CHAPTER 1- Abandoned in the rain.

Chapter 1: Abandoned in the Rain

Aleira's Point of View

They say you never forget the moment your heart truly breaks.

For me, it happened on a Friday night, beneath a sky that mourned with me. The rain poured endlessly, soaking through my thin blouse and clinging to my skin like the pain I couldn’t shake off. It wasn’t just a storm—it was a storm inside me too.

I stood frozen outside my boarding house, trembling as the streetlamp flickered above me. One hand gripped the handle of my suitcase, the other rested protectively on my stomach. I was two months pregnant. The life inside me barely the size of a lemon, yet it had already become my entire world.

And the father of my child?

Gone.

Just an hour ago, Michael had kissed my cheek and told me he was heading out to grab some food. I even laughed, asking him to bring back my favorite chicken skin from the vendor down the road. He smiled and promised.

But instead of chicken skin… I got a message.

> “This isn’t the life I want. Don’t contact me again.”

I read the message three times before it sank in. I thought it was a prank. A twisted joke. But as the minutes ticked by, and my calls went straight to voicemail, reality slapped me across the face.

Blocked. Everywhere.

He left me. He left us.

The man I once believed I would grow old with had walked away the moment things got real. We used to dream together. He said we’d build a family, that we’d start small but strong. That love would carry us through the hard times.

But love didn’t mean much when pressure arrived. And apparently, neither did I.

I don’t remember how long I stood there. The rain had turned my clothes see-through, my shoes were soaked, and my body was shivering—but I couldn’t move. I didn’t care that passersby glanced at me with pity, that the world kept spinning like nothing had changed.

Because for me, everything had.

I finally dragged myself up to my room—tiny, damp, and colder than usual. I sat on the edge of my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. But that didn’t work anymore. My belly had started to round slightly, a soft reminder that I wasn’t alone.

“Hey, baby,” I whispered, brushing my palm over my stomach. “I guess it’s just you and me now.”

The tears returned—slow and quiet this time. I didn’t wail. I didn’t scream. I just let the silence wrap around me and accepted the fact that the man I loved didn’t love me enough to stay.

I met Michael De Leon during my last year of college. He wasn’t rich—not compared to others—but he had charm. He was thoughtful, spontaneous, and made me feel like I mattered. I was fresh out of school with a degree in Office Administration and dreams bigger than my wallet. He was working at his uncle’s business and swore one day we’d have our own.

He made me feel safe. Loved. And when I told him I was pregnant, he said, “We’ll figure it out, Lei. I’ve got you.”

He had me fooled.

The next morning, I woke up to sunlight creeping through the cracked window. My eyes were swollen, my throat dry from crying, and my heart—still heavy.

But something had changed.

I was still alone. Still abandoned. But I wasn’t the same girl who stood in the rain last night, begging the universe for answers.

I wasn’t just Aleira Tan anymore. I was a mother. Or at least, I was going to be.

I got up, made a list. Groceries. Vitamins. A new pair of shoes—I’d outgrown the old ones now that swelling had kicked in. I cleaned the room, ate toast in silence, and searched online for part-time work.

No one was coming to save me. So I’d save myself.

Weeks passed. Slowly. Painfully.

The whispers came. Some friends cut ties. Others judged. But I found unexpected support in small places—a classmate who sent me prenatal vitamins, my elderly landlady who cooked me soup when I looked too pale.

And Lara—though still just a heartbeat inside me—gave me a reason to keep going. Every time I felt weak, I’d press my hand against my belly and whisper, “We’re gonna be okay.”

But nights were still hard.

There were moments I’d sit alone and remember Michael’s laugh, the way he used to run his fingers through my hair when I was anxious. I remembered the notebook where we wrote baby names, the onesie he bought when we first found out.

Lies. All of it.

I hated him for leaving me. But more than that, I hated myself for trusting him.

Still… I couldn’t let that bitterness stay. Because if I carried hate, how could I carry love for my child?

So I chose peace.

The streets were nearly deserted, the kind of quiet that made even my own footsteps sound threatening. The flickering streetlights barely lit the sidewalk as I hugged my bag tightly to my chest. It was past 9 p.m., and I was walking home alone after another failed job interview.

They smiled politely, handed me a brochure about “future opportunities,” and thanked me for coming. But I knew the truth — they didn’t want a visibly pregnant woman for their front desk. Not someone like me.

I was tired, frustrated, and starving. All I wanted was to go home to my tiny apartment, heat up leftover rice, and cry quietly without waking my landlady.

I decided to take a shortcut through an alley I’d used before. It was faster — and darker. Normally, I avoided it this late. But tonight, I was too drained to care.

Until I heard footsteps behind me.

Then voices.

“Hey, beautiful,” someone called. “Where you going in such a hurry?”

I froze, fingers tightening around my bag. My heart started to race.

Two men appeared behind me. Young, maybe early twenties, wearing worn hoodies and too much confidence. Another emerged from the side street, blocking my path.

“Relax,” one of them grinned, stepping closer. “We just wanna talk.”

“I—I don’t have money,” I stammered, backing away.

One of them laughed. “Who said anything about money?”

I turned to run — but stumbled, crashing to the pavement. Pain shot through my palms and knees as I scrambled to shield my belly.

“Don’t touch me!” I screamed, panicked.

They kept coming.

Then suddenly—

Tires screeched.

A sleek black car swerved to a stop just meters away. Its headlights flooded the alley.

The next few seconds happened so fast they blurred.

A man stepped out. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a long black coat and dark slacks, moving like a shadow.

Before I could react, he was on them.

One punch. A groan.

A second thug dropped with a kick to the ribs.

The third ran.

I watched in stunned silence from the ground as the mysterious man stood tall, calm, as if he hadn’t just taken down two grown men with surgical precision.

He turned to me.

“You okay?” His voice was low. Controlled. Dangerous in a quiet, expensive way.

I could barely nod.

He crouched beside me. “You're bleeding. Can you stand?”

My knees trembled, but I managed to sit up. “Y-Yeah… I think so.”

Without asking, he reached out and helped me to my feet. His hand was strong, steady. He smelled like leather and spice—powerful, clean, and somehow comforting.

“You shouldn’t be walking alone at night,” he said, his eyes scanning the shadows. “Especially not in your condition.”

I flinched. He noticed.

“You're… pregnant.”

I nodded hesitantly, gripping my bag.

“I’ll take you home,” he said.

“No, I—I can manage—”

He cut me off with a look. Not rude. Not forceful. Just... final. “I'm not asking.”

Normally, I hated being ordered around. But in that moment, something about him—his voice, his confidence, the way he appeared like some dark guardian angel—made me trust him.

He opened the car door for me. I hesitated, then slid inside. The leather seats were soft and warm. It felt unreal.

He got in and started the engine. The car purred like a beast.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly.

He didn’t look at me. “Brent.”

Brent.

Even his name sounded rich.

“I’m Aleira,” I murmured.

A flicker of surprise passed his face — so quick I almost missed it. But he said nothing.

“You live nearby?” he asked.

I gave directions. We didn’t speak much during the ride. I kept glancing at him — the sharp profile, the unreadable expression. Cold and calm, like nothing fazed him. But there was something else in his eyes too — something buried.

When we pulled up outside my apartment, he put the car in park but didn’t get out.

I turned to thank him. “I… I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You don’t,” he said simply.

Then he handed me his coat.

“You’ll need this. It’s cold.”

I stared at it. “But—”

“Keep it.”

Our eyes met.

And for the first time since Michael left me, I felt something unexpected flicker in my chest.

Warmth.

Maybe even… safety.

“Goodnight, Aleira,” he said.

I stepped out, still wrapped in his coat, and watched his car disappear into the night.

I thought it was just a moment. A lucky rescue.

I didn’t know then...

That it was just the beginning.

That the man who saved me wasn’t just some stranger passing by.

His name was Brent Montenegro —

And that he already knew exactly who I was.