The next morning, the sleek black Bentley carried Derek, Lydia, and Stiles through the city to the private clinic of Dr. Mathews, the country’s most renowned fertility specialist. The atmosphere inside the car was thick with tension—Lydia scrolling through her phone in the front passenger seat, Derek staring out the window with a clenched jaw, and Stiles in the back, fidgeting with the hem of her tiny pleated skirt. She had chosen a soft pink crop top that hugged her full, heavy breasts and left a sliver of toned midriff bare, paired with that scandalously short skirt that rode up her thick thighs whenever she shifted. Even in this serious moment, Stiles couldn’t help dressing like the sensual creature she was—innocent in heart, but devastatingly provocative in body.

At the clinic, everything was pristine white marble and hushed voices. Dr. Mathews, a calm, silver-haired man in his sixties, greeted them warmly in his office overlooking a serene garden. After brief introductions, he explained the process with professional detachment.

First, a nurse led Derek to a private room to provide a sperm sample. He returned minutes later, face unreadable, adjusting his tie.

Next, Lydia was taken for bloodwork and an ovarian reserve test. She went without complaint, though her lips were pressed into a thin line.

Finally, Stiles’s turn came for a full fertility examination. She lay back on the table in a thin paper gown, legs in stirrups, her heart pounding as the doctor and a female nurse conducted a thorough ultrasound and physical check. Dr. Mathews’s voice was gentle. “Everything looks perfect, Mrs. Hale. Your uterus is healthy, your ovarian reserve is excellent for your age, and your cycles appear regular. You would make an ideal candidate to carry a pregnancy.”

Stiles blushed deeply, nodding, her big doe eyes filled with quiet gratitude.

Back in the office, Dr. Mathews addressed all three. “Stiles is, without question, perfectly suited for surrogacy. As for Mr. Hale and Mrs. Hale’s samples, the full results—particularly Mrs. Hale’s egg quality—will be ready tomorrow. Please return then, and we can discuss the next steps in detail.”

Derek stood, bowing slightly. “Thank you, Doctor.” His voice was steady, but his broad shoulders carried the weight of the unknown.

They left in silence, the ride home just as strained.

The following morning, Lydia announced over breakfast that she had an urgent salon appointment—new highlights, a facial, the works. “It’s been scheduled for weeks,” she said airily, waving a manicured hand. “You two can go hear whatever the doctor says. It’s just preliminary, anyway.”

Derek didn’t argue. He knew it was pointless; Lydia’s vanity would always come first. He simply nodded, jaw tight, and turned to Stiles. “Let’s go, Stiles-ya.”

Stiles had dressed even more revealing today—perhaps unconsciously seeking comfort in her usual style. A tiny white baby tee stretched tight across her massive breasts, the fabric so thin her nipples were faintly visible beneath. Paired with low-rise denim shorts that barely contained her plump, juicy ass, every step made the soft flesh jiggle enticingly. Derek’s eyes lingered a fraction too long before he forced them away.

At the clinic, Dr. Mathews welcomed them into his office again. His expression was kind but grave.

“Mr. Hale, your sperm analysis is excellent—count, motility, morphology all well above average. You have no fertility issues.”

Derek exhaled slightly in relief.

“However,” the doctor continued gently, “Mrs. Hale’s results are less favorable. At forty-eight, her ovarian reserve is extremely low, and the few eggs retrievable show significant chromosomal abnormalities. Natural conception would be nearly impossible, and even with IVF using her eggs, the chances of a viable pregnancy are under five percent. I’m sorry.”

The words hit Derek like a physical blow. His handsome face drained of color, broad chest rising and falling rapidly. Another dead end. Another loss.

“Is there… any other way?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Dr. Mathews paused, glancing between Derek and Stiles. “There is one alternative. Since Stiles’s reproductive health is exceptional, we could use her eggs along with your sperm. The embryo would be created via IVF, then transferred back to Stiles to carry. Genetically, the child would be half yours, Mr. Hale, and half Stiles’s. It would be biologically her child as well.”

The room went deathly silent.

Derek stiffened violently, his muscled frame going rigid. “No,” he said loudly, almost yelling. “That’s not possible. Absolutely not.”

Stiles’s breath caught. Her pink, perfect lips parted in shock, eyes wide.

Derek turned to her, panic and protectiveness warring in his dark gaze. “Stiles, this is wrong. You’re only twenty-five. You’re young, beautiful—you deserve your own life, your own love, your own family one day. You can’t tie yourself to us like this, carrying a child that would be… ours. You’d be bound forever.”

Stiles’s eyes filled with tears. She reached out, small soft hands wrapping around his much larger one. “Dad… calm down,” she whispered, squeezing gently. Then, turning to the doctor, “Could we… have a moment alone, please?”

Dr. Mathews nodded understandingly. “Of course. Take all the time you need.” He stepped out, closing the door softly behind him.

The second they were alone, Derek dropped his head, gripping her hands tightly. “Stiles, listen to me. You don’t owe us this. You’ve already lost so much. I won’t let you sacrifice your future for a legacy that isn’t even yours.”

Tears spilled down Stiles’s flawless cheeks. “But Dad… you want a baby. You need an heir. And I… I need to feel useful to you. To Mom. To this family that gave me everything.” Her voice cracked. “I want to do this. For you. For both of you. Please… let me give you this gift.”

Derek stared at her, throat working. Her kindness, her selflessness—it broke him. Slowly, he brought her hands to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. “If you do this… I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life, Stiles. Forever.”

She nodded through her tears, a trembling smile breaking across her beautiful face.

A soft knock sounded, and Dr. Mathews re-entered.

Derek took a deep, steadying breath, still holding Stiles’s hands. “We’ve decided,” he said quietly. “We’ll proceed… using Stiles’s eggs.”

Stiles squeezed his hand in silent agreement, her heart pounding with a mix of fear, devotion, and something warmer she didn’t yet dare name.

Dr. Mathews nodded professionally. “Very well. We’ll begin the preliminary steps immediately. Bloodwork synchronization, hormone protocols for Stiles, and another sample from you, Mr. Hale. This is a big decision—I’m glad you’ve discussed it thoroughly.”

As they stood to leave, Derek kept Stiles close, his strong arm lightly around her shoulders as if shielding her from the weight of what they’d just agreed to.

Outside in the hallway, Stiles looked up at him with teary but resolute eyes. “Thank you for letting me do this, Dad.”

He cupped her cheek gently, thumb brushing her soft skin. “Thank you, Stiles… for giving me hope again.”

Neither noticed how long his touch lingered, or how her body instinctively leaned into his warmth.

The seed had been planted—literally and figuratively—and nothing in the Hale mansion would ever be the same.