The Billionaire's One-Night Baby

Six Years Ago
Celeste

The mall lights were too bright.

I stood there like a fool—smiling, holding a bag of Adrian’s favorite pad thai, heart fluttering with stupid excitement—until the world stopped moving.

There he was.

Adrian.

My boyfriend of two years. The man I thought I’d marry someday. Kissing another woman like I never existed.

My stomach twisted as I stared, frozen near the escalators. I tried to blink it away. Tell myself it was someone else. A misunderstanding. But I knew that smile. That soft touch on her back. That easy laughter. He used to look at me like that.

Now he looked at her.

And then—he looked straight past me. Not a flicker of guilt. Not a twitch of recognition. Just blank… like I’d never meant a thing.

The paper bag crinkled in my hands as I backed away. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. I turned around and walked—no, ran—toward the exit like the floor was collapsing beneath my feet.

By the time I stepped outside, the bag had hit the trash, and I was stumbling down the sidewalk with tears burning behind my eyes.

I don’t remember where I went. Just that I kept walking. Block after block, heel after aching heel. My heart felt like it had been ripped out and thrown into traffic. I wanted to scream, but I didn’t have the strength. All I could do was move forward, like if I stopped, I’d shatter into a thousand pieces on the pavement.

And somehow, I ended up in a bar.

It was small. Quiet. The kind of place no one my age went to on a Tuesday night. Perfect. I slid into a seat and ordered the first strong drink I could think of.

I don’t even remember what it was.

It didn’t matter.

I just wanted the pain to blur. Wanted to forget Adrian’s lips on someone else. Wanted to forget me.

By the time I downed my second glass, the ache in my chest was starting to go numb. That’s when I noticed the stares. From men. The kind that made my skin crawl.

But I didn’t care.

Let them stare.

Let the whole damn bar see how far I’d fallen.

Then I heard a voice—low, calm, annoyingly sure of itself—just behind me.

“You look like you don’t belong here.”

I turned my head and blinked.

Tall. Dark hair. Expensive suit. Sharp jawline that could slice steel. But it was his eyes that caught me—intense and unreadable, like he could see straight through me.

“And you do?” I asked.

He didn’t smile. “I own it.”

Of course he did.

He slid onto the barstool next to mine, uninvited. But oddly, I didn’t mind.

He glanced at my glass. “You’re drawing attention.”

I shrugged. “Let them look.”

“They’re not looking for the right reasons.”

His voice wasn’t condescending. Just… observant. Like he wasn’t here to flirt. Just to warn.

I scoffed. “No one has the right reasons anymore.”

He paused. “Bad night?”

“Try worst day of my life.”

He didn’t ask what happened. He just nodded, like he’d been there before. Like he got it.

And for some reason, that made my throat tighten.

Then he said, “One more drink. After that, I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

I hesitated.

Everything I was raised to believe screamed at me not to trust him. But something in his voice—something in his eyes—told me he wasn’t dangerous.

At least, not in the way I expected.

I nodded.

We left the bar. He helped me into a black car that probably cost more than my entire life savings. We rode in silence. Not the awkward kind. The kind that felt… oddly calming.

When we stepped into the elevator of his penthouse, I started to feel the buzz of the alcohol hit my limbs. My head spun. My chest felt heavy. I should’ve left. Should’ve run.

But I didn’t.

The penthouse was quiet.

Too quiet.

I stepped inside and the door closed behind us with a soft click. Warm lights spilled across sleek marble floors, tall windows showcasing the glittering city skyline below. Everything about this place screamed money—polished, luxurious, untouchable.

And yet… there was something lonely about it, too.

He loosened his tie as he walked past me, like this was just another night. But I could feel it. The tension. The way his eyes kept finding mine when he thought I wasn’t looking.

“Drink?” he asked.

I nodded. “Something light this time. I already feel like I might float away.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll be gentle.”

He poured two glasses of scotch and handed me one. I accepted it with both hands, careful not to let our fingers brush. But even the near-miss made my breath catch.

We sat on the couch, a polite distance apart, with our drinks and the weight of too much unsaid pressing between us.

I broke the silence first. “You live here alone?”

He nodded. “For now.”

“For now?”

“I’m not the type who stays in one place long. This city’s just a stop.”

I sipped the scotch. Smooth. Expensive. Nothing like the cheap stuff I used to sneak in college. “What do you do?”

His jaw ticked, like he was debating how much to tell me. “Business.”

“Wow. So specific.”

That earned me a real smile. Just a flicker, but it lit up something in him. “I buy companies. Restructure. Sell. Sometimes I build something from scratch.”

I leaned back, studying him. “You don’t look like someone who builds things.”

He tilted his head. “And what do I look like?”

“Like someone who’s always in control,” I said, then added softly, “...and very tired of it.”

He didn’t speak for a second.

Then he said, “You’re not wrong.”

I wasn’t sure what made me say it. Maybe the alcohol. Maybe the emptiness still echoing in my chest. But I whispered, “I was supposed to have dinner with someone tonight. He kissed someone else instead.”

His expression shifted. Not surprised—just still.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and for some reason, I believed him.

“I’m not,” I murmured. “Not anymore.”

We were quiet again. The city lights outside flickered like stars. His gaze drifted over my face, pausing at my lips, then dropping to the hand still curled around my glass.

“Why did you help me tonight?” I asked.

He met my eyes. “Because I know what it feels like to be lost.”

There was something in his voice. Something raw. And for the first time that night, I wanted to touch him. Not out of impulse or lust—but because I wasn’t the only one hurting. His eyes held mine—not like I was broken, but like I was still worth something.

I set the glass down.

So did he.

And when our eyes locked again, I didn’t wait.

I leaned in first.

Our lips met softly—tentatively—like we were testing something fragile. His hand slid to the side of my neck, thumb brushing beneath my jaw. The kiss deepened slowly, breathlessly, and I melted into it. Into him. Into the heat curling in my chest and the quiet storm building behind his careful touch.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, voice husky against my ear.

"Yes," I breathed. "I want this. I want you."

His lips grazed my collarbone, slow and reverent, as his hands found the hem of my blouse. I let him lift it over my head, let him see me—the real me—and when his eyes met mine, there was no judgment. Only hunger. Only awe.

His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, more certain. I felt his fingers on my waist, dragging me closer, pulling me onto his lap as if he needed to feel every inch of me. Heat bloomed between us, sharp and consuming.

We moved together, slowly shedding layers—of clothing, of hesitation, of pain. My breath hitched when his lips traveled lower, tasting the curve of my shoulder, my chest. His touch was careful at first. Tender. Like he was afraid I might disappear if he pushed too far, too fast.

But the restraint didn’t last long.

He lifted me in his arms, strong and sure, carrying me past the wall of windows into the warmth of his bedroom. The city lights spilled across the sheets, painting shadows on our skin.

He laid me down gently, his body pressing against mine, and in the quiet, we found each other.

It wasn’t wild or rushed. It wasn’t about forgetting.

It was about feeling.

Fingertips tracing skin. Mouths tasting every breath, every moan. My hands tangled in his hair, my body arching into his as we moved in rhythm—slow, deep, aching. Like something sacred was unfolding between us.

Every sigh. Every whisper. Every moment told me this wasn’t just need.

This was something deeper.

And when it was over, with his arms wrapped tightly around me and my head resting against his chest, I didn’t even care that I didn’t know his name.

Because in his arms, I didn’t feel broken.

I felt seen.