One Night. One Mistake.
I didn't know his name when I let him kiss me.
I didn't know he owned half of Manhattan.
I didn't know he was the ruthless CEO of Kingsley Global Holdings, the youngest billionare in New York City.
All I knew was that I had just lost my waitress job, my rent was overdue and I desperately needed to forget how badly life was falling apart.
The bar was dimly lit, expensive, the kind of place I didn't belong to. Crystal glasses. Tailored suits. Women who looked like they had never worried about bus fare in their lives. The bar reeked of mixed whiskey and liquor. The scent of alcohol clung to the air, while the people inside smelled as if they had poured entire bottles of perfume over themselves before stepping out for the night.
So I owed it to myself to order a single glass of the cheapest whiskey, in a bar that people like me were never meant to enter. My life was already a mess. What more damage could it possibly do?
And then there he was.
Dark suit.
Cold eyes.
The kind of face that didn't smile - it evaluated. He sat alone in the VIP section, scrolling through his phone like the entire world bored him. I should've ignored him. But when I tripped - yes, I actually tripped - and nearly spilled a stranger's drink, I felt a steady hand catch my waist.
Strong.
Controlled.
Possesive.
"Careful," he murmured.
His voice was deep, smooth....dangerous.
"I'm fine," I said quickly, stepping back
He didn't let go immediately.
His eyes moved over my face like he was memorizing it.
Not admiring.
Assessing.
"You don't belong here," he said.
His words stung. Because deep down, I knew he was right.
"Excuse me?"
"You look like you're running from something, miss."
"Isabella Cruz. And no, I'm not." I said firmly.
"Everyone in this city is."
He didn't even bother telling me his name. How rude!
Something about his calmness was frustrating - infuriating even. Like he already knew everything.
I should've ignored him....but no.
Instead, I asked, "And what are you running from, sir?"
"Adrian. I don't run."
That should have warned me.
One drink turned into two.
Two turned into a private conversation in a quiet corner.
He didn't flirt like other men.
He commanded.
He listened like he was extracting secrets.
He didn't tell me his last name.
He didn't tell me what he did.
He only said, "Tonight you forget all your problems.
And I let him.
I went home with a stranger whose penthouse overlooked the glittering skyline of New York City.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't tender.
It was intense.
Controlled.
Overwhelming.
He kissed like he owned the air I breathed.
And when I woke up the next morning, he was already in his office, dressed in another tailored suit, typing on three screens at once.
He must be some kind of gamer. I thought to myself.
He didn't ask for my number.
He didn't try to stop me.
He simply said, "Take care of yourself, Isabella."
Like I was temporary.
Like I meant nothing.
My throat burned.
I get attached too easily.
I fall for people too fast.
And here he was making me feel so....worthless.
But I left - and never looked back.
Three months later, I was standing in the bathroom of my tiny apartment, staring at two pink lines.
Positive.
My hand began to shake.
Time seemed to stop. The world blurred around me and the test in my hand felt impossibly heavy. My thoughts wandered to places I had never dared to go.
"No....no, no, no." I fell to the floor and sobbed quietly.
It had only been one night.
One mistake.
And I didn't even know his full name!
I reached for my phone, scrolling through possible contacts I could call to help me in this crisis.
Zero.
I had no one to call or text.
I was screwed !
The TV in the living room was playing the morning news. I barely listened - until I heard it.
Adrian's name was being mentioned on TV.
"Adrian Kingsley, CEO of Kingsley Global Holdings, seen last night at a private gala with his fiancée, Victoria Sinclair."
My blood ran cold. I know that name! My mind screamed.
I walked slowly into the living room.
And there he was.
On the screen.
On my screen.
The same cold eyes.
The same controlled posture.
The headlines beneath him read:
"New York's youngest billionaire announces engagement."
My knees gave out.
I had just slept with one the most powerful men in the city.
And I was carrying his child.