Chances

After Marisca's resplendent acceptance speech, in which she was crowned the best singer of the year, she gracefully made her way backstage to reunite with her fellow performers. As she approached the room, an unyielding hand, emanating both strength and malice, forcefully yanked her inside. Panic surged through her veins as she fought desperately to break free, but the vice-like grip refused to relent, imprisoning her in its clutches. Her hands, wrenched painfully to her sides, elicited an involuntary moan, escaping from the depths of her being. Against the unyielding wall, her face was mercilessly pressed, as she questioned how and why such a violation could occur amidst the tight-knit security she had been assured of. A chilling voice, a haunting echo from the past, whispered menacingly, commanding her to cease her struggle. The realization struck her with such force that she nearly crumpled to her knees—the voice she yearned to hear once more, now resounding in her ears. Yet, with a jolt, she snapped back to the present, wary of the perilous path her thoughts might lead her down should she succumb to foolishness. In a sudden surge of adrenaline, their bodies collided, tumbling to the floor in a disarray of limbs. Marisca's mind raced, overwhelmed by bewilderment. How had he managed to find her? It was the initial query that echoed through her thoughts, demanding an answer she was yet to comprehend. Composing herself with remarkable swiftness, she rose from the ground, smoothing her disheveled gown, determined to seize control of the situation. Her hand reached out, longing to grasp the doorknob and escape this perplexing encounter, when once more, she was ensnared by those same powerful arms, the very embrace she had once yearned for in her dreams. A raspy clearing of the throat disrupted the charged atmosphere, and David, a blend of excitement and anger etched upon his face, stood before her. For far too long, he had yearned to see her again, yet harbored resentment for the way she had kept his son hidden from him. The realization that once she departed, he would likely never lay eyes upon her again loomed heavily in his heart. He had come to accept the bitter truth that she would never desire him as a partner, but discovering she had hidden the existence of their child stung him with a depth he struggled to fathom. He had never dreamt of fatherhood, when they had shared those intimate moments together years ago. He hadn't dared to hope for a life entwined with Marisca, but all he had ever wished for upon discovering the existence of his child was the chance to be a part of the young boy's life. The stark reality that she possessed the means to reach him while he remained trapped in the depths of her social status gnawed at his soul. To him, it was the sole explanation that justified her actions, sealing the divide between their worlds. Marisca's gaze fell upon him, taking in every meticulous detail of his appearance. Clad in a crisp white long-sleeved shirt adorned with a sleek black bow tie, he exuded an air of refined elegance. The black trousers he wore spoke of a deliberate choice to present himself with a touch of sophistication. The absence of the customary white napkin resting on his arm, now tucked neatly into his left pocket, hinted he didn’t come as the hotel or restaurant owner. The tray he had carried lay discarded on the floor, a forgotten accessory to their unexpected reunion. His hair, impeccably groomed, added a touch of suave to his overall demeanor. A wave of emotion surged through Marisca's being as she contemplated the significance of his attire. A fleeting thought whispered in her mind, suggesting that she might be the cause of his carefully chosen ensemble—the very reason for his dignified presentation. Memories of their past encounters flooded her senses, evoking sensations she had long suppressed. For a moment, she closed her eyes, allowing herself to inhale his familiar scent, savoring the bittersweet reunion. Deep down, she knew this might be their final meeting, and she yearned for him to witness her current triumph, if only he had chosen to be present. His gaze also lingered upon her, captivated by the delicate flutter of her long lashes veiling her eyes, while her face bore the artistry of skillfully applied makeup, her features partially obscured by cascading strands of hair. His eyes roamed her figure, admiring the way her dress embraced her hips with effortless grace. Yet, his longing intensified, yearning to glimpse the woman he once knew—the one whose face bore no embellishments, no lenses obscuring her true essence, and whose hair did not shield the visage he held dear in his memories. His mind flooded with a torrent of memories, he couldn't deny the absence of regret for succumbing to her pleas that fateful night. The echoes of her impassioned cries reverberated within him, etching themselves into the depths of his being. The intoxicating symphony of her pleasure, interwoven with his own, resonated vividly in his recollection. Those stolen moments, with her writhing beneath him, etched an indelible masterpiece in his mind—a portrait that materialized effortlessly whenever he closed his eyes. To him, that day held the weight of a cherished blessing, a fragment of perfection he wouldn't dare alter, save for the cruel passage of time that he had to painfully watch her leave. ************ Since her departure, he had vigilantly kept tabs on her every move, longing for a glimpse into her world. Yet, after a month of her inexplicable absence, she resurfaced, as enigmatic as ever. The passing years brought with them a crescendo of anticipation until she made a momentous decision—to unveil her seven-year-old son to the world. As news of this revelation reached his ears, a pang of sorrow surged within him, for deep down, he had harbored a glimmer of hope that their paths would cross once more. It was his friend, Dean, who urged him to switch on the television, insisting that Marisca was being interviewed that day. At first, he dismissed their teasing remarks as mere jest, refusing to be swept up in false hope. Yet, the persistent summons tugged at his curiosity until he yielded, turning on the television and fixing his gaze upon the screen. With discerning eyes, he studied the young boy seated beside her, his heart pounding in his chest. Handsome and bearing an uncanny resemblance to himself, he inched closer to the screen, his breath hitching as undeniable truths unfolded before his eyes. The young boy, his own flesh and blood, mirrored his features with astonishing precision. There was no way Marisca could tell him that boy wasn’t his and he would believe her. From that day forward, an unyielding resolve took root within him. He vowed to find a way to be in his son’s life whether his mother liked it or not. Joy had overflowed within him, intertwining with a profound sense of pride. Snapping back to the present, David shook off the lingering thoughts that threatened to consume his focus. He had gone to great lengths to secure his place on the waitstaff roster, employing charm and persuasive words to convince the head waitress to assign him to the VIP section. He was determined to convey his message to her, to imprint his words upon her mind before the night's end. Closing the distance between them, he watched intently as she gradually retreated, her back pressed against the door. A surge of anticipation coursed through her veins, her breath catching in her throat, as his lips hovered tantalizingly close to hers. She moistened her lower lip with a slow swipe of her tongue, an action that didn't escape his keen observation. Though he vowed to remain undistracted, he found himself irresistibly drawn to every nuance of her movement, unable to tear his gaze away. Summoning a grave expression and a firm tone, he ventured to question, “why did I never see you again after that night?” Her audacious reply reverberated in the room, her words dripping with boldness. “I never promised to see you again. It was a one night stand.” She didn’t lie about that. After their encounter that night, she had expressed gratitude and swiftly departed to her best friend's room, where she took a moment to freshen up before heading to the concert. Did remorse or regret weigh upon her after their night of passion? No, she never regretted it one bit. She had kept dreaming of the encounter, unburdened by the trappings of cliché, unaware of its predictable nature. “Of course, you didn't,” He acknowledged her statement with a soft affirmation, drawing her out of her thoughts. The words hung heavy in the air as he wrestled with the delicate balance between vulnerability and curiosity, desperately yearning to broach the topic of his son. His throat tightened with an itch, an insatiable desire to inquire what threatened to consume him. Yet, he restrained himself, taking a deliberate, steadying breath. Moments passed with silence, as his eyes meandered until they fixed upon her neck. In an impulsive surge, his lips found solace upon her skin, causing her to momentarily lose her balance, saved only by the secure embrace of his arms around her waist. Her breath hitched, a rapid intake of air that teetered on the brink of surrender. Desire coursed through her veins, threatening to unravel the fragile restraint that held them captive. If they lingered in such closeness, she was certain her restraint would crumble, and she would strip him of his garments in the span of a minute. His lips persisted, tracing patterns upon her neck until he relented, his gaze fixated on her parted lips. Attempting to distance herself, she sought to escape his grasp. However, he had different intentions. His arms encroached upon her, his hands exploring the contours of her back, and she felt herself sinking deeper into his irresistible allure. “Sto-p,” Her pleas to halt their progression hung in the air, her eyes searching for a semblance of restraint. Aware of the potential repercussions, as a prominent public figure fresh from receiving the accolade of best singer, she was ill-prepared to face the fallout of such an intimate encounter, be it news or leaked footage. With a measured resolve, he let go of his hold, allowing her to lean against the doorknob for support. He had no idea of her yearning and the countless nights she had wrestled with her desire for him. He remained oblivious to the lengths she had gone to distract herself, even joining Leah during practice sessions to divert her mind from thoughts of him. With a calm demeanor that covered the intensity of his emotions, he asked his question, “Where is my son, and why did you hide him from me?" It was a stark contrast to the passionate man who had eagerly embraced the woman he had yearned for throughout the years. Stepping fully away from her, he leaned against the table, observing her with a keen gaze. She took a moment to regain her composure, the weight of his words sinking in. In that moment, however, her recollection was clouded by the intoxicating embrace they had shared. She continued to lock eyes with him, taking in his composed demeanor as he leaned further into the table, assuming the guise of the boss he was. Summoning a facade of denial, she replied with a lie, “I have no son and even if I did, he wouldn’t be yours. What we had was a one night stand.” The weight of her words betrayed the underlying truth she sought to protect—the son she was unwilling to share and the potential ramifications that could jeopardize her standing with her career and fans. As a revered celebrity, she prided herself on maintaining an intact personal life, upholding a moral standard that resonated with her dedicated following. Although her fans harbored curiosity regarding the identity of her son's father, she deftly evaded such inquiries, guarding the secret with unwavering determination. Unfortunately for her, he was well aware of her public disclosure, the moment she had exposed their son to her adoring fans. She had initially taken that step to counter the falsehoods propagated by the relentless paparazzi. Her concern was for her child's well-being. She hated the headlines they associated with him. Though conceiving a child with a lover held a different weight than the circumstances under which she had chosen to bring a child into the world. A decision that stemmed from a bet, unknowingly to him—it had become her reality, one she had grown accustomed to and did not regret. That night had been an extraordinary moment in her life, and she knew that if she had stayed a while longer in his embrace, he would have cradled her until slumber claimed her. However, the demands of her career and the show at hand beckoned her. The more reason she can’t tell him the so was his. While his outward demeanor remained composed, beneath the calm surface, an undercurrent of displeasure surged within him. “I may appear calm, but I hold no tolerance for those who attempt to deceive or rob me of what is rightfully mine," he asserted, his voice steady yet brimming with an underlying firmness, "You have a son, and we both know without a shadow of doubt who the child truly belongs to. I beg you to spare me the unnecessary trouble. The inconvenience of having a child with a celebrity, particularly when the father's worth falls far short of what her shoes or handbags cost, is not lost on me. However, I..." He attempted to elucidate his thoughts further, but before he could continue, Marisca's challenging gaze dared him to proceed. Her steely glare, folded arms, and quickened breath indicated her defiance. Her tapping foot resonated with the tension that hung in the air, signaling that he would be wise to reconsider his words. Several minutes passed in stifling silence, until she finally spoke, her words laden with an unintended cruelty. "My son has no father. He is better off without you." Though her statement carried a different nuance than what she meant, David misconstrued her meaning. Nonetheless, he had anticipated nothing less than her dismissal. He had already braced himself for such a response. A surge of anger, previously untapped, coursed through David's heart, propelling him to utter words he hadn't even planned to say to Marisca. Without thought or restraint, he unleashed a torrent of insults, laying bare his contempt for her actions. He compared her unfavorably to countless women she wouldn't even deign to talk to. He hurled degrading epithets at her, his words cutting deep, just as he believed her makeup had tainted his lips when he assaulted her neck minutes ago. The barbs he flung were anything but pleasant, piercing Marisca's heart as though she had lost the most cherished aspect of her being. She knew she should have told the truth to him- While she didn't know him well, she knew he would be a remarkable father. She harbored the belief that their lives held the promise of something extraordinary with him by their side. But... In his desperation, all she could indirectly convey to him was that he didn't measure up to her lofty standards. To him, her words felt like a personal affront, as if she had insulted his very essence. The few piercing words he had uttered were, in his view, a truthful reflection of their reality. He was wounded, deeply hurt by her actions. While he understood he could never attain her level of social standing, he also knew that in his presence, their son would lack for nothing in life. He was certain that at this very moment, their son was left in the care of strangers, entrusted with the tasks of bathing, dressing, feeding, and assisting with homework—duties that should have been shared by both a mother and a father. Instead, she prevented the father from even setting eyes on his own child, while she paraded her body on stage, collecting unnecessary awards. Their son needed them both. He yearned for a mother's nurturing voice to guide his concentration, while his father imparted the wisdom of sportsmanship through games such as football and volleyball. David remained silent, refraining from saying anything further. However, he harbored no sense of remorse for unleashing his anger upon Marisca. He believed he was justified in expressing his frustration, and if presented with a similar situation, he would not hesitate to do so again, especially if she dared to belittle him once more. Marisca, unable to bear his presence any longer. She could feel her tears falling, As she reached for a handkerchief to compose herself, she realized her purse, containing the handkerchief, was left behind on her seat. Observing this, David retrieved his own handkerchief from his back pocket and offered it to her. However, Marisca angrily threw it back in his face, yearning for an apology for the hurtful things he had said about her. Realizing that no apology would be forthcoming, Marisca grew angrier and locked eyes with David, warning him not to even attempt to search for her. David responded with a chuckle, choosing not to engage in further conversation. Marisca believed she was angrier than she had ever been, but little did she know the depths of David's potential fury. As Marisca turned to leave, she made a solemn promise, “You will never lay eyes on my son as long as I am alive.” Before David could respond, she swiftly exited the room, leaving him behind with a myriad of emotions and unresolved conflicts.