CHAPTER THREE
678 Words
(Liam Carter’s POV)
The lights of Manhattan glimmered below him like stars spilled across pavement. Liam Carter leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse office, the chill of the evening seeping through the floor-to-ceiling windows. In his hand was a glass of bourbon — smooth, aged, expensive — and for once, it tasted like nothing.
He sipped anyway, more out of habit than desire.
She was haunting him again.
The woman from that night — the night he told himself he’d forget. The night that was supposed to be meaningless. The night that had become the only thing he could think about.
Her eyes were the first thing he remembered — not the dress, or even the way she moved. But her eyes, large and filled with something too raw for someone who claimed to be just passing through. Something that mirrored the storm he kept tightly hidden behind polished suits and powerful deals.
And the worst part? He hadn’t even asked her name.
He clenched his jaw, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He wasn’t a fool. He didn’t do this — didn’t brood over women, didn’t replay one-night stands like some desperate romantic. But this wasn’t just a night. He hadn’t felt that... alive in years.
The memory came rushing back. Her laughter — unfiltered, free. Her body curled beside him under the hotel sheets. The way she had looked up at him like he wasn’t just Liam Carter, CEO of Carter Holdings, but someone real. Someone human.
His fingers tightened around the glass.
She’d vanished by morning.
No note. No phone number. No trace.
He tried to find her, of course — quietly. Security footage? Blurred. Booking details? She’d checked in under his corporate name, courtesy of his assistant. No credit card, no ID, just a mystery wrapped in silk and scent and memory.
She hadn’t left anything behind. No name. No trace. He’d checked the security footage—blurred. No card on file—it was comped through his personal account. Just a ghost in silk.
"Mr. Carter," Olivia's voice crackled through the intercom, interrupting the storm inside him. "The Paris team is waiting for confirmation on the contract."
“Tell them I’ll call in ten.” His voice was steady, cold. The kind of tone people feared.
He turned from the window, pacing toward his desk. But instead of paperwork, his eyes drifted to the drawer where he’d hidden the hotel receipt — the only thing left of that night. Pathetic. He hadn’t let go of anything this hard since his father’s funeral.
His phone buzzed.
Natalie: "Mom says she’s making that roast you like. Dinner Sunday. No excuses and don't even think about bailing "
He allowed a small smile. Natalie was the only person who spoke to him like he wasn’t worth billions. Just a big brother who bailed on too many family dinners.
Liam:"Fine. I’ll come. Don’t guilt-trip me."
He tossed the phone back on the desk. He needed to get her out of his system. Maybe she was a one-time fantasy. Maybe he was imagining the connection. Maybe…
Liam stood and walked over to the bar, staring at the untouched bourbon again. It was the same bottle he opened that night.
He poured a glass, paused, and finally said it out loud.
“I should’ve asked her name.”
It wasn’t just guilt or regret. It was the gnawing feeling that she mattered in a way no one ever had. That one night changed something in him—and he didn’t know how to go back to the version of himself who didn’t care.
Or maybe she was the only person who’d ever seen through him — and he’d let her walk away.
But unknown to him, across the city, that same woman sat on the edge of a twin bed in a tiny apartment, her hand on the gentle curve of her stomach… carrying his child.
And Liam Carter, the man who had everything, was about to discover that what he’d lost was far more than a name.
- Writer
