Chapter 2

“Okay,” she breathed, and that one word was enough.

He kissed her like a storm. No warning, no mercy—just lips crashing, teeth grazing, hands fisting into her blouse and pulling until buttons popped. She gasped into his mouth, startled by her own need, the way her body arched into his touch without thought.

He tasted like whisky and want, tongue parting her lips with slow, dirty precision. His hands dragged down her spine, found the curve of her ass, squeezed.

He lifted her effortlessly, setting her on the low marble counter. Her legs fell open with a shudder as his hips pressed in.

“I don’t even know your name,” she gasped, head tipping back.

“Don’t tell me,” he said, dragging kisses along her throat. “Just be mine. Tonight.”

She moaned when he sank to his knees, mouth finding the heat between her legs through the thin barrier of cheap cotton panties. He kissed her there, tongued her slow, worshipped her with every slick stroke until she was gripping the counter like she might fall off the edge of the world.

Then he stood, pushed her skirt up, yanked her underwear down and off with one hand, and undid his belt the rest of the way with the other.

She saw him for the first time—thick, hard, veined—and a breathless curse slipped from her lips. He leaned in close, rubbing the head of his cock against her soaked entrance.

“You sure?” he murmured.

She nodded, trembling. “Yes.”

He slid in—slow at first, then all at once, filling her with a groan that rumbled low in his chest. She clutched at his shoulders, legs locking around his waist, back arching as he began to move.

Every thrust was deep, relentless. His hands in her hair, mouth on her neck, her moans muffled by the curve of his shoulder. He fucked her like he’d been waiting for her all his life and had only tonight to make it count.

And when she came—clenching tight around him, breath broken—he kissed her hard, then buried himself deep with a low growl and finished inside her.

They didn’t speak.

He helped her down, handed her a towel like it was the most natural thing in the world. She dressed in silence. He poured himself a drink.

“You staying?” he asked quietly.

She hesitated, heart clenching.

“No.”

He didn’t stop her.

And when the door clicked shut behind her, she didn’t look back.

Three weeks later, Ashley sat on the chipped edge of her bathtub, heart thudding loud enough to drown out the fan whirring overhead. The cheap plastic stick lay on the bathroom counter like a weapon. She hadn’t looked at it yet. She didn’t have to. Her body already knew.

But the test confirmed it anyway.

Two pink lines.

Solid. Unforgiving. Positive.

She blinked, hoping they’d blur, fade, vanish. But they stayed. Stark against white, like a cruel little secret carved in plastic.

Her stomach turned—not from nausea this time, but panic. Sharp and fast, like a knife between her ribs. She pressed her palm flat to her belly, like maybe she could hold it all in. The heartbeat. The memory. The fucking truth.

A baby.

His baby.

She barely knew his name. Kyle. No last name. No number. No clue what company he ran or what continent he flew to the next morning. Just that voice, low and husky in her ear, and that look in his eyes when he slid inside her like he already owned her.

Ashley squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t cry. She’d done that already. Last week. Twice. Today she was numb.

Her phone buzzed beside the sink—another reminder from work. Back to the grind. Back to the smiles. No one could know. Not yet.

The mirror caught her face as she stood up. Pale. Still flushed from the heat of the shock. She ran cold water over her wrists and breathed in through her nose, out through her mouth, counting down from ten.

She couldn’t afford this. Literally.

Her apartment was barely one step up from condemned. The pipes rattled when the heat kicked in. She lived paycheck to paycheck, on tips and leftovers from shift meals. She didn’t have a safety net. She was the safety net—for her younger sister, for the little rent money she sent home when she could.

And now she had something else growing inside her. Something terrifying. Something... innocent.

Her hands moved instinctively to her belly again, fingers splaying over her flat stomach.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “What the hell am I gonna do?”

The answer came two days later.

She was on shift, moving trays in the banquet hall during a corporate conference. Dozens of executives and power players in tailored suits, laughing too loud over glasses of wine and steak too expensive to pronounce.

She bent to clear a table—and froze.

Her fingers clenched around the silverware.

Him.

There he was, standing beside the CEO of the hosting firm, tall and clean-shaven, suit cut so perfectly it must’ve been measured straight from his sins. Laughing. Talking. Holding a glass of something neat and golden.

That’s him. That’s the man who fucked me senseless and forgot my name.

Kyle Ashford.

Ashley couldn’t breathe. She ducked behind a marble column, heart hammering, panic climbing her throat like a vine.

And then—his eyes swept the room.

Paused.

Stopped.

Right on her.

Recognition didn’t flicker.

Not even a spark.

Nothing.

She might as well have been wallpaper.

Ashley turned away, mouth dry, cheeks burning.