The Surrogate Billionaire

Zara's POV.

 ''Zara Meera, you have two minutes to get down here or else...'' I let out a groan and drag myself out of bed. My mum is such a bully. I mean it wouldn't hurt to let me sleep for another thirty minutes or more. She has been screaming my name for a very long time now but I refused to answer her. I swear she is doing this on purpose, she knows just how much I love sleeping. I mean who doesn't love sleeping?

 ''Zara?'' My mum calls knocking on the bathroom door.

''In the bathroom Ma,'' I answer.

"Come downstairs immediately you are done, your dad wants to talk to you." She says. My mum wakes up early, so early that sometimes I wonder if she sleeps at all and I did ask her why she always wakes up early... Guess what her answer was. She went all

"It isn't good manners to let the maid cook for her husband and kids." Why did she employ them in the first place when she knew she was going to end up doing all the chores herself? That is just the way my mum is, she was born and bought up in India and Indians hold their in-laws in high regards. My mum told me that her mum always told her that, no matter what happens, her husband is always right, she shouldn't raise her voice at her husband, she should be a dutiful, respectful wife, and most of all she should always prepare her husband meals. Turns out my mum didn't have to do all those things because she got married to my dad- of course, she got married to your dad. My dad is also Indian but he is just more modern? My parents moved to New York immediately after they got married and they have been living here in New York ever since. My dad has never raised his voice on my mother, I have never heard them disagree on anything before. Apart from that one time that my mum got sick and the doctor told her to get enough rest, that she got sick because she doesn't get enough rest and guess what my mum did... She woke up early the next morning and she started preparing breakfast my dad lost his cool immediately, that was the first and last time my dad raised his voice at her. I would raise my voice at her too if I were my dad. My dad is a cool and strict person. He doesn't have to raise his voice to get you to do what he wants you to. Nobody says no to my dad, apart from my mum of course.

Did I mention that I have an elder sister? Well, I do have a sister, Aliya Meera and she is three years older than me. My sister is well, very gentle and she is always quiet. She does everything my parent ask her too, she even studied law because my dad wanted her to but she claimed that she studied it because she liked studying law but it doesn't matter anymore because my sister, Aliya Meera is now a lawyer, I mean she is a really big deal in New York. My sister is good at what she does.

 And there is me, Zara Meera. The second and last child of the Meera family. I am 22 years old and I am a fashion designer. Yap, I design dresses, all sorts of dresses and I am good at what I do too. I am not a quiet person like my sister, I am the exact opposite. I question every damn thing.

''Zara...'' ''Coming ma,'' I call back. I pick up my hairband and pack my hair in a ponytail. I don't want to bother myself with brushing it out because my hair is my biggest enemy. Black, long and thick, so thick that it makes it impossible for me to brush it out properly when I am in a hurry and that is why I tied it in a ponytail. I turn to the mirror and check my face out. My black eyes look so bright and clear that you wouldn't even know that I was just waking up. I rinse my mouth and clean my face with the face towel before leaving for the dining room.

"Finally. What have you been doing Zara?" That was my mum.

"I was just freshening up," I tell her and walk over to my dad.

 "Good morning pa."I greet him while kissing his cheeks.

"How was your night?" He asks.

 "Short," I answer. His lips turned up in a smile at the usual answer. He always asks me the same question every morning and my answer has never changed.

 "Ma said you wanted to talk to me,'' I say while serving myself an unhealthy dose of pasta. I love food bruh.