Running from My Billionaire Baby Daddy

Callie

The music was too loud.

Not loud enough to drown out my thoughts — just enough to make them feel like background noise.

I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Clubs weren’t my thing. Not the strobe lights, or the sticky floors, or the guys who thought buying you a drink meant buying your time. But Clara — my best friend and self-appointed life coach — had insisted.

“You need to get out of your own head, Callie,” she’d said, dragging me out of my hoodie and into a little black dress I wasn’t sure I could breathe in.

She wasn’t wrong. Between my dad’s chemo appointments, double shifts at the diner, and chasing rent like it owed me something, my head was kind of a war zone.

Still, I was already regretting this. I nursed my cheap cocktail like it was a lifeline, leaning against the bar and counting down the minutes until I could go back into obscurity.

And then I saw him.

He stood near the far end of the bar. Hoodie. Clean sneakers. Handsome, but in a quiet way that made you do a double-take. The kind of guy you only noticed if you were paying attention — and I wasn’t trying to.

But my eyes found him anyway.

He caught me looking. One brow arched, amused. Then he raised his glass in a silent toast.

I looked away, heat creeping up my neck.

Clara appeared at my side, grinning like a cat who’d spotted a mouse. “He’s cute.”

“I’m not here to flirt.”

“Good,” she said, “because he’s coming over here right now.”

“What?”

Too late.

He slid up next to us at the bar, his cologne subtle but clean, like cedarwood and something unfamiliar.

“Hi,” he said, voice low and warm.

Clara gave me a quick wink and melted into the dance floor, leaving me with him. I could kill her later.

I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

“I don’t usually do this,” he started, which was exactly what guys who usually did this always said, “but I noticed you weren’t having the time of your life.”

“That obvious, huh?”

He smiled — and it was devastating. “You look like you’ve got better places to be.”

“I do. My couch. Sweatpants. N*****x.”

He chuckled. “Fair. I’m Damien.”

“Callie.”

“Nice to meet you, Callie. Want to ditch the noise?”

I blinked. “You mean, like—”

He held up both hands. “Just outside. Quieter.”

My gut said no. But my heart? My heart said: he’s different.

So, I followed him.

We ended up on the fire escape behind the club, the night air cool against my skin. The city buzzed around us. Distant horns. Someone laughing. Somewhere in the building, the bass still thudded faintly.

He leaned on the railing, looking out at the skyline.

“So, what’s your story?” he asked.

“You first,” I said.

He shrugged. “I move around a lot. Freelance gigs. I don’t stick in one place too long.”

“That sounds lonely.”

He glanced at me. “Sometimes. But then I meet someone who makes it feel like I could stay a while.”

I looked away. Damn him.

I don’t know how it happened after that. One conversation blurred into another. Then laughter. Then my hand in his. Then—

We ended up in my apartment that night.

No promises. No pretences. Just two people who needed to feel something real for a little while.

I thought that would be it.

But it wasn’t.

Three months later, we were still... whatever we were. I never pressed too hard. He didn’t offer much. But he made me laugh, and he listened, and when things with my dad got worse, he was just there.

I was happy.

I was falling.

Life hadn’t been great before I met him, I’d admit. I was struggling. But it wasn’t like all my problems went away; his presence just made it easier to bear. We were quite similar.

He was an orphan, I was on the brink of becoming one. My dad was going through chemotherapy, and my mom passed away during childbirth. I held down a shitty waitress job, he didn’t talk much about his work but I gathered it was something boring and remote.

Things were going fairly well until one particular day.

It was a Monday. I had just finished a shift at the diner when a woman in a black trench coat stepped in. She looked to be in her forties, and by the way she was dressed, I could tell she was out of place here. She didn’t order anything. She didn’t sit.

She just looked at me like she already knew me.

“Callie Evans?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“I’d like a word.”

We stepped outside, under the diner awning, drizzle clinging to the edges of my hair. She handed me a business card. No name. Just a number. And then she pulled out a slim white envelope.

“A cheque for a million dollars,” she said. “Take it. Under one condition. Leave my son alone.”

I stared at her. “Your... son? I’m sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.” I made to walk away, but she continued.

“Damien. You didn’t know his last name, did you? His real last name?” she smiled. “That’s the first clue. You’re just a phase. A distraction.”

I froze. Damien had told me he was an orphan, but then here was this woman who he shared a striking resemblance with, calling him her son. “He never—he never said—”

“No, he wouldn’t,” she said, voice low. “Because you don’t matter.”

“I’m not taking your money.” I didn’t understand what was going on, but I wasn’t going to be a part of it. Part of me was still reeling in hurt. Why would he lie about being an orphan? What else was he lying about?

She tilted her head. “How noble. I can see why he would get himself distracted by your sweet little act.”

“Damien and I are—“

“In love?” She laughed. It was a laugh of mockery.

“Your dear Damien —my son— isn’t who you think he is. I’d advise you to listen. Take the money. It’s a plus. I won’t be so generous the next time you have to hear from me.”

It sounded like a threat.

I was shaking. “Who are you?”

“I’m the person who decides what happens next. You have my card. If you've had enough time to think about it, make the right choice and give me a call.”

And with that she was gone.

Just like that.

I didn’t go home that night.

I walked the city until my feet hurt, Damien’s texts lighting up my phone, over and over again.

‘Where are you?’

‘Everything okay?’

‘Callie, talk to me. Please.’

I wanted to answer.

I wanted to run into his arms and cry and ask him why the hell he’d lied to me. Why did he let me believe he was just some guy? When that wasn't the case. What was he hiding?

But I couldn’t.

I stared at my phone.

Then I turned it off, walking the short distance to my apartment in the cold all alone.