Pregnant After One Night with the Billionaire

Isabella’s POV Leaving without telling anyone should have felt wrong, but as I stood on the narrow balcony of my new apartment, staring out at the unfamiliar stretch of Los Angeles, I realized I did not feel guilty at all. The city moved like it had somewhere important to be, cars flowing endlessly beneath me while distant voices and laughter blended into the evening air. Everything felt loud, alive, and completely indifferent to my existence, and for the first time in a long time, that indifference felt comforting instead of lonely. I rested my hands against the metal railing and exhaled slowly, letting the cool air brush against my face as the reality of what I had done finally settled in. I had left. No explanations. No warnings. No goodbyes. My phone had been silent all day, and even though I kept checking it like something might change, nothing ever did. No missed calls. No messages. Not even a casual text pretending concern. The silence made something tighten in my chest, but I forced myself to ignore it. This was what I wanted. Freedom. I turned away from the balcony and stepped back into the apartment, closing the glass door behind me. The space still felt unfamiliar, with its bare walls and the faint smell of fresh paint that clung to everything. It wasn’t much, just a small living area with minimal furniture, but it was mine, and that had to be enough for now. Dropping onto the couch, I picked up my phone again out of habit and scrolled through empty notifications before letting out a quiet breath and placing it face down beside me. “Calm down, Isabella,” I murmured. “You made this choice.” Saying it out loud made it feel more real, but it did not stop the quiet unease from creeping in. I pushed myself up before I could sit there long enough to start second-guessing everything. “Siri,” I said, grabbing my phone again. “Search for places to go tonight.” If I stayed in this apartment, I would start thinking too much, and thinking had never done me any favors. A long list of options appeared on the screen, each one louder and more inviting than the last. Restaurants, lounges, bars, and clubs filled the display, all promising distraction in different ways. My thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before settling on one name that immediately stood out. Club De Nuit. The photos showed dim lighting, crowded spaces, and people pressed close together, moving like they were part of something bigger than themselves. It looked chaotic in a way that felt deliberate, like the kind of place where no one asked questions and no one expected answers. “Perfect,” I said quietly. At the time, it felt like a simple decision. It wasn’t. The knock on my door came while I was still getting ready, and the sudden sound made my heart jump in a way that immediately reminded me how alone I actually was in this new place. I hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the bathroom, wrapping a towel tightly around myself as I moved cautiously toward the door. “Who is it?” I called out. “Open up!” The voice was familiar, even through the muffled tone, and the tension in my chest disappeared almost instantly. “Sophie?” I asked, already reaching for the lock. “Who else would drive three hours just to yell at you?” she replied. I opened the door, and she immediately pulled me into a hug that was just a little too tight, like she was making up for the goodbye I never gave her. “You scared me,” I said when she finally let go. “You disappeared,” she shot back. “Of course you’re supposed to be scared.” I laughed softly despite myself, stepping aside to let her in. “I didn’t think you’d actually come.” “I’m still mad,” she said, glancing around the apartment as she walked in, “but I missed you more than I wanted to stay mad.” That sounded exactly like her. “I was about to go out,” I said, nodding toward my room. Her eyes lit up immediately. “Where?” “Club De Nuit.” Her smile widened. “Then what are we waiting for?”