Five Years On The Run: The Billionaire's Secret Baby

Colette**

The music pounded in my ears as I stood frozen in the doorway. Owen had his hands in Sienna's hair, pushing her against the bedroom wall. His mouth moved over hers the same way he used to kiss me.

Three years. I wasted three years on him.

Sienna's eyes opened and found mine. I saw something flash across her face-maybe guilt, maybe something worse. Then Owen turned around. His face went red when he saw me standing there like a complete fool.

"Colette, wait-" he started.

I didn't wait. I pushed past drunk students and out the door, ignoring the stares. My throat burned but I wouldn't cry. Not here where everyone could watch me fall apart.

The cold air outside hit my face hard. I pulled out my phone to call a cab, then changed my mind. I couldn't go home. Everything there reminded me of Owen. His toothbrush. His coffee mug. His clothes in my drawer.

I ended up at Crimson Lounge instead, an expensive bar downtown I'd never been able to afford. Tonight I didn't care. I had my emergency credit card and I needed to forget everything.

The bartender barely looked at my ID before sliding a drink toward me. I drank it too fast, the burn doing nothing to help the pain in my chest. Another drink appeared without me asking.

"Rough night?" A blonde woman in a designer dress smiled at me from the next seat.

"Yeah," I said, taking another drink. The room started feeling warm. My head got fuzzy.

"Men are trash," she said, raising her glass. "Trust me."

We clinked glasses and I drank again. The woman kept talking but her words blurred together. The warmth in my body got stronger, spreading through me like fire. My skin felt strange, too sensitive. Every touch of fabric sent tingles down my spine.

Something was wrong.

I blinked hard but the bar lights seemed too bright. Everything looked slightly blurry. My mouth felt dry even though I'd been drinking. The blonde woman was gone. When did she leave?

"You okay, miss?" the bartender asked. His voice sounded far away.

"I need to lie down," I mumbled, sliding off the stool. My legs barely held me up.

I don't remember getting to the elevator. Somehow I had a key card in my hand. The hallway stretched forever, the carpet pattern swimming in my vision. A door opened when I pressed the card against it and I stumbled inside.

The room was huge and dark except for city lights coming through the windows. I fell onto the bed, my body burning up. I kicked off my shoes and pulled at my dress, desperate to cool down.

That's when I heard it-a door opening, footsteps coming closer.

"Who's there?" I tried to say, but my tongue felt thick.

A tall figure came out of the shadows. In my drugged haze, my brain filled in what I wanted to see. Owen. It had to be Owen, coming to say he was sorry.

"Owen?" I whispered.

The man didn't answer. When his hand touched my skin, it felt cold and perfect against the heat. I grabbed onto him without thinking, needing relief from the burning. His body felt different-harder, taller, more solid-but the drugs made everything feel like a dream.

His fingers traced down my arm and I shivered. When his lips found mine, they tasted wrong, but I was too far gone to care. I needed to feel wanted after watching Owen choose her. My hands moved over his chest, feeling muscles that seemed bigger than Owen's, but my foggy mind couldn't understand why.

He pulled back for a second, and even through the haze, I felt him hesitate. His breathing was uneven. Then he kissed me again, deeper, and I kissed him back, pouring everything into it—all my longing, all my hope that maybe this meant he still wanted me.

*He came for me. He still cares.*

When he pushed inside, sharp pain made me gasp, tears spilling down my cheeks. I hadn't expected it to hurt this much, but I clung to him anyway, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

"Owen..." I breathed against his neck, trying to steady myself through the discomfort. This wasn't the romantic first time I'd imagined, but it was *him*. That was what mattered.

He went completely still above me, tension radiating through his body. I could feel his conflict, his restraint. Maybe he was surprised—maybe he hadn't expected this either. I pulled him closer, letting him know it was okay, that I wanted this. Wanted *him*.

He moved again, and the pain began to blur into something else. My body adjusted, responded. The d**** made everything feel heightened, intense, but underneath it all was relief. He'd come back to me. Whatever had been broken between us, maybe this could start to fix it.

His skin felt cooler than I remembered as he moved against me. I heard myself making soft sounds, my hands exploring his back, feeling—

*Scars?*

The thought flickered and disappeared. The room was dark, everything was spinning. My mind couldn't hold onto anything clearly. All I knew was that he was here, and I didn't want him to leave again.

I arched into him, meeting his movements, hoping he could feel how much I'd missed him, how much I still loved him. My drugged body chased the building sensations, lost in the moment, in the desperate hope that after tonight, everything would be different.

*Please let this mean something. Please let him stay.*

Time stopped making sense. It could have been minutes or hours. At some point the burning started to fade, replaced by exhaustion so deep I could barely keep my eyes open. The man's breathing was heavy near my ear, his weight pressing me into the mattress.

Then everything went black.

When I woke up, sunlight burned through my eyelids. My head pounded like someone was hitting it with a hammer. My mouth tasted like cotton and my whole body ached in ways I'd never felt before.

I forced my eyes open and immediately regretted it. The bright room spun around me. This wasn't my apartment. The bed was too big, too expensive. The sheets felt like silk against my bare skin.

Bare skin.

I sat up fast, clutching the sheet to my chest. My dress was on the floor. My underwear scattered across the carpet. Panic hit me like ice water.

What happened? What did I do?

I looked around frantically. The suite was empty. No sign of anyone else. Just me and the evidence of what I'd done scattered across an expensive hotel room I couldn't afford.

Memories came back in pieces—the bar, the blonde woman, the drinks that made me feel strange. Stumbling into this room. A man in the darkness.

Owen.

My stomach dropped as I looked at the empty space beside me, the cold sheets where he'd been. He was gone. He'd left without a word.

The humiliation crashed over me like a wave. I'd given him everything last night—my first time, my vulnerability, my desperate hope that maybe we could fix this. And he couldn't even face me the next morning.

He regrets it.

Of course he did. I'd practically thrown myself at him, too drugged and pathetic to have any dignity. He must have been disgusted with himself afterward. With me. That's why he left before I woke up—so he wouldn't have to see the look on my face, wouldn't have to say the words out loud.

I was a mistake.

My hands trembled as I grabbed my clothes from the floor, pulling them on with jerky, panicked movements. I couldn't be here when—if—he came back. I couldn't bear to see the regret in his eyes, hear him tell me gently that last night shouldn't have happened, that it didn't change anything between us.

I had to leave. Now. Before I lost what little dignity I had left.

I didn't look back as I rushed out the door, my vision blurring with tears. At least if I left first, I could pretend I had some control. At least I wouldn't have to watch him walk away from me again.

The key card was still on the nightstand. I grabbed it and ran for the door, my heart racing. The hallway was empty. I found the elevator and pressed the button over and over until the doors opened.

In the elevator mirror, I looked exactly like what I was-a girl who'd made the worst mistake of her life. My makeup was smeared. My hair was a mess. Bruises were already forming on my neck and shoulders.

The elevator doors opened to the lobby and I walked out fast, keeping my head down. The morning doorman didn't even look at me twice. Just another girl doing the walk of shame.

Outside, the city was just waking up. I called a cab with shaking hands and climbed in when it arrived.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Just drive," I whispered, then gave him my address.

I watched the expensive hotel disappear in the side mirror, my throat tight with unshed tears.

What was I thinking?

Owen didn't love me. He'd made that clear when he asked for space, when he stopped answering my calls, when he chose her over me. And yet the moment I thought he'd come for me last night, I'd melted. I'd given him everything—my first time, my body, my pathetic, desperate hope—like some fool who couldn't accept reality.

He was probably with Sienna right now, laughing about it. Or worse—feeling guilty, wishing it had never happened. That's why he'd left before I woke up. He couldn't even face me after using me one last time.

I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to ease the ache there. How could I have been so stupid? I'd convinced myself that sleeping with him might change something, that maybe he'd remember what we had. But all I'd done was humiliate myself further.

He'd taken what he wanted and left without a word. Not even a note. Not even the courtesy of a goodbye.

My nails dug into my palms. I was done. Done hoping, done waiting, done being the pathetic ex-girlfriend who couldn't let go. Owen had made his choice, and last night had only proven how little I meant to him.

I'd never let myself be that foolish again.