obedient. From this height, the city looked exactly how he liked it: distant and controllable.

The room fell silent.

Vanessa Hart had not expected those words. She had walked into his house confidently, certain of herself this time around, dressed to seduce. Years at his side had taught her confidence, and somehow, she felt he'd concur and accept her offer, because he had been waving it off stylishly. She never thought he'd decline, talk more of saying she'll never carry his child.

“Never?” she asked finally, her voice unsteady despite her effort to keep it smooth. “Damian… that’s not funny.”

He turned then.

Vanessa rose slowly from the sofa, her long legs unfolding with practiced elegance. The silk dress clung to her curves, her red lips parted slightly in disbelief. She was beautiful—undeniably so. She always had been.

But beauty had never been enough.

“I’m serious,” Damian said coolly. “This ends at this.”

She crossed the room toward him, heels tapping softly against marble. He watched her approach the way he watched boardroom rivals—alert, unmoved, and already detached from the outcome.

“I’ve stood by you for years,” she said. “When the press circled. When other women threw themselves at you for your name alone. I gave you loyalty. Discretion. My body.” Her eyes searched his face, desperate for a crack. “You don’t get to discard me.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

Emotion was a liability, he had learned that lesson early, and he had learned it well.

“You misunderstand your place,” he said calmly.

Her jaw tightened. “My place?”

“I don’t need a partner, what we have is enough,” Damian continued. “I don’t need affection. And I don’t need ambition disguised as devotion in high heels.”

Anger flashed across her face before she could stop it. “What we have is enough?” " You want me to be by your side, while there's no official title to our relationship? “Damian, you want me to remain your friend with benefits for life?" She scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes.”

The word hit harder than a slap.

For a brief second, the mask slipped, hurt flickered in her eyes. Then Vanessa recovered, lips curling into a sharp, controlled smile.

“You won’t find someone better than me,” she said. “Someone who understands you. Someone who fits beside you.”

Damian stepped closer, forcing her to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. He towered over her effortlessly, dominance radiating from him without effort.

“I don’t need understanding,” he said quietly. “I need certainty.”

She frowned. “Certainty of what?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Purity.”

The word shattered the room.

Her eyes widened, disbelief cutting through her composure. “Purity?” she repeated sharply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

She laughed—a brittle, hollow sound meant to disguise the humiliation she felt. “Purity doesn’t build empires, Damian. Power does. Influence. And I can give you all of that.”

“You’ve given enough,” he replied. “But when it comes to my heir, I won’t allow ambition to taint my bloodline.”

Her breath hitched. She reached for him instinctively, fingers brushing the front of his suit as if touch alone could change his mind.

“You really believe you’ll find someone better?” she whispered. “Someone willing to give you everything without wanting anything back?”

His hand closed around her wrist—not harsh, but final. He lowered her hand slowly, deliberately, rejecting her touch as if it were contamination.

“It will never be you,” he said.

Silence swallowed the room.

For the first time, Vanessa couldn’t hide the pain anymore. Her lips trembled before hardening into a venomous smile.

“You’ll regret this, Damian Blackwood,” she said coldly. “Men like you always do.”

She snatched her wrist free, grabbed her purse, and stormed toward the elevator. The doors closed behind her with a soft, click sound.

Damian turned back to the window.

The city reflected in the glass, fractured and bright. His reflection stared back—tall, controlled, untouchable. And yet, beneath the polished surface, something twisted briefly in his chest.

He crushed it instantly. Regret had no place in legacy.

The sharp buzz of his phone broke the silence.

From: Father

Come to the estate. Immediately.

Damian’s jaw tightened.

Whatever waited for him there, he knew one thing with certainty— His father never summoned him without a price.