The Surrogate He Discarded

Four weeks after giving birth, Isobel was finally discharged from the hospital or rather, the twins were finally given the go to be discharge.

The moment they stepped out of the hospital entrance, Isobel was flanked by two professional nannies, each carefully carrying one of the newborn twins—Kit and Kat—wrapped in soft cashmere blankets.

Waiting at the pick-up area was a sleek silver Lexus LM, its polished exterior gleaming beneath the afternoon sun. The driver stood beside the vehicle with the rear door already open, ready to receive them.

The nannies gently secured the babies into custom infant car seats inside the luxurious van with practiced care.

Isobel boarded last.

Just as the door was about to close, a black Bentley rolled to a smooth stop behind the Lexus.

The passenger door opened first.

Kristoff stepped out, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit, his sharp features unreadable as he moved to open the rear door for the woman inside.

A strikingly elegant woman emerged, wearing a fitted red-colored mini skirt that accentuated her long legs. Charlotte immediately slipped her arm possessively around Kristoff’s.

”The baby?” Kristoff asked, noticing her empty hands.

”With the nanny,” Charlotte replied casually.

She glanced back just in time to see the nanny lifting the infant carrier from the Bentley.

At that exact moment, movement from the nearby Lexus caught Kristoff’s attention.

Instinctively, he turned his head.

Through the partially open door of the departing van, he caught the briefest glimpse of a familiar profile—a woman with delicate features and long dark hair.

His breath nearly stopped.

Isobel.

Before he could look again, the Lexus door slid shut, and the luxury van smoothly pulled away from the curb.

Kristoff’s brows furrowed as he stared after it.

Could that really have been Isobel?

But why would she be riding in a vehicle like that?

That wasn’t an ordinary hired car. A Lexus LM cost more than most people earned in years.

”Kristoff?” Charlotte’s voice cut through his thoughts. ”Are you okay? What are you staring at?”

He tore his gaze away from the disappearing van and forced his expression back into indifference.

”Nothing,” he said flatly. ”Let’s go. We’re already late for Alexander’s check-up.”

Charlotte studied him for a moment before nodding.

But as she turned away, her eyes narrowed slightly while watching the silver van disappear into traffic.

Quietly, she memorized the plate number.

Later, she would have someone investigate it.

...

Morgan Foster personally brought Isobel to his private estate in The Corinthians—the most exclusive and prestigious district in the capital city of Novare, where power itself seemed to live behind gilded gates and towering walls.

Only the elite resided there. Old-rich dynasties. Political giants.

Business empires powerful enough to shape the country from behind closed doors.

And among them all, the Foster family stood at the very top.

Inside the luxury van, Isobel sat quietly with the twins sleeping beside her, her fingers unconsciously tightening over the hem of her dress as the massive wrought-iron gates of The Corinthians slowly opened before them.

The gates moved soundlessly, almost reverently, as though they recognized the man inside the vehicle.

Security guards stationed nearby immediately bowed their heads.

No inspections.

No questions.

Morgan Foster did not need permission to enter his own kingdom.

As the van glided smoothly along the wide avenue, Isobel found herself staring out the tinted windows in silent disbelief.

Towering fire trees lined both sides of the road, their crimson blossoms blazing brilliantly beneath the late morning sun. Petals drifted lazily through the air whenever the wind blew, scattering across the pristine streets like fragments of red silk.

Everything looked surreal.

Perfect.

Not a single crack marked the pavement. Not a single piece of trash littered the sidewalks. Even the air somehow felt cleaner inside this world built for the rich.

Then there were the mansions.

No—

Estates.

Each property stretched across enormous landscapes hidden behind elegant gates and manicured gardens. Some resembled modern glass palaces while others looked like ancient European castles transported into the middle of Novare.

Every home radiated obscene wealth.

Yet somehow, each one seemed determined to outshine the last.

Isobel had only ever seen places like these in movies, luxury magazines displayed outside bookstores, or fairy tales where princes lived inside castles..

And now she was actually here.

Beside one of the most powerful men in the country.

The van eventually slowed before another set of gates—smaller than the grand entrance to The Corinthians, yet no less intimidating. Black steel bars stood several meters high, adorned with intricate gold details that gleamed beneath the sunlight.

Without needing a signal, the gates automatically opened.

The van drove forward.

And then—

It stopped.

The nannies quickly stepped out first, carefully carrying the sleeping babies in their arms. Uniformed servants were already waiting outside in neat lines as though they had anticipated the family’s arrival down to the second.

Isobel swallowed nervously before slowly stepping out of the vehicle herself.

The moment her feet touched the ground, she froze.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Before her stood something straight out of fantasy.

An enormous off-white mansion rose proudly against the sky, majestic enough to rival royal palaces. Sunlight poured over its marble walls and towering columns, making the entire structure gleam like pale gold beneath the late morning sun.

Massive crystal windows reflected the blue sky above while fountain sparkled elegantly at the center of the garden. Marble staircases curved toward grand double doors tall enough to make anyone feel insignificant standing before them.

No...

”Mansion” was far too small a word for this place.

It was a palace.

And for the first time since meeting Morgan Foster, Isobel truly understood the terrifying scale of the world he belonged to.

Morgan stepped out from the passenger seat with effortless elegance, the kind possessed only by men born into power.

The sunlight caught against the sharp lines of his tailored charcoal suit as he straightened to his full height. Even standing in front of the enormous estate, he somehow remained the most commanding presence there.

”Welcome to my home, Isobel,” he said smoothly, his deep voice calm and refined. His gaze lowered toward her, carrying that same unreadable intensity that always made her heartbeat stumble.

”Don’t be shy. You should feel at home here.”