I died satisfying a contract—carrying their baby.



My body wasn't even cold when Elena Ashford cut my child from my womb.



She told everyone the baby was hers. That I was just the surrogate who died from complications. That my signature on the contract meant I had no claim.



But the contract never said they could murder me.



Three years later, I watched my daughter call my killer "Mommy."



I was the top embryologist at Whitmore Fertility Clinic before I became desperate enough to sign their contract.



Student loans. My mother's cancer treatment. A mountain of debt that grew faster than I could climb.



When Elena Ashford approached me with an offer—$500,000 to carry her husband's child—I should have seen the trap.



"Your genetics are exceptional," she'd said, her smile never reaching her eyes. "We want a private arrangement. No agency. No records. Just us."



I was carrying their embryo when I discovered the truth.



There was no embryo.



The child in my belly was mine—conceived with her husband's stolen sample while I was sedated for a "routine procedure."



They never wanted a surrogate.



They wanted my genes. My body. Then my silence.



When I confronted Elena in her mansion, she didn't even blink.



"You signed the contract, Dr. Chen. The baby belongs to us." She'd poured herself champagne, seven months pregnant with nothing. "Who would believe a desperate surrogate over the Ashford family?"



"I'll go to the police. I have proof—"



I never finished that sentence.



The needle slid into my neck before I could turn around. The last thing I saw was Elena's husband, Marcus, catching me as I fell.



"The cesarean is scheduled for tonight," Elena said calmly. "Make sure there are no complications. For the baby, I mean."



They cut my daughter from my body in a private surgical suite.



Then they injected potassium chloride into my heart.



The death certificate read: \*Cardiac arrest during emergency cesarean. Surrogate mother. No family to notify.\*



My body was cremated before sunrise.



For three years, I've watched Elena raise my daughter as her own.



For three years, I've watched Marcus pretend he doesn't see my face every time he looks at Lily.



For three years, I've been waiting.



And now, finally, someone is asking questions.



Chapter 2

Her name was Detective Sarah Cross, and she didn't believe in coincidences.



I hovered beside her desk as she spread crime scene photos across the surface—three women, all former patients at Whitmore Fertility Clinic.



All dead.



All cremated before autopsies could be performed.



"Same pattern," she muttered, circling dates with a red pen. "Same doctor signed off on all three deaths. Same crematorium."



My heart—or whatever ghosts have instead—pounded.



Someone was finally seeing what I'd seen for three years.



The nurse who'd assisted in my murder had gotten sloppy. She'd sold patient files to pay for her gambling addiction, and one of those files had landed on Detective Cross's desk.



"Dr. Marcus Ashford," Sarah read aloud. "Chief of Obstetrics. Wife Elena Ashford, née Whitmore. As in Whitmore Fertility Clinic."



She pulled up a photo of Elena at a charity gala, dripping in diamonds, holding a beautiful three-year-old girl.



My Lily.



My baby had my eyes. My cheekbones. My exact smile.



Elena had none of these features, yet no one questioned it.



Money bought silence. The Ashford name bought loyalty. And dead surrogates told no tales.



"Let's start with the most recent death," Sarah said to her partner. "Grace Chen. Embryologist. Died three years ago during a surrogate pregnancy."



I froze.



She was investigating me.



For the first time since my death, hope sparked in my chest.



Sarah pulled up my employee file—my photo, my credentials, my glowing performance reviews.



"Weird," her partner said, leaning over her shoulder. "If she was just a surrogate, why was she working at the clinic? Conflict of interest much?"



"That's what I want to know." Sarah grabbed her coat. "I'm going to talk to the husband. Marcus Ashford."



I followed her like a shadow.



The Ashford mansion sat on twelve acres of manicured grounds. I'd been here once, to confront Elena. I never left alive.



Now I drifted through the walls, watching Sarah ring the doorbell.



Marcus answered.



Three years had aged him. Gray streaked his temples. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked like a man being eaten alive by guilt.



Good.



"Detective Cross, Homicide Division." Sarah flashed her badge. "I have questions about Grace Chen."



Marcus's face went white.



"She... she was our surrogate. She died during childbirth. It was tragic, but—"



"Three other women connected to your clinic died the same way, Dr. Ashford. Same complications. Same rushed cremations. Same convenient timing."



I watched Marcus's hands tremble.



"I don't know what you're implying, Detective."



"I'm not implying anything. Yet." Sarah smiled coldly. "But I'd like to see your daughter's birth certificate. The original one."



From upstairs, I heard Elena scream.

THE CHILD THEY STOLE FROM MY CORPSE